At the top of a flight of stairs at Alara in Lagos, are carefully arranged photographs lined in white and dark walls. In them, a father holds his son’s arm, as a mother does her young daughter’s. A preacher speaks with his brother. A woman shops in a mall. An Eyo masquerade stands between two women. A group of children plays. The subjects are all dressed in white garments, a visual marker that identifies them as members of different religious communities that emerged from the Aladura movement.
But collectively, they form What Comes to Mind When You See the Garment?, Stephen Tayo’s new exhibition, on show now until September 20th.
Since 2022, the Nigerian photographer has been developing this ongoing documentary project across five cities across Nigeria, Benin Republic and the U.S and adds to the conversation of the migrational story of the Aludara movement– 'a strand of pentecostal Christianity that emerged among the Yoruba communities in the 1910s and 1920s'
Meaning 'people of prayer', Aladura churches are distinguished by fervent prayer, prophecy, healing, fasting and visions, weaving Christian doctrine with Yoruba modes of worship and expression. That synthesis has also made the movement a subject of suspicion and misunderstanding. For decades, Nigerian popular culture, particularly Nollywood, has repeatedly used white-garment churches as visual shorthand for supernatural narratives. The garment has consequently accumulated associations with spiritual danger, possession, dubious prophecy and ritual, even when the people wearing it are simply moving through their ordinary religious lives.
In this exhibition, Tayo combines sound, film, photography while also experimenting on other elements like printing on textiles and metal. Some of the works are presented in light boxes inspired by churches' offering boxes and other design elements found within the church. There are also dreamlike textures that evoke intimacy such as the soft blur of a sister finding solace in another’s arms.
Tayo is not simply capturing his subjects as a photographer. As a philosophy graduate of the University of Lagos, he is also asking viewers to interrogate the ideas the media has weaponised to shape biases around the Aladura movement.
Wallpaper*: How did the idea for this project come to you?
Stephen Tayo: I wanted to use the work to find a balance with things I've always thought about, especially ideas that have stayed with me over the years. A lot of them are conditioned knowledge, or inherited knowledge, from growing up with my mother. Sometimes she would tell me not to do something, but there wouldn't really be an explanation. It was almost an avoidance of the conversation itself.
I've always been very curious and very critical about so many things, and I felt there was an opportunity for me to develop my own perspective, to arrive at my own expression of the world. I wanted to ask myself: what are the things I'm actually thinking about? How do I look at something and make sense of it on my own terms?
When I started thinking about the series, I kept coming back to one question: What comes to mind when you see the garment? At some point I realised that's the title. It came quite naturally. I had been exploring different ideas, but that question stayed with me. I was deeply curious. I also wanted to decongest everything I had heard about the white garment churches, the Aladura movement. I'd absorbed so much information over the years, and I wanted to spend time with it, to develop my own understanding from a visual perspective.
W*: Why did you decide to shoot the project in black and white? Was that a very intentional decision?
ST: It was, but it also happened quite organically. I shoot film as well, and when I began working on the project I was using a 35mm camera. At the time I was living in Olowogbowo on Lagos Island, and I happened to start photographing the series on black-and-white film. When I developed the negatives and saw the images, I thought, “This is really nice.” There was something about them that immediately felt right. Even when I continued the project on my Fujifilm digital camera, I carried that same visual language across. I based the digital setup on the look and feel of those first developed film photographs.
Once I saw those initial tests, it just made sense. It looked right, and it felt like the perfect decision. In the end, shooting the series in black and white became a very effortless choice.
W*: Were you trying to challenge people's assumptions through this exhibition? When we see the white garment, do we immediately think of spirituality, or controversy? Popular culture and film have often portrayed the white garment church through a particular, sometimes even demonic, lens. Were you trying to make people reconsider those associations?
ST: Very much so. My approach was quite epistemological. I wanted us to investigate our own knowledge again, to take a second look at something that we've inherited a particular understanding of. So much of what we know has been transferred to us. I wanted people to pause, to think, and then think again. I wanted the work to create a space where we could question our own beliefs and assumptions.
