Mira Mira: who are you when no one is watching you?

"Mira Mira Milano." They’re looking for me. But who do they see? A double name, like a mirror reflecting itself. A gallery? A woman? A brand? I am all of these things. And none of them, too.

I'm not just an artist. I’m a wound that paints instead of bleeding. My works? Yes, they’re for sale. But they don’t sell my soul — they share it. Whoever buys one of my canvases takes home a piece of a world that only I have seen.

When people write “hand-painted artworks” or “interior wall murals,” they’re looking for beauty. But I don’t just offer beauty. I offer questions. I offer pauses in the chaos.

My walls speak. My paintings breathe. My colors don’t decorate — they whisper. And if you look closely, amidst the acrylics and the glazes, you might even find a fragment of yourself.

Because Mira Sovia is not just something you look at. She is something you live. Something you feel. Something you choose.