In any city garden at different times of the year, you can meet landscape painters who paint the corners of nature available to them. Some paint a flower on a branch. Some paint several spreading old trees. Some simply capture color without thinking about the meaning of the picture. Mirel also sat like a landscape painter, but instead of paints, she used silk. She embroidered silk on silk, creating bright, smooth patterns on the fabric. Her hands were so smooth and graceful, as if flowers were floating on the surface of a river. Her touch on the fabric was as gentle as the swaying of vanilla petals on a tree. The threads lay down so quickly that it resembled watercolors drying.

It would seem that such embroidery should be fragile and vulnerable, easy to damage, but Mirel's works were always surprisingly durable. The fabric was not afraid of tears or pulls. It did not tear or leave snags behind. Even if it was a delicate pattern of a bouquet of white flowers, there was a sense of strength in it. It seemed that the young craftswoman held many secrets within her: experience that was not spoken of; wisdom gained through events; a vision of the world and resilience that came through trials. The secrets of this craftswoman remained hidden — and no one dared to ask her about them.