How I turn joy into art | Yinka Ilori

**Elise Hu** (0:04)
You're listening to TED Talks Daily, where we bring you new ideas to spark your curiosity every day. I'm your host, Elise Hume.
Think back to a moment of real joy from when you were a kid. Not a big milestone, something smaller. It could be as simple as a song you remember playing in the kitchen, a memory of a crowded room full of people you loved. I remember staying out until dark, playing ghost in the graveyard with the neighbor kids in the summertime.
Now here's a question. Where did that joy come from? Did you make it yourself or was it handed to you, passed down by the people who raised you?

**Yinka Ilori** (0:39)
Visual storytelling is how we unlock stories we already carry. This is what I do in my work. I don't invent stories.
I uncover them.

**Elise Hu** (0:47)
That's the artist and designer Yinka Ilori. He grew up in London, the son of Nigerian parents, and he's built his career turning memory, community, and heritage into art. His work is bold, exuberant, colorful, and hard to look at without feeling some sense of joy.
In his talk, he traces where his own joy came from and makes the case that joy isn't something that shows up out of nowhere or something you achieve on your own. It's inherited, planted in us by our families, our communities, sometimes even by our younger selves.

**Yinka Ilori** (1:23)
This is why I think joy is transgenerational. We can inherit it from what it was before or what surrounds us.

**Elise Hu** (1:31)
It's an idea that flips the script on how we usually think about it. Not as something to chase, but something to notice and then pass on. And one note, while Yinka's words stand beautifully on their own, his art really comes alive in color. If you're able to, check out the video as well over at ted.com. That's coming up right after a short break.
And now, our TED Talk of the day.

**Yinka Ilori** (2:01)
My name is Yinka Ilori, an artist, designer, a storyteller, a dreamer, and a person who lost color. I believe that is my calling and mission is to bring joy to the world. We live in a time when we are always asking the same question. Who am I, and what brings me joy? Looking back now, I realize this question has followed me my whole life. While joy was always present in my life and always around me, I just didn't have the language for it. But what I did have was a world rich of color, symbols, dreams and affirmation. I grew up in London in the 27th Ashby House on a council estate. I was raised by Nigerian parents who moved to London in the 1980s.
My mother, from Ondo State, coined the Sunshine State. It's known for its majestic rock landscapes and warm weather. The people there are warm, grounded and strong. My father, from Ekiti State in southwest Nigeria, a place known for its nature and famous for its warm and cold springs, a place called Nkongosi, and known as the Fountain of Knowledge, because of its reputation for academic excellence and intellectual achievement. Even before I'd been to these places, I could picture myself growing up there, being raised there. But I was born and raised in London. I felt a strong sense of connection and a strong sense of belonging to a place I'd called home.
In the UK, my beloved mother did many things. She bought and sold Swiss foil lace. She catered for weddings and birthdays. She was an architect of joy, an architect of bringing people and things together. In our glass cabinet at home, she would collect objects of memories she treasured in her show glass. My dad worked in retail. Everyone called him Uncle Paul. He was everyone's uncle, dad, brother, mentor and therapist. He brought so much joy to the work place.
At one point, my parents also owned a corner shop in London. It was insane. We had all the kids after school, people in the estate, the neighbors, passers-by would come to the corner shop. This place became a gathering point for the whole community.
On Sundays, my mom and dad would host church services. They would lead lectures and sermons. The words of worship and affirmation, singing and moving, have manifested in my memory.
My parents loved house parties, live music, plates of jollof rice weaving in our small counter flat, different languages, different journeys, all in one room.
My parents brought all these rituals of community and faith and pleasure with them, from Nigeria to the UK.
As a child, I didn't realize I was experiencing a daily baptism of joy, a joy that had been passed on from generation to generation without even knowing it. Every ritual, every gathering, every exchange carried a deeply symbolic meaning. All these were seeds of joy.