LoveHate "Non-Seasonal" Designs... Shoes

Shoes

LoveHate "Non-Seasonal" Designs... T-Shirts

T-Shirts

LoveHate "Non-Seasonal" Designs... Sweaters

As a precursor to the release of my Summer and Fall look books, I thought I would share some of my designs with everyone.  I doubt I will use many of these designs in the future, but that said, I might... so do not jack them.  Enjoy.

Sweaters

Brilliance Recognized...

Ryan Leslie (Pictured above with R&B singer Cassie) made his own black history this month when he released his self-titled debut album, Ryan Leslie on February 10th. After years of being overlooked and underated by the general public, this enigmatic and creatvie producer is finally getting the recognition a talent like his deserves.

You can check out the album and many many videos of his creative procress on his website, http://www.ryanleslie.com/.

Peace.

Black History Month Installment #2

For my first actual post this Black History Month, I decided to post something written by a black hero for a black hero. Malcolm X's eulogy as written and read by Ossie Davis. Every time I read or hear this I am filled with a strange mixture of sadness and pride; to have known or been in the presence of Malcolm, or Ossie for that fact, must have been like knowing you would never be so privileged again in your life. Malcolm X dedicated his life to the advancement and progression of black people and eventually that dedication claimed his life. Ossie Davis dedicated his life to that same end and although he was able to live to see the righting of the many wrongs he fought against, his dedication to the civil rights movement shall never be forgotten.

If I have ever been sure of anything in my life; it is that they would be proud of what we have accomplished in the past couple of years.

RIP.

Faith Temple Church Of God, February 27,1965

Here, at this final hour, in this quiet place, Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes, extinguished now and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought. His home of homes where his heart was and where his people are. And it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again in Harlem to share these last moments with him. For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who loved her, have fought for her and have defended her honor even to the death.

It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies before us, unconquered still. I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro-American. Afro-American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over the minds of men. Malcolm had stopped being a 'Negro' years ago. It had become too small, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American and he wanted so desperately that we, that all his people, would become Afro-Americans, too.

There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee even, from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times. Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain. And we will smile. Many will say turn away, away from this man, for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man. And we will smile. They will say that he is of hate, a fanatic, a racist who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them: Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him, or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did you would know him. And if you knew him you would know why we must honor him:

Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood! This was his meaning to his people. Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man but a seed which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us. And we will know him then for what he was and is. A prince. Our own black shining prince who didn't hesitate to die because he loved us so.