By Rita Okoye

Tucked away in the serene ambience of a dimly lit gallery nestled in the heart of Victoria Island, Lagos, artist Balikis Badru—known to most by her evocative alter ego, Kejii—unveiled a deeply intimate selection of her works in a private showing on September 9, 2024.

The gallery space, minimalist in design but steeped in atmosphere, was lined with velvet drapes and ambient warm lighting that cast gentle shadows against the raw cement walls. Quiet jazz spilled softly through the space, mirroring the kind of stillness her work evokes: emotional, poised, and quietly arresting.

The exhibition opened with one of her most recognisable pieces, For the Love of Music, where the silhouette of a woman, posed like a dancer, intertwines with a treble clef. Painted in rich blacks and glowing bronze tones, the work isn’t just about music.

It’s about embodiment. The woman’s posture is free, sensual, and grounded, yet the background hums with restraint. It feels like witnessing a private moment of liberation frozen in paint.

Nearby, a faceless female form painted in swirling tones of blue and gold stood suspended in stillness. The brushstrokes were expressive and layered, capturing the essence of movement without any hard lines.

Her body felt weightless, dreamlike, as if memory was being pulled out of the canvas and held in front of you. There was no face to study, but the emotion was unmistakable. It whispered themes of grief, softness, and survival.

In another piece, a dark figure glowed with a fierce red light, set ablaze against deep blacks and molten oranges. Her body, partially hidden in shadow, seemed to rise from a flame. Behind her, a halo burned quietly, not religious but radiant with presence.

The strokes were wild and emotional, textured in a way that made the painting feel like it was breathing. You could sense the rage, the power, and the vulnerability. It was impossible to walk past it without stopping.

One of the softer moments came through The Embrace, where two women sat on a low stool, their bodies turned toward one another in a gentle, wordless connection. One wore a sweeping red dress that pooled around her like water, while the other leaned into her shoulder, eyes closed.

The background was scattered with yellow flowers painted like warm bursts of light. It felt like safety. Like the kind of closeness that didn’t ask for attention but carried everything.
On a nearby wall, a dark-skinned woman knelt gracefully among sunflowers.

Her hair was an unapologetically voluminous afro, her swimsuit a bold yellow that mirrored the joy surrounding her. The colours were bright, the lines soft, and the energy confident. There was nothing hidden in this painting—it was loud in its joy, proud in its celebration of softness, strength, and visibility.

Then came a painting of a silhouetted woman standing in profile, her body glowing in earthy reds while she held a round orb in her palm. The background was brushed in muted greys, textured to resemble movement or maybe thought. She seemed to be studying the sphere, though her face remained hidden.

The painting left you wondering if she was admiring it, protecting it, or letting it go. It felt personal and spiritual, like a conversation with something sacred.

On the far end, a bold abstract nude burst from the canvas in sweeping strokes of purple, red, and orange. There were no sharp lines, no defined facial features, just a body twisting into itself.

The torso was all curves and energy, full of movement and heat. It didn’t try to be precise. It just existed, vibrating with emotion. There was something fearless about the way the colours clashed and melted. It felt like passion in its rawest form.

Adding a dose of mischief was a portrait of a woman with her tongue sticking out, her eyes softly closed in half-laughter. Her face was painted in a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, reds, and yellows, like a celebration of everything unfiltered.

She looked unbothered, full of personality, and completely uninterested in anyone’s expectations. In a room full of paintings that asked you to feel deeply, this one gave you permission to just smile.

Hanging in a quieter corner was a charcoal sketch of a woman lying curled on her side, her figure delicately shaded with soft shadows and subtle definition. The lack of colour made the work feel even more intimate, as if she were caught in a moment of sleep or surrender. There was no drama in the pose, no tension in the lines, just stillness.

It was the kind of piece that didn’t ask for attention but held you there anyway.
And then there was the sketch of a woman turned away from the viewer, her body outlined in loose black strokes and shaded with grey. The only colour in the piece came from the red band tied around her arm, a small detail that somehow carried the most weight. It could have been a symbol of pain, resistance, or history—whatever it meant, it meant something. Her posture was soft but guarded, like she had more to say but wouldn’t say it out loud.

Balikis Badru doesn’t simply paint figures. She paints presence. Through form, shadow, and deliberate absence, she creates emotional portraits that don’t just ask to be seen—they ask to be felt. Her work holds space for the things we carry quietly. In this private showing, she didn’t need a crowd or noise to make her mark. She let the art speak on its own terms, and in return, it gave the audience something rare: a moment of stillness where you could finally hear yourself think.