An Inspired Chat with Miranda Vavrosky of Midwest

We’re looking forward to introducing you to Miranda Vavrosky. Check out our conversation below.

Miranda, really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: Are you walking a path—or wandering?
I think I’m wandering… gracefully, chaotically, and often with paint on my hands. Whenever I start to believe I’m on a clear path, life reminds me that growth doesn’t always come from the straightest line.
I’ve had to turn down incredible opportunities, like murals, because of my autoimmune conditions that affect my body, balance, and body’s ability to regulate things like temperature and heart rate. I also live with narcolepsy, which means my sleep is unpredictable. I can experience both insomnia and days stolen by uncontrollable sleep “attacks”. It used to feel like loss, but I’ve learned to see it as a gift. My dreams (and sometimes nightmares) have become muses for my work, blurring the line between the conscious and subconscious.
Still, I realized I may not always be the most reliable person to take on large public murals. Instead of seeing that as failure, I started seeing it as redirection. I began thinking about artists like me, those with disabilities, chronic illnesses, or even just older artists and how we can still create public art without physical strain. I’m now interested in developing a project that allows murals to be created on smaller canvases in the comfort of artist’s studios and then enlarged on vinyl or mesh, to be installed by professional crews. The Big Picture Peoria project inspired me to explore this model, and as with most things in my life, the timing was beautifully synchronistic and it appeared just when I was chosen to create work for The Art Forest at The Grove, led by artist Gabbi Torres in Clinton, Iowa for 2026.
So yes, I’m wandering. Sometimes I dance in circles. Two steps forward, one back, then five hops to the side. I’ve been trying to get my nonprofit, The Artsy Aunty, off the ground for years. Learning to be patient with myself. This would be an initiative that would allow me to make art with kids who are navigating medical challenges or disabilities. But being a one-woman show means wearing every hat: artist, curator, marketer, press liaison, studio manager, art handler, social media strategist, web designer, grant writer, photographer, and bookkeeper. I’m also an aunt, sister, daughter, and friend trying to have social life while balancing an invisible illness that most people don’t know about.
Those who live with chronic conditions will understand the delicate balance of wanting to raise awareness but not wanting to give your good days away to the illness by talking about it. It’s a constant dance between acceptance and resistance.. between resting and pushing forward.
My clients are usually patient and understanding, though not always. That’s part of finding your collectors, those who truly see you. I’m a dreamer. I start a hundred things, and even if only a few blossom fully, the others still teach me something. I’ve tried everything from corporate art and paint nights to kids’ art parties and vendor shows. Each experience adds another color to my palette.
Wandering doesn’t mean being lost but it means taking the long way through the forest. You might trip over roots or lose sight of the trail, but you also notice the wildflowers that others miss. I’ve learned to celebrate the small, quiet wins: cleaning my brushes, organizing my prints, answering long-overdue emails. These little moments remind me that progress isn’t always loud or linear.
I’m still wandering… Still creating my path and trying to not gate-keep what I learn. Trying to help other artists as much as I also help myself.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Miranda Vavrosky, and I’m an intuitive visual artist and the owner of Vavrosky Art. My creative journey has been anything but organized or planned. . . it’s been a winding, messy, and beautiful path that continues to teach me how to trust the process.
I didn’t take my first art class until 2018. I’d wanted to take art in high school, but my teacher told me I wouldn’t take it seriously since I hadn’t been in art classes all of my HS like the kids who were going to major in art.
So instead of creating, I worked by taking COOP.
I didn’t attend college until I was 25, still undiagnosed with health conditions that would later shape both my life and my art. When I finally took an art class, something clicked. My professors saw me, believed in me, and made me feel accepted in a way I never had before and during a time where I was overwhelmed with all the hospital stuff.
When the pandemic hit, I was living alone with my cat Karma and turned to painting to stay grounded.
I started sharing my work online, and people began buying it. From there, I built my website, got my LLC, and began slowly growing Vavrosky Art…step by step, intuitively and imperfectly.
My art is deeply emotional and intuitive, often dualities of the whimsical and melancholy.
I’ve created things from “alchemy art,” where I channel a client’s story or music into a piece, to live performance paintings, digital art, and community projects. One of the most meaningful aspects of my work is painting with children who have disabilities, inspired by my niece who is nonverbal, autistic, epileptic, and has undergone brain surgery. She reminds me that art is a language that doesn’t need words. Art heals. Art helps. Art gives hope.
At its heart, my work is about connection between people, music, color, and emotions. I’m not just creating art; I’m creating experiences that remind people to slow down, feel something, and see the beauty in chaos. To remind them they are not alone in any of their experiences.

Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What part of you has served its purpose and must now be released?
The part of me that constantly fears disappointing people.
For a long time, I carried the weight of wanting to make everyone happy: clients, collectors, peers, family. I was a people pleaser without realizing how much of myself I was giving away in the process.
Therapy helped me understand that not everyone’s reaction is about me or my art. When someone says something harsh or dismissive, that often reveals more about their own relationship with meaning and creativity than it does about my work.
If someone calls art meaningless, it’s often because they haven’t yet found meaning in their own life or they aren’t allowing themselves to be imperfect.
I’ve learned to release the version of myself that said “yes” out of fear. Regardless of if that fear was of missing out, fear of being seen as difficult, fear of not being enough, fear of being slow, fear of rejection.
I’ve had to let people down by admitting I wasn’t the right artist for a project, or by quoting a price that reflected my value, even when it wasn’t within their budget. I have to remember my own limits especially with a chronic condition. Those moments used to fill me with guilt; now, they feel like alignment.
Another part I’ve had to release is comparison.
Every artist’s process is their own, and measuring my timeline against someone else’s only kept me small. I’ve learned to be inspired by others without feeling like I’m behind. Sometimes that means turning down gigs that don’t feel authentic to me, and other times it means saying yes to opportunities that push me out of my comfort zone for the sake of growth or connection. I’m not always doing art that I love, sometimes I’m just the vessel and the art was meant for someone else.
Letting go of people-pleasing hasn’t made me colder, it’s made me freer. It’s allowed me to create from a place of truth, not approval. I am gentler with myself and others. I am never feeling let down by others because I can give the acceptance for how they work and their pace.

Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Honestly, there are moments all the time when I feel like giving up. Especially when the realities of being an independent artist hit hard. Things like navigating health insurance, keeping up with admin work, or worrying about how to make rent when everything depends on whether someone buys a print, a t-shirt, or commissions a piece. It can feel like walking a tightrope made of faith and paint.
And then there’s that familiar “I hate it” phase that happens in almost every painting, the point where the vision isn’t clear yet, and I start doubting myself and the process. The imposter phase. That phase mirrors my life sometimes. It’s messy, uncertain, and full of moments where I question if I should’ve chosen an easier path, one with predictable hours and steady paychecks. One with benefits and retirement.
But every morning, I remind myself why I chose this. I chose to live a life full of meaning, creation, and connection. Even when it’s hard, even when I’m tired, I know that art is what keeps me grounded. It’s what keeps me me. Even when I fail, even when a painting ends up in the trash. I give up but I always come back. Art lives inside of me and if I don’t let it out then it gets muddy in there.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What are the biggest lies your industry tells itself?
One of the biggest lies the art industry tells itself is that value is determined by institutions like Sotheby’s, Christie’s, or the opinions of art critics. Those spaces have their place, but real value doesn’t come from a price tag, it comes from energy, emotion, and connection. Art has always been sacred because it heals. It’s medicine for the mind and soul, and its impact on someone’s mental health or emotional well-being can’t be quantified in dollars.
Of course, most of us artists dream of selling a painting for as much as Banksy or Beeple, but the truth is, our worth isn’t defined by those extremes. The industry often tries to convince you that if your work doesn’t sell for five figures, you’re somehow less legitimate. But I’ve learned that selling affordable prints, creating accessible art, and having your work in many homes can be just as fulfilling and financially sustainable. Also keeping your value by not selling your originals for less than a living wage.
Yes, exclusivity has its place; collectors who want something one-of-a-kind will always pay for that. But success doesn’t only exist at the top of an auction house. You can sell art at a local vendor show (many artists make their living this way), connect deeply with your community, and still thrive. The lie is that there’s only one way to “make it” in art. The truth is, there are infinite ways and they all start with honoring your own value. Public art also pays well but some artists think that will bring their value down.

Okay, so before we go, let’s tackle one more area. What are you doing today that won’t pay off for 7–10 years?
Right now I’m applying for grants, residencies, and pitching to places that hang public art for healing like hospitals and assisted living. It’s a lot of effort with no guarantees, but I’m betting on the slow burn instead of the quick win.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.VavroskyArt.com
• Instagram: @VavroskyArt
• Linkedin: Miranda Vavrosky
• Twitter: @VavroskyArt
• Facebook: @VavroskyArt
• Other: Reddit: @VavroskyArt