When Artists Give Themselves Permission: Stevi Daft's Journey From Fragmented to Focused

There's a moment in every artist's journey when everything crystallizes. When the unconscious becomes conscious. When the hall of mirrors becomes a clear path forward.

For LA-based artist Stevi Daft—a witchy live wire crafting primal, passionate, unapologetically queer anthems—that moment came when she took the Compass program.

"I used to cry in my bedroom a lot," Stevi shares candidly. "Like, the full artist-in-their-feelings thing. Lost in my own hall of mirrors, questioning everything, sitting on songs I loved because I couldn't figure out what world they belonged to."

Despite being a powerhouse vocalist who'd been in multiple bands and written countless songs, something was missing. The visuals never locked in. She knew what she liked aesthetically, but pairing it with the music in a way that felt cohesive? "That wasn't my strength," she admits. "Honestly, it wasn't even my interest."

For Stevi, it was all about the performance, the writing, the collaboration. The connection. The visuals were always secondary.

Then something shifted.

Through Compass, Stevi began deep excavation work—uncovering her archetypes (the Lover and the Fool), getting clear on what was unconscious and making it conscious. Suddenly, she wasn't just making music. She was building a world.

The word that comes to mind for her now is holistic. "Everything is the whole thing," she explains. "The visuals aren't just backdrop anymore—they're telling the story alongside the music. I'm creating altars for each song where every object has a real connection to my life or the person the song is about. It's ritualistic. It's intentional."

The Courage to Be Vulnerable

Here's what Stevi realized through the process: she wasn't really showing the vulnerable side of herself. And definitely not the fool—the part that likes to make people laugh, that embraces the playful chaos. Those parts were missing from her music and visuals.

Her new song "Spark," coming in January, is what she calls her most vulnerable song ever. "Allowing myself to write it, to really GO there, was really important to me after having gone through this whole journey," she shares. "It's time to put that out there too because it's a very big part of who I am."

The vulnerability is terrifying. But as she discovered, it's also transformative. "When we wear masks, it's painful because people don't really see us. But it's not as vulnerable because we can tell ourselves, 'Well, they don't really know me.' That's the pain point, right? But they don't really know me."

Taking off the mask? "That's a million times more rewarding," she says. "Internally fulfilling. Absolutely."

What Permission Actually Means

One of the most powerful realizations Stevi had was about permission itself. "I realized I was waiting for someone else to give me permission," she explains. "To be both sultry and theatrical. To flash between love anthems and effervescent fireworks. To contain all these contradictions and layers instead of choosing one lane."

But who's allowed to give permission? "Ultimately, we have to give it to ourselves," she discovered.

What made the difference was being in community with other artists in Compass—not just sharing the finished product like we usually do, but sharing the uncertain, unfinished, scary stuff. "Getting encouragement when you're not even sure if it's a good idea? That's huge," Stevi says. "Especially for those of us who tend to talk ourselves out of things."

The breakthrough moment: "I felt seen. And that gave me permission to keep going."

The Focus She Never Had

"I have a focus now that I've never had—not even in the prime of other bands I've been in," Stevi reflects. "And here's the beautiful part: I have something to go back to. This whole rich workbook of excavation. Whenever I'm questioning things or feeling unsure, I can remind myself: No, you DO know what you want. We've gone over this."

It's about trusting yourself. Trusting your vision.

"The doubt never really goes away," she acknowledges, "and honestly, I think that's what makes us not sociopaths. But it doesn't last as long anymore. There's a way to come out of it now. There's a compass."

Last-Minute Fear vs. Real Intuition

One of the most practical insights from Stevi's journey relates to the pre-release anxiety all artists face. "If you're questioning things right before a release that you haven't questioned for the last month or two, that's just fear," she learned. "You would have heard it in the mix. You would have caught it earlier."

Those last-minute thoughts? "That's fear going 'uh-uh.'"

But there IS an intuitive knowing—"the same way you know a song is done, an album is done. There's an inner compass that gives you a read and says: Okay. It's time. Let's go."

Building Worlds, Not Just Songs

So what does world building mean now? For Stevi, it's visual, sonic, spiritual. It's the altar and the scent and the costume and the ritual. It's sultry and theatrical and vulnerable and foolish all at once.

"It's not waiting too long, but also not going public before you're ready," she explains. "It's that intuitive pull that says: this is the moment."

When asked about the transformation, Stevi describes going from feeling "very lost and unsure what the next phase really would look like" to having complete clarity. "I just have a focus that I've never had. There's something to go back to. A rich workbook. All of the excavating that I've done that's already just in there. It's like, no, you do know what you want. We've gone over this, you know."

The result? Trusting herself. Trusting her vision.

"And honestly, it's the most excited I've ever been about what's coming next," she says. "The world is built. Now it's time to invite people in."

🎥 Watch the full Compass Backstage conversation here.