Archive for the Life Category


Posted in Life with tags , on June 13, 2014 by lisadiakova

Yesterday I was in denial, popping vitamin C, telling myself it’s alright to stay up till 3 am fixing up the studio and ordering concert tickets online, I’ll be better tomorrow. Well, today was tomorrow, and I… AM… DYING. All I want is to curl into a snail-shell while that snail reads The Hobbit to me in the proper accents.

I AM SICK. What a grotesque thing… my body’s been invaded by a virus that has turned me into a sniffling, red-eyed, groggy mutation of myself. The deteriorating phase of this illness is getting real weird. Teary-eyed, blowing my soul into a tissue, I literally asked myself, “How could anyone ever love me again? Why would they?”

I feel like George Costanza in the Pony Remark episode of Seinfeld, when he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. I cannot envision any circumstances in which I’ll ever have the opportunity to have sex again. How’s it gonna happen? I just don’t see how it could occur.”

Um… yeah. How’s it gonna happen?

That Little Bit of Wisdom

Posted in Life with tags , , , , on February 16, 2014 by lisadiakova

I watch my rabbits run around the house causing mayhem, happy to be let out of their room so early, instead of their usual 10 am-ish release. Pollock, the little gray one, asks that I pet her until the day I die, a perfectly reasonable request according to her. My boy, Ozzy, runs up to the second floor loft, claiming the printer as his prisoner and chewing on the copy paper.

I’m still a little hungover from last night and I cannot emphasize enough just how much I need a burrito. Since I have no clue where to get one before lunch, I settle on a Ramen noodle soup instead—breakfast of champions. The birds chirp outside, surrounding the house in song. While I recollect my memories, I watch the sun make its way across the rooms of our home. This brings me great pleasure.

Drinking with my siblings is always good fun. Last night we hashed out a couple of new inventions, shared our darkest melotonin-induced nightmares, and discussed a screenplay we’re supposed to start writing this upcoming week. On a whim, we also removed all the tile from my sister’s back porch, because she had kind of mentioned it in passing and no one could see a reason why we shouldn’t tackle that project right then. So we did.

(The rabbits would like to make it known that they want nothing to do with this entry. They’ve been snapping their little heads and chewing on the furniture, which usually means “come play.” They demand my attention. At this rate, I’ll be posting this at midnight so bear with me please.)

Yesterday afternoon I was getting ready to head to the studio when my sister called me to say my brothers were over her house and she had a huge chocolate-chip cookie that had to be eaten. She asked that I come over “just for a little bit.” She is 5 ft’ 5″, pretty as a peony, and a master negotiator. First, she hits me with the brother thing, because we are rarely all available and alert at such a reasonable hour. Then she sweetens the deal with the chocolate chip cookie, because I’ve never met a chocolate chip cookie I didn’t want to take a bite out of. And last, almost imperceptibly, she reminds me it will just be a short while.

“Just for a little bit” turned out to be 9 hours of talks and fun. Of course, there is that little person in my head who knows a cup of coffee will turn into a glass of wine. A glass of wine turns into a liquor run. And that liquor run turns into a space-time continuum where nothing matters but then and there. Somehow, the little person in my head that knows all this gets swallowed by sharks, and I suspect it’s because hanging out with them is like hitting a reset button. There are no expectations. No hurt feelings. They remind me how easy life can be. Family. Drinks. Laughter. The night progresses aimlessly as all good nights should. We all admit we don’t hang out as much as we’d like to—we have busy lives, and endless projects—but at some point during the night we hug it out and share that little bit of wisdom: I love you. I love you too, man.

Digital Camera

Life’s Little Miracles

Posted in Life with tags , , , , on December 20, 2013 by lisadiakova


Lisa Diakova_ Pollock_Rabbit_4

My boy, Ozzy, and my girl, Pollock. These are my favorite creatures in the world. Just taking a moment to appreciate these little beings.

Happy As A Clam

Posted in Art, Life with tags , , , on December 8, 2013 by lisadiakova

Happy As A Clam

Welcomed to Miami

Posted in Life with tags , , on November 4, 2013 by lisadiakova

For months, there’s been this croaky hobgoblin voice in the pit of my head, saying, “Go write.” So here I am, sitting at my laptop, looking over my previous posts, realizing ten lifetimes have passed since then. I am not sure where to pick up again. It’s been rather busy around here, and the thought of sitting here attempting to flesh out these experiences into words, makes me shrivel like a dead lily.

I moved back to Miami, a little over a year ago. After a long absence, I’ve had such a great time rediscovering this city.  I can’t say I don’t miss New York . I miss it like hell, but still, I like it here. There’s a part of me that definitely feels more at peace. Days feel longer. I love the expansive skies. The sunsets. The long drives to The Keys. I feel closer to that evanescent H word that rhymes with sappy.

So much has changed, and there’s been a lot to take in, but this calm is breeding new work at its own steady pace. Miami has a kind of rhythm for me that is unlike all the glorified versions of this city. While I won’t deny the sultriness of this mojito capital, my version of Miami is grundgier, calmer. It holds a kind of illusory truth about me… This city knows where I went to school, the places I lived, my brother’s pet birds, my sister’s car accident. It knows about that time I told that cop my name was Jennifer Lopez to avoid getting in trouble for skipping school. It’s where I met my husband. I wasn’t able to appreciate this degree of intimacy before. Growing up here, I always felt a bit like an outsider, but now that I’ve returned, this familiarity has really caught me by surprise. In some disconcerting way, it almost feels like love.  

