New Negro - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

areuserialoo:

blackartchicago:

To add to/contextualize the whole Pharrell conversation.

Dude isn’t the first to advocate a break from traditional blackness in order to achieve a kind of efficacy/freedom of act, movement, and definition, if that’s what he’s doing.

It’s also possible he might just be absolving himself of responsibility for representation.

~Will.i.am. also stated how he was gonna be the “upgraded new negro”, “future” and “the whole”

Word. This new black urge isn’t new. And there is something worth engaging with in it, because to be a (New World) black person is to always be in some ways tied up in the struggle between chaotic history and the urge to develop beyond it.

And sorry for the Wikipedia link. I just wanted to provide a quick internet accessible reference that wasn’t too academic. It would be much more useful to have linked to Locke’s collection, which the wiki article does there.

lostinurbanism:

"Russell Lee, Negro boys on Easter morning in the southside, Chicago (1941)"
Fascinated with this photograph, no matter how often I’ve come across it in my lifetime, it always takes me back to this Deborah Willis interview where she discusses the beauty in African-American imagery and the importance of documenting. Inspired by Deb Willis, the Lost in Urbanism blog is my personal attempt to highlight the same beauty through imagery of the black and brown. 
Also, as the creator of Sunday Kinfolk, a platform used for storytelling, I’ve recently referenced a call for submissions to create a collective story for anyone who would like to submit their documentary, portrait and street photography from this upcoming Easter weekend. I’ll use the photographs to create and curate a collective story about our style, personal stories and traditions as a way to show just how interconnected we are as a culture, no matter where we’re located. Even if, this is not a holiday that you celebrate.
Answers to a couple of the common questions I’ve received: 
1. Do I have to be a professional or an aspiring photographer? Not at all. I’ve posted so many photographs from people who have just stumbled upon photography, it’s unbelievable. I just want you to document your stories, our stories, perhaps your commute .. maybe your way to the store, time with family, before/after service, hair salon, barbershop.. wherever, just document. 
2. Film or Digital? Black and White or Color? All of the aforementioned. 
I’ll accept up to 5 submissions per contributor through May 11th. Edit as necessary and email them to sundaykinfolk [at] gmail.com .. Please also include your name, location of the photograph, subjects (as needed) and link to your tumblr and/or website.  
Looking forward to creating our collective story.

lostinurbanism:

"Russell Lee, Negro boys on Easter morning in the southside, Chicago (1941)"

Fascinated with this photograph, no matter how often I’ve come across it in my lifetime, it always takes me back to this Deborah Willis interview where she discusses the beauty in African-American imagery and the importance of documenting. Inspired by Deb Willis, the Lost in Urbanism blog is my personal attempt to highlight the same beauty through imagery of the black and brown. 

Also, as the creator of Sunday Kinfolk, a platform used for storytelling, I’ve recently referenced a call for submissions to create a collective story for anyone who would like to submit their documentary, portrait and street photography from this upcoming Easter weekend. I’ll use the photographs to create and curate a collective story about our style, personal stories and traditions as a way to show just how interconnected we are as a culture, no matter where we’re located. Even if, this is not a holiday that you celebrate.

Answers to a couple of the common questions I’ve received: 

1. Do I have to be a professional or an aspiring photographer? Not at all. I’ve posted so many photographs from people who have just stumbled upon photography, it’s unbelievable. I just want you to document your stories, our stories, perhaps your commute .. maybe your way to the store, time with family, before/after service, hair salon, barbershop.. wherever, just document. 

2. Film or Digital? Black and White or Color? All of the aforementioned. 

I’ll accept up to 5 submissions per contributor through May 11th. Edit as necessary and email them to sundaykinfolk [at] gmail.com .. Please also include your name, location of the photograph, subjects (as needed) and link to your tumblr and/or website.  

Looking forward to creating our collective story.

My 3 hour layover in Detroit. Stay motivated, dreamers.

My 3 hour layover in Detroit. Stay motivated, dreamers.

