blog > 2012 > December

ARE WE READY – introduction by Misha Lyuve

Dec 29, 2012

ARE WE READY -
it is a question and not a question.
And as a question
it needs an answer or no answer.
And as an answer
it can be both, yes and no -
For how could you be ready for
what you don’t know?
And how could you not be ready
when future’s coming now and steady?

ARE WE READY -
it is a calling, a calling forward.
Of wind that haven’t touched your face,
of mount tops you haven’t concurred,
of truth that haven’t yet been spoken.

ARE WE READY -
the future’s calling: come and get me!
And in response, the heart is roaring.
The heart is roaring like million waterfalls
that are storming through your mighty veins.

You might be soaked in fear.
Your hands might feel numb.
Your mouth might not find words.

But at the point
when the future
and the heart
come together
in a motion, an embrace resembling,
the universe will tremble
in ecstasy of the divine conception
and share gifts with you
otherwise unattainable.

And this is how it works.

With a Bang by Misha Lyuve

Dec 29, 2012

Let’s finish this year with a bang.

Two years ago on this date, I launched ART BEAUTY LIFE blog – thank you for being part of it. A year ago I brought to the world my jewelry line “celebrating unions that are greater than the sum of their parts”.

And today I would like to introduce mishalyuve.com, a platform for creative endeavors, and a beginning of my vision to engage others in a conversation about how to love a work-of-art life. The new site is a home for

- my album ARE WE READY – there is more music to listen to, there are lyrics of the songs, the gratitude page and more. Yes!! We are on track for Jan 18th release and a fab release party in the beginning of Feb – look out for an invite soon.

- Misha Lyuve Jewelry has a new home and a store (friends and family discount GREAT)

Here is an introduction to my album and how I would like to set the mood for 2013.

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Happy 2013!

And here is a preview of the CD’s back-cover:

2012 – year-end remarks and bests of by Misha Lyuve

Dec 22, 2012

My 2012 has been a year of plentiful hard work and it has been a fruitful year. In fact on December 30th I will share some of the fruit with you – a new website that includes the page for my upcoming album ARE WE READY and some songs to listen to. The album is in plans to come out on January 18th. I’m still looking for a venue for my release party and taking recommendations (don’t be shy).

This year was full of events that were heart-breaking and mind-puzzling. As probably many of you, I am experiencing a stand off between real-life pragmatism and romantic hope for a better future. My whole life, including many times this year, I learned that what’s possible doesn’t always seem evident or probable. The knowing that what doesn’t seem evident or probable can be possible is heartwarming to me. It keeps me in the game… What about you?

And now, ART BEAUTY LIFE blog – best of 2012:

Art, Honey and Explorations

You are a rock star, old lady

Saving butterflies

Of grave dangerous of inspiration

Little Problems in a Big Hurricane

Lastly, next 9 days will run out so fast bringing us to 2013. But in the mean time let’s not forget that 100% of 2012 is still left.

Warm wishes for great things!

Blurry by Misha Lyuve

Dec 13, 2012

The future looks blurry.
The birds flew in different directions.
Some dreams blossomed unexpectedly
bringing sweet buds and flowers
and promises of fruit;
they stroke tender strings of the heart
with wings of anticipation.

Some dreams crashed against reality,
wrong expectations,
lack of talent, effort or luck –
and all you want to do is run away
screaming “fuck this shit”
and consume boxes of chocolate
till there is a hole in the stomach.

Is it dumb to expect
evenness to this perpetuity?
Or the only way to get there
is by sticking big toes of my feet into my ears
and chanting ohms till I’m delirious?
But surely don’t settle for “it’s going to be ok”
because it is not necessarily true, though comforting.

They say that it is through confusion
that the path to clarity lies,
and that broken hearts and empty vessels
have a calling for inspiration,
and if you piece back bruised parts together
you might still get out there
and cause some trouble.

Cheers to that.

Little Problems in a Big Hurricane by Marina Petrova

Dec 1, 2012

This post is written by our guest writer Marina Petrova.

Shortly after Hurricane Sandy there was Squeezable Yogurt Crisis of 2012. My six-year-old son, four long days without school, sat down on the floor and cried when I told him we must first go to the grocery store then he can have his yogurt. Typically I would deal with this crisis by losing my temper or leaving him without the yogurt. But almost a week into the Mommy & Son boot camp, I mean bonding, I was losing touch with reality, I mean becoming alarmingly calm. I walked out of the apartment and he followed, judging by the tenacious whining. The whining subsided two blocks later.

“Mom,” he asked in a human voice, “why were you ignoring me?”

What I said next was not planned. “Few days ago many people lost their homes. Some kids lost all of their toys and their schools were flooded. Others have been without heat, light or water for days. Do you think it’s a big deal?” My son nodded. “Do you think waiting 30 minutes for a yogurt is a big deal?” He shook his head.

It did not feel like a win, nor should it have. I remember how I hated when adults got preachy with me, especially if they had a point. But I thought about the Yogurt Crisis the following Saturday on the way to Coney Island. There was a call for volunteers to go door-to-door to check on seniors who might be trapped in high rises with no power. It seemed wrong not to go and it seemed right to take my son.

“Is this going to be fun?” he asked. “This is not about you,” I grumbled.

On the corner of Mermaid Avenue in Brooklyn volunteers were sorting donated supplies. We packed some water, toiletries and non-perishable food items into our backpacks and climbed the stairs of a 20-something story building. My son wrinkled his nose. “It smells like a bathroom,” he said. It did. We were going up the rabbit hole and I had a nagging suspicion around us were not jars of orange marmalade. The staircase was pitch dark aside from the thin slither of light from our flashlight. I squeezed my son’s hand a little tighter and imagined masked guerrillas hiding in the shadows, holding machine guns and machetes in hands they haven’t washed for a week.

We began knocking on doors, asking if anyone needs help, yelling, “food, water, supplies.” My son was very eager. But he got slightly confused and screamed “food, water… surprise!” To my six-year old, surprise is still always a good thing.

Local residents, perhaps weary of surprises, were often hesitant to open their doors. But once they did, they smiled. They thanked us and pointed to apartments where elderly lived. They especially thanked the zealous six-year-old, who kept insisting they take an extra sandwich. The building had been without electricity for almost a week and the temperature was dropping into the 40s. No one complained. As we walked down the stairs, a woman in her 60s was walking up. She asked us if we needed help.

We visited two buildings without power and there were many more we could have gone to. We were all cold and hungry when we got back to the corner of Mermaid Avenue. My son waited patiently for his sandwich and ate whatever was given, no questions asked. We drove back through streets with windowless cars tossed in the middle and front yards filled with furniture, appliances and blankets as if a house vomited all of its insides. A large floppy-eared stuffed dog looked at us with homeless eyes from the top of a reclining chair on the sidewalk.

“Brooklyn looks sad,” my son said.

Don’t get me wrong. He is still a sheltered and spoiled kid. He lives in a micro-world where weekends are about fun and goes to a school where he feels comfortable talking about his feelings. Don’t get me wrong again – it’s a good thing. But I would like to go back to Brooklyn to volunteer with him. And I would like him to start grappling with the complex concept of perspective and maybe prevent Yogurt Crisis of 2013.

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Marina Petrova lives in New York City with her son, husband and cocker spaniel. In her past life, she worked in Media Technology. She gave up her career to follow her passion for writing. Currently she is pursing an MFA at The New School.