the art of incompletion

So you don’t love Blond(e)? As a seasoned Frank Ocean fan, I get it. The sound is different, some of the vocals are clumsy, and every track doesn’t take you to “that place.” What we’re hearing is four years (or a lifetime) of work whittled down into a 17-track album, conveniently consumed in about an hour.

But as I’ve listened to Blond(e) again and again these past few days, it has taken me places. Taken me deeper into my thoughts, my purpose, to that old fling, to shit friendships, and feelings I can’t even tangibly describe. I can feel the detailed work that went into the Solo organ chords and the sampling on songs like Close to You and Seigfried. I will admit though, I still carried the initial disappointment from those first listens.

Blond(e) is not a happy album — maybe melancholy, or joyful, but certainly not by-the-book happiness. Some people expected that after a four-year absence from Father Frank. Instead, he dropped us into dark and twisted emotions he has felt and continues to feel. Put plainly, Blond(e) feels somewhat incomplete. And we’ve incubated a society not okay with incompletion.

Think about it. Everything we consume nowadays often comes packaged and presented perfectly. Wrapped with a sweet bow. Maybe with a tinge of imperfection, but that’s something we’re willing to forgive. And as creatives, once we’re put into the box of what we are, there’s no more “what we will be.” And so, as we create, we find ourselves moving between these two spaces. What has been and what will be.

I’ve so strongly felt this pressure over the past year. As a newcomer in the industry, I didn’t really have to battle with perceptions of what was. I laid all my previous work to rest in academia and decided to try something out of bounds by directing my first feature-length film. Other, possibly more logical options, didn’t cross my mind. I had to do something big or be forever cast into the darkness as lost and aimless (yeah, I know, dramatic). Thrust into this world that expects productivity and deliverables, however, I soon realized I was in over my head.

You don’t wake up every morning ready to create. You just don’t. Quite often, you have days, weeks, months without progress. You lose your connection with the world while trying to create something for it. It can be absolutely debilitating.

Even with deadlines and oversight, things still might not feel quite right. You see, when it comes to creatives, our productivity cannot exist at the same pace as the world around us. For some, routines and timelines kill the ability to create in the first place. Lack of productivity doesn’t always equate to laziness or disinterest. It often equates to time, space, and relationship. Couple that with being a black woman, and feeling the pressure to always create art on the offensive because there is so little out there for us. We’re pressured to create strong, multidimensional work in a society that does not see us as strong or multidimensional.

I’ve come to learn that being an artist means forgiving yourself time and time again. We carry the self-inflicted burden of portraying what’s within the world, not realizing that it also affects what’s within us. Everything we do, from side hustles to exercising to wiping our asses, affects us. Sometimes they distract us. But at the end of the day, all of it weighs into the creative decisions we make.

So yes, 9 times out of 10, our work is incomplete. There are hundreds of possible iterations, arrangements, and improvements. For me, when I release that “thing” out into the world, that version feels closest to who I am in the moment. Not who I’ll be in 5 minutes, 5 months, or 5 years. Who I am in the here and now.

When I listen to Blond(e), I would like to think the same of Frank. He’s not the artist he was four years ago. He wants you to see him in the here and now. An incomplete work may be the thing that helps another person heal, change, or create. It cycles from one person to the next, hopefully taking each to a higher place than before.

Artistry is incompletion. There will always be something that can take things to the next level. All I desire, however, is to be seen and heard for who I am right now. This is not a proclamation to allow lazy or half-assed work. It is to simply say that incompletion is okay, because we ourselves are infinitely incomplete.