When you think about religion in Nigeria today, there's also been a shift. Social media has changed how churches present themselves. Years ago, depending on the church you belonged to, appearing on television or online was often frowned upon. Today, many churches actively use social media as a tool for communication and outreach. That shift interested me, but I also wanted to broaden the conversation beyond religion itself. I wanted to think about our belief systems, our thought processes, and what happens when our eyes come into contact with something that is deeply Nigerian. The white garment is one of the strongest visual identifiers of Nigerian Christianity. It's become part of our cultural identity, not just within Nigeria but across the diaspora. You see white garment churches in London, New York, Atlanta and elsewhere. If someone sees a white garment in Peckham, for example, there's an immediate recognition; "That's Nigerian." That cultural association fascinated me, and I wanted the work to explore that.
W*: Many of the photographs don't show people's faces directly. Why so?
ST: There are actually different kinds of images in the series. Some are frontal portraits, some are taken from the side, but the majority are made from an observational perspective. They're not staged. This body of work requires observation. It requires me to spend time looking, watching and responding to moments as they unfold. I wanted viewers to feel that sense of observation, to feel as though they were witnessing something rather than simply looking at a portrait. Some of the photographs were made with people looking directly into the camera, but many of the works selected for this exhibition were intentionally chosen because they maintain that observational point of view.
W*: Why did it take so long to release the project?
ST: It was actually shown at the International Center of Photography in New York in 2024. Personally, I love my process. I like taking my time to develop a body of work because it becomes part of you. You want to make sure you've really thought through every aspect of it, not just making the photographs, but also how the work is produced, how it's exhibited and how it exists in the world. There are different phases to every project. I don't think I consciously decided to delay showing it. I think it was more that the longer I spent with the project, the more I learned from it. When you're working on personal projects, you're also balancing commissioned work, so sometimes you have to pause, take on other assignments, and then come back to it. That's really what was happening.
W*: What was the reaction of the people you photographed?
ST: It was very welcoming. Whenever I visited a church or a community, I introduced myself and explained that I was working on a project. These days, people usually ask to see your portfolio, which often just means your Instagram. They'd look at my work and say, "Oh, nice. Congratulations. Let us know if you need anything." That openness gave me confidence to continue working from my own point of view. Of course, when I'm photographing on the street, I don't necessarily announce myself. But when I enter churches or more intimate spaces, I always introduce myself first. After that, I take a step back because the work depends on observation. I walk around, spend time in the space, and wait until I encounter something that speaks to me.
The process has been incredibly rewarding because I've learned so much, not only about photography but also about myself. I've discovered different ways of using my camera and different ways of producing work. The more you practise, the more you understand how you want to work within different conversations. For me, that's what keeps me in love with photography. I enjoy learning while I'm making the work, and that openness has shaped the way I think.
There are so many layers to working on a long-term project. Sometimes you make a few images and think you'll return the following month, but then you're busy with commercial assignments and you have to wait. That teaches you commitment. It teaches patience. It reminds you that meaningful work takes time. That's why I describe it as an ongoing project. In a year, two years or even five years, it may become something else entirely. Leaving it open allows me to keep discovering new approaches.
W*: Did the project challenge your own assumptions about religion and spirituality in Nigeria?
ST: Absolutely. First of all, I'm a Christian, and like anyone else, I carry my own assumptions. None of us approaches these subjects without preconceived ideas. When I decided to make this project, I deliberately trained myself to be more open. I saw it as a learning process. My interest was primarily in the physicality of the church rather than its spirituality, even though the visual expression inevitably carries spiritual meaning. Once you spend time there, you begin to see other things. You notice a sense of purity, love and community that isn't always obvious from the outside.
Because my focus was on what we can actually see, I had to approach the work as a student. I wanted to learn first and then develop my own understanding of these spaces and the conversations surrounding them.
‘What Comes to Mind When You See the Garment?’ is on view until 20 September 2026, at Alara, Lagos