Ledisi and Poet [me] (2014)Chicagophoto by Dawgelene Sangster
Zoom Info
  • Camera
  • ISO
  • Aperture
  • Exposure
  • Focal Length
  • Canon EOS 7D
  • 400
  • f/4
  • 1/60th
  • 24mm

Ledisi and Poet [me] (2014)
Chicago
photo by Dawgelene Sangster

the-final-sentence:

the-final-sentence:

March 6 - Gabriel García Márquez
Bio:  Born on March 6, 1928, writer Gabriel García Márquez grew up listening to family tales. After college, he became a journalist. His work introduced readers to magical realism, which combines fact and fantasy. His novels Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and El amor en los tiempos del cólera (Love in the Time of Cholera) have drawn worldwide audiences. He won a Nobel Prize in 1982. [2]
Anecdotes:
The highly political Marquez has long been a friend of Cuban president Fidel Castro. [3]
He claims that he wrote the book “One Hundred Years of Solitude” barricaded in his study in Mexico, after receiving a vision. One day, while he and his wife and children were in their car driving to Acapulco, he saw that he “had to tell [his] story the way his grandmother used to tell hers, and that [he] was to start from that afternoon in which a father took his child to discover ice.” He made an abrupt U-turn on the highway, the car never made it to Acapulco, and he locked himself in his study. Fifteen months later, he emerged with the manuscript, only to meet his wife holding a stack of bills. They traded papers, and she put the manuscript in the mail to his publisher. [4]
He has a yellow rose or tulip on his writing desk each day. [5]
When he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer, he gamely declared to the world that the disease was an “enormous stroke of luck” because it finally forced him to write his memoirs. [6]
Final sentences:






‘Forever,’ he said.

from Love in the Time of Cholera (translated by Edith Grossman)











[He stumbled on the last step, but he got up at once. “He even took care to brush off the dirt that was stuck to his guts,” my Aunt Wene told me.] Then he went into his house through the back door that had been open since six and fell on his face in the kitchen.

from Chronicle of a Death Foretold











[And she, with a sad smile—which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable—said: “Yet you won’t remember anything during the day.” And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud.] “You’re the only man who doesn’t remember anything of what he’s dreamed after he wakes up.

from Eyes of a Blue Dog (short story)

Only then did she understand that three thousand years had passed since the day she had had a desire to eat the first orange.

from Eva is Inside Her Cat (short story)

Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

from One Hundred Years of Solitude





Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

RIP Gabriel García Márquez

the-final-sentence:

the-final-sentence:

March 6 - Gabriel García Márquez

Bio:  Born on March 6, 1928, writer Gabriel García Márquez grew up listening to family tales. After college, he became a journalist. His work introduced readers to magical realism, which combines fact and fantasy. His novels Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and El amor en los tiempos del cólera (Love in the Time of Cholera) have drawn worldwide audiences. He won a Nobel Prize in 1982. [2]

Anecdotes:

  • The highly political Marquez has long been a friend of Cuban president Fidel Castro. [3]
  • He claims that he wrote the book “One Hundred Years of Solitude” barricaded in his study in Mexico, after receiving a vision. One day, while he and his wife and children were in their car driving to Acapulco, he saw that he “had to tell [his] story the way his grandmother used to tell hers, and that [he] was to start from that afternoon in which a father took his child to discover ice.” He made an abrupt U-turn on the highway, the car never made it to Acapulco, and he locked himself in his study. Fifteen months later, he emerged with the manuscript, only to meet his wife holding a stack of bills. They traded papers, and she put the manuscript in the mail to his publisher. [4]
  • He has a yellow rose or tulip on his writing desk each day. [5]
  • When he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer, he gamely declared to the world that the disease was an “enormous stroke of luck” because it finally forced him to write his memoirs. [6]

Final sentences:

‘Forever,’ he said.

from Love in the Time of Cholera (translated by Edith Grossman)

[He stumbled on the last step, but he got up at once. “He even took care to brush off the dirt that was stuck to his guts,” my Aunt Wene told me.] Then he went into his house through the back door that had been open since six and fell on his face in the kitchen.

from Chronicle of a Death Foretold

[And she, with a sad smile—which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable—said: “Yet you won’t remember anything during the day.” And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud.] “You’re the only man who doesn’t remember anything of what he’s dreamed after he wakes up.

from Eyes of a Blue Dog (short story)

Only then did she understand that three thousand years had passed since the day she had had a desire to eat the first orange.

from Eva is Inside Her Cat (short story)

Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

from One Hundred Years of Solitude

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

RIP Gabriel García Márquez