Four years of Beyoncé’s lemonade
Beyonce’s “Lemonade” was never just about infidelity, but was always about the intergenerational nuances of Black women’s grief and healing from the strained relationships with the men in our lives, whether they be lovers, fathers, or the state.
Beyonce is partial to the number 4, so it seemed appropriate to apply some words on the 4th Anniversary of a legendary piece of work.
"Grandmother, the alchemist, you spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kit. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter, who then passed it down to her daughter."
It's been four years since Beyoncé Knowles-Carter premiered her sixth studio album, Lemonade. Her most vulnerable project yet, the album was born during joint recording sessions with her husband, Jay-Z, who said their recording sessions served as a form of therapy for the two. Tabloid rumors had plagued the couple since before they married, but an elevator incident—yes, that one—led to critics describing the project as a demonstration of how Beyoncé discovered, dealt with, and healed from her husband's infidelity.
Unfortunate, considering that Lemonade was never just about infidelity. Lemonade was always about the intergenerational nuances of Black women's grief and healing. Of working through and healing from the trauma of strained relationships with the men in our lives, whether they be lovers, fathers, or the state.
Beyoncé and her dream team of collaborators crafted narratives about Black women's resistance to patriarchy, trauma, racism, and systems that seem to socialize Black men and women to not be together, with women carrying the brunt of that burden. The result was a multi-genre and multi-platinum visual album that cuts across space and time to tell the stories of Black women and the beauty that could happen if we passed healing down like we pass down recipes. Or, like we unwittingly pass down our trauma.
Because Queen Bey has a certain partiality to the number four, I am celebrating the fourth anniversary of the project by revisiting some of the project's highlights and aspects that still move me today.
A full range of emotions on display without judgment
Women are rarely allowed to show intense emotions in peace. The ridicule that usually follows is doubled for Black women. We are pushed to appear confident despite how unsure we feel, happy in place of the pain life sometimes throws our way, and demure, leaving little room to bring our full selves to the table. Lemonade rebels against these notions, opening with Beyoncé stripped down in ways we don't typically see her, a woman broken in spirit, wrestling with her suspicions and realization that her attempts to make a home out of someone else had failed. Throughout the film, we see her navigating a myriad of feelings, the displays of which give Black women space to examine and explore them in ourselves.
Lemonade shares the grief of a woman grappling with being seen by everyone except the person they need to be seen by the most. We see it in the almost manic euphoria Beyoncé portrays as she channels the yellow, watery imagery of the goddess Oshun finding catharsis in the destruction around her in "Hold Up" and again in the angry and defiant energy that burns itself into apathy in "Don't Hurt Yourself." Each song peels back the layers to reveal the depths of pain, frustration, and sorrow. And then, as she walks us through each chapter, we begin to see peace, healing, and tenderness.
The project also calls attention to the different ways we experience love—sometimes at full force and sometimes hanging by a thread — romantic, familial, communal, and platonic love. Broken and mending and healing love. Defiant love. And in "All Night," we see love restored alongside a celebration of life, Black joy, and the journey to a vibrant Black future that prioritizes both.
Striking visuals
Most of the film is shot in muted tones, alternating between rich and stripped-down visuals, shifting as the project takes us through feelings and discovery.
Southern Black cultural moments serve as the backdrop of the stories, and the juxtaposition of Black country glamour with the draw and lifestyle of the big city feels familiar to those of us lucky enough to experience the traditions. Dance teams march down southern streets. Black people ride horses to patron corner and beauty supply stores. Black people experiencing life on porches and in churches and at funerals in the style of New Orleans' second lines. Cowboy hats on heads, grills in mouths. Natural hair in plaits, braids, coils, blowouts, and presses adorns the crowns of a spectrum of skin tones.
During these moments, images of love and pain often show burdened Black women trying to figure things out in the best ways they can. Other moments illustrate scenes and touches of the antebellum south from an alternate universe, where Black women in ornate dresses of lace and tulle lie in repose in plantation sitting rooms, and gilded picture frames house their photographed forms, for once. Women living in community — living and breathing for themselves. It's a play on something we don't usually see — images of a glorious antebellum South, but with Black women praised. Black women in living and breathing for themselves.
And after a film of mostly blacks, whites, greys, and muted hues, we finally see bright colors.
Because isn't this what healing feels like? Like color being restored?
Difficult but necessary commentary
Lemonade takes viewers and listeners on an intense sensory experience through the narratives of Black women past and present, who took the hardness life gave them and worked to create lives and experiences of value. Interwoven with poetry by Somali-UK poet Warsan Shire, the commentary often feels like a punch to the solar plexus.
Shire and Beyoncé shine a light on the coping mechanisms we think no one else notices. The ease of masking grief with sex when you're struggling with emptiness. The way sexual encounters are intensified by the same grief people use sex to avoid. But masks can only hide so much for so long. Their ability to hide even our secret grief is fleeting even when it looks like we're running the world.
