(via etaoin-shrdlu)

I’m emotional I hug the block. #brooklyn

(via babyboygreen)

Lauryn Hill, Interlude #5, Unplugged

artismyhustle:

Diego Rivera Nude with Calla Lilies

cooperlane:

Launch of Designers Corner Maureen Saturne repurposed apparel on the lane www.cooperlanevintage.com!! Check it out!!

I love this piece we have and it’s 30% off today! www.cooperlanevintage.com

(via queennubian)

<3

kneehighsandlove:

Workkkkkk, flow. #KRT (Taken with instagram)

cooperlane:

FLV$H FRIDVY CODE: FLASHFRIDAYFEB2

30% off all items in the store except for Designers Corner !

www.cooperlanevintage.gmail.com

Posted by my father on Facebook. This is why I am who I am.

What does it mean that we have black history month? What would it mean if Black History Month were no more? Would black history itself disappear or would it pave the way for a fervent new mission to ensure the inclusion of black history in education and society in all months?

 On Thursday February 16, at Kumble Theatre for Performing Arts at LIU, The YWCA of Brooklyn and LIU Brooklyn will present the Brooklyn premiere of the film “More Than a Month”, a film by Shukree Tilghman that addresses these poignant questions. The free screening is being held in association with WNET and ITVS and will also feature a discussion with the filmmaker.

<3

techherlogic:

Popular opinion would suggest…

the expanse of my nose is too broad, my eyes too wide, and my lips too full.

I’ve somewhat dealt with physical insecurities along the lines of these notions most my life.

An example?

I prefer to not take my photo head-on because I think my nose is unflatteringly flat.

There’s Mambu’s opinion…

He thinks my nose is BOMB. Of course I feel undeniably beautiful when he looks at me, nose issues and all, I even enjoy the occasional affectionate kiss he places on it (tmi? Lol)

There’s Mambu’s photographs of me…

It’s tough to put in words how my view of self has changed. When I look at the photos I feel perfect. I feel gorgeous. I feel like me. I even heart my nose ya’ll! To say what is culturally represented as a standard of beauty doesn’t affect your view of self would make you of a marginal group in America.  As black woman, our representation is significantly insignificant in that tiny ass box; and too often, we see women of color revered in their likeness to whites. What I’m trying to say is, as lost or vaguely represented as we are in mass media there are people who appreciate our beauty. People who believe “your you” is worth taking the time to capture and marvel at, just as much as another’s. I often tag along with Mambu to shoots or random city errands where we meet many of his beautiful faces. Every woman immediately reveals a confidence of self as their beauty exudes and oozes everywhere in the magnificence of his photographs.

That’s what I’m fond of most in Mambu’s work. How effortlessly he reveals what often is ignored by popular opinion. How enigmatic the combination of a confident black woman is paired with an artist who appreciates and takes pride in their beauty.

I’ve been asked if I ever get jealous. Ahhh sometimes, (I’ve grown lol) but I support him to the fullest. All in all I feel lucky to have a man who appreciates every inch of me, and reminds me with nose kisses and the occasional “let me take your photo” amongst other things.

I guess this is an open thank-you to Mambu,

I Love you,

Your biggest fan

:)

Last night I attended a screening of Nelson George’s documentary Brooklyn Boheme. I thoroughly enjoyed the documentary but as I listened to audience members comment, question, and speak about the change that gentrification and corporations have brought to Ft.Green I felt a widespread sentiment of love lost. As if Barclays Arena and structures similar in ideology had robbed the area of what made it special during the 80s and 90s. Disappointment seemed to engulf the atmosphere as people expressed concern that this neighborhood was not spawning the crop of young African American dreamers and doers that it once did. 

 “I found myself in NY”, those are the words that opened my graduate school admissions essay. I further them with, Brooklyn found me, nursed me and provided me a surrogate home amidst this city that gobbles up and destroys so many hopefuls. I remember the first time I visited Ft.Green/ Clinton Hill in 2009. I told myself I was going to move there, because for once in my life this military brat that developed into an adult with gypsy tendencies that terrorized my parents , felt at home. During the screening I found myself smiling as things and places familiar to me appeared on the screen. Brooklyn Moon has become my lunchtime favorite not because Erykah Badu, Mos Def,and Saul Williams hung out there, but because of their $5 lunch special (I love theSalmon burger and Apple Salad option). The closest I had been to Nelson before tonight was reading his book”Hip Hop America”. The closest I had been to Spike before tonight was coincidentally walking up on his car on a downtown Brooklyn side street right outside of my job, where I was reduced to a girlish wave and a sound escaped me that I dare not recreate. Yet I felt them and where they were coming from in the film, I shared similar oilla moments.

I want to expand upon Mr. Nelson mentioning Bed-Stuy as a strong contender to carry on the Brooklyn Black Renaissance torch and I can say confidently that I believe this is so. I am surrounded by prolific, creative, game changing individuals on a regular basis. The type of individuals that after you spend a few hours with them, it leaves you feeling like your undergraduate and graduate educations combined, in addition to your prominent non-profit job just aren’t cutting it. My generation includes photographers like Kweisi Abinsetts, musicians like Jesse Boykins III, film directors like Terrance Nance, jewelry designers like Nyne Lyves, writers like Demetria Lucas, activist like Ngozi Odita — a really impressive crop of young people whose bodies of work are sure to stand time, let alone garner them notoriety that graces introductions of Mr. George and Mr. Lee. It’s still alive, that spirit still dwells down Fulton street, in and out of brownstones, and carries seeds that blossom in the hearts of those visiting or consider Bed-Stuy, Clinton Hill, or Ft. Green home.

It’s a pet peeve of mine when people claim something isn’t there, when the truth is they are just ignorant to its existence. for example, that whole hip hop is dead argument, when there’s artist like Kendrick Lamar, Stalley, Bryant Dope, ASAP Rocky and creating and continuously adding to our beloved art form. Different? Yes. Dead? No. This is not directed at Mr. George, but more so the older women in the audience who boastfully acted as if the 80’s were the end all be all of Brooklyn Black excellence. Let us not forget that time and death have a way of immortalizing people. It is rare that people praise artist for what they are and do during their prime, it is often past the prime that we recognize the genius they were. Sure maybe this Brooklyn Black Awakening isn’t as noticeable or in your face as a theirs was. And was theirs? But never the less,  it is here and just as promising. I promise.