Inside the Studio of NYC Artist Mia: Nostalgic Paintings & Interactive Fiber Art

It’s a busy day for me, rushing around from borough to borough as a New York newbie does— especially when trying to keep up with the eagerness of the city.

I’m directed to an address landing me in the most interestingly sterile of places: The Financial District.

Cataloging how out of place I feel in a oversized tee that says “puppy” in French, my worries disappear as I see Mia appearing before me in the lobby.

I’m not quite sure what I was expecting here, as we enter an elevator bringing us so high that my ears begin to pop.

I’m 27, yet seeing artists of any tier and any age operating in New York brings out a teary-eyed childlike awe. I’m proud and inspired.

Something so amazing about it all: The soul of each artist who pursued their craft comforting me and those alike.

The few floors dedicated to artists in the World Trade Center act like a colorful pulse in an otherwise clinically stale financial area.

Once you know it exists, you feel the existence of each artist amongst the grey.

I imagine next time I were to see this building from a distance in the skyline, these designated floors would glow, signaling to me that there’s always someone out there creating.

The artist refuge is massively chaotic.

Lots of conflicting styles and colors that feel a little uneasy — And as Mia ushers me into her space, it unsurprisingly feels like an immediate reprieve.

What stands out to me about Mia, is her gentleness. There is not an air of pretentiousness or ego about her. She radiates humility and focus.

Entering her studio, my eyes lock in fast to one of her recent works, still in progress.

A very large canvas, picturing two girls lying on a blanket.

Cherry blossom trees frame the moment, petals dropping from the sky.

The textures of her work are soft and smooth like butter, the skin tones are peachy and flushed.

Mia has a glow that follows her.

There are no shadows in her presence.

You cannot help but feel the power her art has to elicit a certain feeling of peace.

And that is exactly as she has designed it.

Her delicate yet powerful aura seeps into every piece.

When asked how she wants viewers to feel when looking at her art, she notes that the intention is to depict a scene of warm nostalgia and femininity.

She highlights her love for incorporating subtle movement, through calculated paint strokes — pieces of hair curled by the wind, petals swaying through the air, as the girls lay together in poetic camaraderie.

I’ve always felt like the art I create needs to have meaning.

Mia highlights that sometimes it’s not that serious, advocating for playfulness of the stories she tells.

She explores this visually but also experimentally, in tactile ways — creating art that can be customized and changed by the viewer through magnetic removable pieces.

In doing so, the unspoken rule of “dont touch!” dissolves into a friendly invitation to play.

Pictured above is a Durama— A Japanese doll superstitiously associated with perseverance and luck. They are mostly given, with great intention, to individuals who have a goal in mind.

The doll comes with both eyes blank, and once you’ve set a goal, you color in the left eye.

Only after your goal is complete can you fill in the right eye, sealing your luck, and honoring your perseverance with a physical reminder of its completion.

The painting acts as a living tradition, encouraging the viewer to think about their goals, and allowing them to experience a Durama for themselves.

Sitting in front of this piece,

I think about what it means to consume art. Sometimes it’s pretty. Sometimes it’s meaningful. But how lucky are we when it is both.

I imagine looking at this work everyday could be a haunting or sweet nudge.

A tangible reminder that believing in yourself is always possible.

What would it look like to complete my own Durama? What goals have I created and what can I do to see them through?

I look out the window for a moment, the sky is cloudy and the air is deceivingly thick.

FiDi feels sleepy, although I know It’s a tireless machine running on eager interns and hollow-eyed new hires.

I give a silent nod to the people who have carved their own path here.

We have all found our place in the big city.

Nestled into a niche. Whether it’s in Bushwick, Hell’s Kitchen, Hudson Yards, Lower East —

There is space for us to create.

— and we coexist beautifully, with lots of respect for one another.

I pace around the table where some of Mia’s work is resting — Scanning the work in admiration.

Her pieces are approachable,

a call home,

a nod to the more intimate moments of her life.

I realize this as she shares her love for her sister, pointing to the large painting of the two girls.

“That’s us” she says with a cheeky grin.

I feel a bit of emotion wash over me —

Ah, right.

Isn’t this one of the most beautiful byproducts of creating art?

The viewer has the ability to project their own feelings and stories onto the image.

Merging themselves with the painting and the artist.

I wonder if artists can feel the weight of each viewer as time passes.

An invisible cloak holding the memories and feelings evoked from the art that poured out from them.

Not in a suffocating way — in a freeing way.

One might look at the scene of two sisters and mourn a relationship that never came to be,

One may reflect on the vulnerability of girlhood.

One might feel pain,

One may feel gratitude.

Artists create, and then the work takes on multitudes of meanings.

That, to me, is deeply profound.

We have no true power over how our work is interpreted, but we know our art meets each viewer exactly where they are at.

Following up on Mia’s love for connecting with our inner child, inspiring playfulness and glee — I point to her tufted work, littering her table with colorful organic shapes.

She adds that integrating fiber art with paintings has helped her explore her own playfulness. And unsurprisingly, the combinations work incredibly well.