Questions like, "Did he convince you he was a god?" and "Why do you deny yourself heaven?" ask us why we so often settle for less. They beg us to wonder why Black women settle for being loved halfway by men, and why men seem to reject love from the women in their lives.
At one point, we hear the stories of women whose husbands don't reciprocate their love and can't tell if they are talking about their husbands or fathers. These stories echo the dichotomy of "broken male-female relationships, abuse of power, and mistrust," as Beyoncé wrote in a letter to Vogue in 2018.
Healing
More than just a statement on picking up the pieces after romantic disappointment, Lemonade holds space for women who lost both people and time and found themselves having to bury both feelings and children. "Forward" pays homage to the mothers of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, and Eric Garner and shows them holding pictures of their sons, victims of state violence fueled by racism. It bears witness to the power of women, young and old, being in community and healing together. Healing is a journey of constantly living and loving ourselves back to life, and we don't have to do it alone.
As the chapter on resurrection ends, a Mardi Gras Indian passes through as if she is cleansing the energy, making room for hope. We need more of that. It's the hope that makes freedom possible.
Vulnerability
We see love playing out in the film, not always as it should be but as it often is. Romantic, familial, communal, and platonic love. Self-Love. Broken and mending and healing love. Defiant love. Love for people and love for art. Vulnerability shines through across the spectrum, beginning at the moment Beyoncé presses a lonely ear against the wall of a man's world in "Pray You Catch Me."
One of my favorite songs on the project, "Love Draught," pays homage to the Igbo Rebellion and provides some of the film's most striking visuals. But it also provides space for another woman to tell her story, this time of a woman's strained relationship with the music industry. Penned by Parkwood Entertainment's Ingrid Burley in response to Ingrid's frustration with the label, it tells the story of a woman describing the things she and a partner could be if the partner just cooperated with the love and energy she willingly offers. A woman who isn't perfect, but damn if she isn't trying.
And then we have "Sandcastles." A tender, raw, mammoth of a song, co-written by Vincent Berry. It serves as the album's climax, revealing a woman who has done the work and taken steps to return to herself. There's possibility here. And whether it leads to reconciliation or maintained separation, peace exists either way. Beyoncé croons, "I know I promised that I couldn't stay, but every promise don't work out that way."
Because sometimes, when it's worth it, we might look up and thank God for the promises we didn't keep, for the vows we had to break, and the grace God gave us in the during and in the after.
In choosing forgiveness and reconciliation, Beyoncé establishes that for the relationship to work, both parties must be transparent. They have to lay all their pain and cards on the table (spades with the cards up — all trust — if you will). Transparency is an uncomfortable prerequisite to a healthy, renewed relationship, and the visual representation is of the most moving points of the film.
That Big Talk
And then, in "Formation," we see Beyoncé back as we were used to seeing her. Reminding us of what we already know: That she does what she wants and what we want, too. Sometimes it's defiantly exhibiting Black joy and determination in the face of oppression. Other times it's showing us what might happen in a world that loved us, a world where oppressors surrender in the face of Black joy.
In a world where you can't be what you can't see, Lemonade, as an album and as a film, provides options and outlets for Black women to see ourselves healing, healed, and loved. It reaches back to the wisdom of the women before us to break generational curses and habits, to prevent another generation of strained and toxic relationships. It implores us to be as intentional with our healing as we are about passing down the methods and traditions that have kept us satiated generation after generation. Because this ethic of care is born of love. And love, like our grandmothers’ recipes, is sustenance.
"Grandmother, the alchemist, you spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kit. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter who then passed it down to her daughter."
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Though reconciliation made for a beautiful story in this case, there may be some circumstances where that may lead to the worst possible outcome. Since the COVID-19 pandemic has taken root in our daily lives, there has been an uptick in domestic violence cases. Below are resources for you or anyone you know that may find them helpful:
Resources for victims of domestic violence
National Domestic Violence Hotline Call 1-800-799-7233 or text LOVEIS to 22522
Available 24/7. Can connect callers with local resources and immediate support. Also available through an online chat tool.
National Sexual Assault Hotline 1-800-656-4673
Provided by RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). Available 24/7. Also available through an online chat tool.
Crisis Text Line Text HOME to 741741
Available 24/7 for victims of abuse and any other type of crisis.
Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-422-4453
Available 24/7 in 170 different languages.
Office on Women's Health Helpline 1-800-994-9662 Resources for victims of domestic violence
National Domestic Violence Hotline Call 1-800-799-7233 or text LOVEIS to 22522
Available 24/7. Can connect callers with local resources and immediate support. Also available through an online chat tool.
National Sexual Assault Hotline 1-800-656-4673
Provided by RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). Available 24/7. Also available through an online chat tool.
Crisis Text Line Text HOME to 741741
Available 24/7 for victims of abuse and any other type of crisis.
Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-422-4453 (Available 24/7 in 170 different languages.)
Office on Women's Health Helpline 1-800-994-9662
*Originally posted on GoodCulture.Life