I am a sustainable, multi-media artist who transforms second-hand vases into expressive, one-of-a-kind works. Using scrap fabric and preserved flowers, I deconstruct and reassemble materials to create pieces that speak to both beauty and renewal. My work is deeply rooted in personal experiences with grief and loss, which reshaped how I see meaning in life. Through that process, I discovered that grief holds a quiet beauty—it asks us to grow, to add something new to our lives, and to accept the things we cannot change or control. Each piece reflects that transformation, showing how something once discarded or broken can become meaningful again. At the same time, my work carries a message of sustainability, demonstrating that we can create something powerful from what might otherwise be overlooked or forgotten.
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My name is Mila, a Russian-American sustainable artist who recently moved to Sunny Isles to pursue the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of being a full-time artist.
My story is long. Since I was a child, I have lived in many states and attended many different elementary schools. As a result, I developed a shy personality when it came to meeting new people and making new friends.
When I moved to Florida in 2018, I finally felt like I had begun living life on my own terms. I have always been artistic, but after working in hospitality and e-commerce, I chose a career in tech that still allowed me to be creative through UX design. I moved to Tampa for the job, worked there for three and a half years, and somewhere in the middle of it all, I discovered my niche.
After my dog passed away, I sat in my living room wondering why I had held onto the dried flowers I had kept over the years. Then I had a bright epiphany, and I truly believe God gave me this idea so I could serve Him. I ran with it as quickly as I could, putting every bit of energy I had into it while working full-time as a UX designer at a cybersecurity company.
I began showcasing my work locally by planning and preparing for art shows. I quickly realized how much work it was to organize them every month, so I shifted my focus to curating exhibitions for other artists—artists who had never really been given the opportunity to get eyes on their work. Let me just say, I met and worked alongside artists who were far more talented than I was. For a little over a year and a half, I poured my energy into building a community of artists and supporters. Although it never grew beyond the local level, it taught me that success isn't always measured by scale. I never met the right people to expand the venture, and eventually I realized I was serving other artists more than I was serving my own art.
The most meaningful part of those events was watching the community come together. At every show, I encouraged the featured artists to create an interactive activity inspired by their own medium and style, allowing visitors to contribute to a collaborative artwork. Seeing strangers become part of the creative process and leave knowing they had contributed something of themselves was, without a doubt, the most rewarding part of it all.
Eventually, I stepped away from curating and transferred my creative energy into singing in a jazz band, where I performed for the next two years. Through every season of my life, my creativity has never withered away.
Being born and raised in Parker, Colorado, I believe my love for flowers came from nature itself. I have always been drawn to the silence of nature. I have always admired the mountains and had a strong desire to get lost in them. Although I wasn't encouraged to explore the outdoors very much growing up, I found myself naturally bringing pieces of nature into my life and home without even realizing it.
The last thing I want to share is my passion for sustainability. It began showing itself long before I discovered my niche as an artist. I think it comes from my Soviet roots—the mindset of doing the best you can to leave as little waste as possible. But once I started researching the statistics and saw how accustomed we have become to receiving anything and everything almost instantly, it became deeply personal. I realized how much this culture of consumption has affected the very nature I love so deeply—and the same nature that, in turn, sustains us.
Being mindful of what I consume and questioning the unnecessary replacement of "stuff" is at the heart of my work. I know these creations have the power to leave an impact. There is not a single bone in my body that believes this process is anything but exciting, and I hope that excitement inspires others to see beauty in what has been overlooked.