I am deeply inspired and devastated at the same time. The work of young legends, masters of their craft electrifies my spirit. People who take great care in expressing their feelings and opinions on the parts of life that are sacred and in need of reclamation and protection. My entire body tingles and I am constantly grateful for the art they share with us all. Specifically, Beyoncé and Ryan Coogler.
The combination of Cowboy Carter (2024) and the Cowboy Carter Tour with Sinners (2025) is an embarrassment of riches for me. They’re in conversation with each other. What is freedom, ownership? Who and where is home? Which art expressions belong to us despite attempts to extract us from the roots? How are we connected to the spirit our ancestors brought with them? Experiencing the tour and film back-to-back, along with the album, score, and soundtrack sends my heart and mind soaring. They are gorgeous works of art with more and more to say upon each viewing and spin.
The technical work of both: multiple film cameras, musical layers, the application of scholarship, intertwining genres and decades of Black expression. Masterful offerings. I want to live in these works. Educate me on every building block and intention. Every reference, every book, every poem, every artist, every bulb in the screen, every perf on the film roll, every format.
I’m excited, I want to understand what Mrs. Knowles-Carter and Mr. Coogler each are telling us and drawing our attention too. I’m happy to learn new bits of information and wonder how I missed it! These are rich works that require curiosity to ingest them fully. They come from historians who grew up loving and valuing Black people, Black history, and Black culture. The value is inherent and doesn’t need to present proof or ask permission.
Their work makes me extremely proud, it’s tender and loving toward Black American life. The layers, the intricacies, the idiosyncrasies, the contradictions, the fullness of the human experience. We are complex, never one note, always dynamic. Every time they share their work with the world, I want to understand the totality. I’m inspirited to write, to dance, to create anew. That’s when the devastation sets in.
I know that comparison is the thief of joy, but what can I pull out of myself to share with others? Do I have a compelling story for any medium? Can I be a part of bringing a larger vision to life? Genius shouldn’t throw me into despair, my feelings of inadequacy are for me to deal with. Why didn’t I recognize my creative loves earlier? Why did my belief in myself take such a hit that I turned away from exploration?
How did I not realize that my ability to write well was because I enjoy it? Why didn’t I take dance classes or try out for dance teams? Why not enroll in more fine arts classes and figure out a style of painting that works for me? Why can’t I seem to be okay with the not-so-great-first-attempts when I try to sketch again? My inner critique is rough. Also, I don’t enjoy everything being a joke. I love to laugh but I’m sensitive about my shit. A few too many cracks in the past for my liking. It isn’t malicious but still gives me pause.
I’ve let myself down a bit, that causes the turn from inspiration to despair. I want to fix it and change my direction. I need to do it swiftly before I bring on the demise of my financial security. I’m worried I’ll miss the most useful path and waste more time. The only way to find out is to try, venture down one path and retrace my steps if needed. Also, ask for help, which I am horrendous at. I don’t want to be a bother or annoyance, so I do things myself. I can’t swing this one on my own though. Everything I want is on the other side of familiar. Proceed boldly Bri, what’s calling will not fail you.
I don’t know if I’ll shake up the world, not my goal but could be cool. Everyone I admire and find fascinating has done so. Even if I don’t, I will find the place where I can preserve myself and direct my energy to make words or art I’m proud of. I won’t despair or exhaust myself trying to keep a tiny lid on ever expanding exasperation. I will lay in the floor and scream to break myself out of the despair, if needed. I can change my life at any time, and I prefer a shout to a scream six months or a year from now.
A Lament for My Current State of Mind