I am coming out of my hole today to thank you for your continued support and good energy. The last year of my life has been an incredible journey. Often maddening, but definitely not boring. Reclusion is part of the process for me, so I won’t apologize. But I will say, that I’ve missed you. The interactions, the notes under the table, your extraordinary faces. All of it. You are the reason I exhibit. You are what takes the experience of being an artist from introspection to connection. Thank you.

Now that Basel is around the corner, I’m excited to come out of the shadows, into the glorious Miami sunshine. I hope you’ll join me.

On Rolling Stone Erasing My Comment

Posted in Life, Stuff I Find On the Internet with tags , , , , , on April 23, 2013 by lisadiakova

Amanda Palmer performing with The Dresden Doll...

A couple of days ago on Facebook I came across a link to a poem Amanda Palmer wrote. It was titled “A Poem for Dzhokhar.” I clicked on the link, read the poem, and moved on.

For those of you who don’t know Amanda Palmer, she is a musician and lead singer of The Dresden Dolls. She is from Boston, and wrote a poem in reaction to the whirlwind of feelings she was experiencing after the Boston Marathon tragedy. Today, I noticed Rolling Stone and a few others have written some suggestively critical articles about this particular poem. Amanda didn’t ask journalists to promote her poem, but the implication is that she is exploiting the Boston Tragedy for her personal gain. So, now the commentary is ablaze with all sorts of hateful slurs and attacks on her person.

Things became so heated that Amanda wrote a response to the frenzy, which I felt was elegantly expressed.  You can read it here.

Every time I see this nonsense unfold it just freaks me out how easily people get manipulated by media, and in turn by fear of public shaming. I picture a person standing in a crowd being stoned to death. How did this happen? Why is it so easy for us to spit out such hate? Why do we wish such horrible, disgusting things on people who don’t deserve this level of retribution?

All Amanda did was write a poem and post it on her blog. That’s what a blog is for, to share your view with people who are interested. Your “followers.” Duh.

There was a time when people took pride in their word as their bond. Has our culture and our language degraded so much that what we say no longer has any real worth? Are we so self-important that we feel the need to share every vile thought that enters our head? Ultimately, has this contagion taken over our courtrooms, our government buildings, places where intelligent leaders once sat? Are we done having civil discussion in which we can respectfully disagree?

I support the right to free speech, but I believe that Freedom of Speech is intended to defend the little guy. A person should be able to share their opinions openly regardless of their religion or background, so that governments cannot force you to agree with their plans, to worship certain gods, or else “off with your head.”

We cling to “free speech” as a mantra to talk, talk, talk without processing information effectively. Whether you like Amanda Palmer’s poem or not is pretty much irrelevant. It’s a matter of taste.

We seem to forget we also have the right to think. As in, we don’t just need to blurt things as they enter our brains.

We have the right to cool down. As in, hey maybe I’ll go buy groceries while thoughts and emotions simmer in my head.

If we are feeling passionate about a subject, we have the right to take our time and respond intelligently.

And believe it or not, we also have the right to shut the fuck up. As in, hey I’m human, I had a vile thought. Is it worth sharing? Nah, I’ll just exercise my right to shut the fuck up.

When I came across the Rolling Stone article about Amanda Palmer’s poem, I decided to write a comment, which read something like this:

“For those of you accusing Amanda Palmer of exploitation, I just want to point out that all she did was write a poem. Then she posted it ON HER OWN BLOG. It is Rolling Stone who thought this would make great controversy and light their comment forums on fire. So why not make a story out of it and let the rats rip each other to shreds?”

Shortly after, my comment was deleted. Apparently, what I said was too offensive.


Posted in Life with tags , , , , on May 14, 2012 by lisadiakova


Something especially exciting happened yesterday and something particularly upsetting happened today. This post is really about neither of those things.


I sometimes mock friends who continually look at the dark side of life. When some great event happens they become extra paranoid that something terrible is coming their way.  Most of the time, their world remains in tact, but the few instances in which something goes awry they are prepared. Armed with a smug smile, and an unhealthy dose of cynicism, they tell me they knew it all along. The world is out to get them. I don’t agree with this faulty logic, but on days like today I completely understand the need for this level of insulation.

When something especially nice happens to me, I see rainbows and butterflies. I thank my lucky stars, skip through streets, and give out free hugs. I welcome the urge to feel like a child on Christmas. Part of me thinks that’s what life is about, being able to handle more knowledge and responsibility while protecting that portion of you that’s still a kid. I refuse to give it up.

But I won’t lie. It does suck when something unexpectedly douche-y comes my way, and pisses on my cloud parade. This morning I was all smiles. I had a romantic vision of a glorious day that was supposed to start off with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, but it never came. Now it’s midday and some of that romance has dissolved.

The kid in me is too distracted to care. I should be outside playing ninja instead of sulking in disillusion. It’s a bit cloudy, but still a nice day and there are plenty of juice bars in NYC. Even if the apocalypse rains down on me the second I take my first sip, at least I’ll go down on my terms.