via matt botsford / unsplash
There’s a palpable fear that comes from creative production. I think any writer or artist could agree with that. For me, specificity can be as much of a struggle as completion. Often, the two objectives are annoyingly interrelated. But, before I go off on a tangent, let me go ahead and skip to the ending—I failed. I am recognizing this reality while simultaneously telling myself not to absorb the implication—that I’m a failure. It is this tension that I’m choosing to untangle here. So, bear with me.
The first thing is that I didn’t make my deadline. If you remember, I’ve been aiming to rewrite a narrative script that, for a long time, has been living with me. In my last post, I shared a self-imposed deadline to revise my first draft by the end of September. Now, here we are, at the end of the month and I’m nowhere close to my intended destination.
In the weeks since making that proclamation, that already-neglected script has been further abandoned, while my oral history project, JOURNEY(S), has taken center stage. Yet, even on the days when I’ve been the most productive, I still haven’t claimed success, because I feel waylaid. I wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Having recorded the five interviews required for the HumanitiesDC grant I got earlier this year, I want to exhibit my experimental docupoem concept as an anthology. I’d like to debut the series, here in Addis Ababa, and, either virtually or live in DC. Further complicating plans is my decision to add a visual component to what was once only audio-based. I started engaging prospective collaborators—namely, Black female illustrators and graphic artists, who identify with the project. I’m asking them to contribute their own work and, potentially, make use of archival materials sourced from the Institute of Ethiopian Studies, at Addis Ababa University. These old newspaper and magazine photos, from the 1960s, 70s and 80s, highlight the decades in which my participants made their trips, from Addis to DC. Ideally, these moving images will do more than speak to the experiences of Ethiopian women, but also to the experiences of Black women across the African diaspora. (Subscribers, scroll down for a special peek at the mood board for JOURNEY(S) via an internal brief.)
It’s a mouthful, I know. And, ambitious as hell. How on earth did I think I’d finish all this, plus a feature script? At the moment, I'm in the thick of post-production on JOURNEY(S), attempting to outline storylines and edit a rough cut. But, beyond the overall themes and concept, I have no clue what the end-product will actually look and sound like. This state of uncertainty makes me weary of collaboration. (i.e. If I’m still in the process of figuring out what I’m doing, how can I invite someone else to work with me?) My lack of solidity already feels like a failure, a foregone conclusion.
This past weekend, though, I met a visual artist, who rerouted my internal criticism. We were among a small group of creatives—him, a curator, a fashion designer and me—gathered at a cocktail party, swapping details and commiserating about our respective work. The visual artist recalled once hitting a wall with a film he was trying to edit. Nothing was clicking for him. After many sleepless nights, his mind wandered back to sculpture classes he’d taken in art school. As a student, he was taught to focus on the extremities of his figures, the ligaments and joints, in particular—elbows, knees, ears, etc. Once these specific parts were finely executed, the bigger sections of the body, like the torso, were almost seamless. He realized that the same approach could apply to his film, so he began conquering the transitions. It was an aha moment, a window of insight that allowed him to see through the rest of the project.
As I try to sort myself, to recover from the fumble with my narrative script and to navigate through this undefined state with JOURNEY(S), I’m trying to identify my own joints and extremities. I know that this unformed block of clay will eventually take shape and become something whole. I just don’t know how or when precisely. In the meantime, I have to remind myself that failure is not the same as un-doneness. No matter how unsettled my current position, this is not my final destination. Only an awkward, but necessary point of transition.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Inside / Out to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.