The name Tati au Miel evokes a sense of nurturing quality and creates a contrast with the complex or raw topics tackled within the work. How did it come about?

So interesting because I hadn’t thought of it that way before, as nurturing or creating contrast with the complexity of my work. It actually came about quite naturally. My name is Tania Daniel, and Tati au Miel feels like an evolved version of myself, a reinterpretation of my name. For years, people have called me Tati, and being French Carribean, the association with honey felt intuitive. Honey has a symbolic energy tied to deities and nurturing qualities, so when the name came to me, it just clicked. It wasn’t something I overthought or deliberately planned, it simply felt right.

Your practice spans across sound, visual art, performance, and technology, often blurring the lines between disciplines. How do you navigate the intersections of these mediums, and how does each influence or challenge the others in your creative process? Is there a particular moment or experience where you felt one medium truly transformed or expanded the possibilities of another?

I’ve always approached my work through sound and a sonic lens, which might stem from my struggle with words and writing. Sound feels so immediate and sensory to me. Even though I was never formally trained as a musician, DJing when I was younger became my way into sound creation.

When I was younger, I spent a lot of time sewing and designing costumes, which I think influenced my creative process. For example, I would make music and listen to it while sewing, letting the two practices feed into each other. Over time, I’ve come to see different mediums as having distinct energies that complement one another.

Recently, I had a vivid experience where one medium transformed another. For an exhibition in Canada, I created a dark chiffon fabric cabin and performed inside it. The physicality and mood of being immersed in that installation directly influenced the sound and performance. Now, the recording is displayed alongside the piece, creating a dialogue between the two.

For me, it’s always about exploring how different works can affect one another and holding space for the energy they create together. Even if it feels abstract at first, the interplay between mediums becomes clear when experienced as a whole.

How would you describe the central themes or philosophies that guide your practice, and how do you see these evolving over time?

I approach art from a pure, almost childlike spirit. Whenever I create, I feel genuinely happy and excited, even if the sound itself is described as dark. It usually comes from a place of deep introspection and playfulness.

Living as an artist means I’m constantly encountering new themes and reflecting on them. My spirituality plays a significant role in this. I am Buddhist but grew up in a Christian family, so there are layers of influence that have followed me throughout my life. These references naturally find their way into my work. Over time, it feels less like I’m consciously choosing these themes and more like they’re embedded in my way of living and creating.

Your music often blends experimental soundscapes with emotive, personal narratives. How do you approach the process of composing music, and what role does storytelling play in shaping the sonic atmosphere of your work?

It’s a mix of everything. While revisiting my portfolio recently, I noticed recurring existential and philosophical themes. This wasn’t deliberate,it reflects my curiosity and the way art helps me explore questions without clear answers.

For me, art embodies feelings or understandings that don’t need finality. This is why my work often delves into timelessness or spirituality. I’m not drawn to linear narratives, like a love song or heartbreak story. Instead, I focus on the energy of emotions, like the essence of love, rather than its storyline. Experimental music allows for this fluidity,it doesn’t have to be defined or linear. It exists as a spectrum of ideas and emotions that connect in unexpected ways.

Rêverie, a state of being lost in one’s thoughts or daydreams. Rêverie weaves together the sonic, physical, and digital realms through a series of interconnected sculpture, sound, and virtual pieces. How do these diverse elements come together, and what’s the creative story behind them?

Rêverie was a deeply personal project and my first solo exhibition, which made it even more exciting. The idea developed gradually during a residency at World Creation Studio in Montreal, a space that has been a long-time supporter of my work.

For this project, I wanted to try something new, so I decided to work with ceramics for the first time and explore how they could integrate with extended reality. I created ceramic sculptures, some of which I 3D-scanned to exist both physically and virtually. 

The exhibition space was designed to feel immersive and dreamlike. Visitors entered a fog-filled room where they encountered sand typography created by a friend, sculptures placed throughout the space, and a soundscape I composed. There was also an interactive sound sculpture, a chime made from 3D-printed objects. Using a motion sensor, visitors could play the chime, creating their own sounds and engaging with the installation.

The project’s title, Rêverie, reflects its dreamlike quality and the exploration of realms between physical and digital, tangible and intangible. It was a way for me to blend technology and materiality, creating spaces that felt both personal and expansive.

Your music, such as in tracks like My Heart, incorporates a distinct fusion of electronic, experimental, and organic elements. How do you balance these diverse sonic textures, and what does the blending of genres represent within your broader artistic vision?

For My Heart, the process began when Cecilia, the singer, sent me vocals and piano tracks. I stripped everything back and built the song around those elements. Even though I didn’t initially know the lyrics, I felt connected to their energy.

When blending genres, I approach it similarly to how I DJ. Since I started making music through DJing rather than formal training, my process is rooted in curiosity and experimentation. My sound naturally leans experimental, even when I try for something more club-oriented.

Over the past few years, my Tati au Miel project began to feel heavier and more intricate, which led me to start a new side project, Haitian Prince of Music. This project allowed me to explore different sounds,drum-driven, ambient, and inspired by artists like Boards of Canada. It helped me realize I can explore any genre as long as I give it the right context.

This freedom excites me. Whether under Tati au Miel or another alias, I can push boundaries and create across genres without feeling confined to one style.

Many of your projects seem to challenge conventional formats of performance or art. Can you discuss how you approach breaking traditional boundaries, and what inspires you to create in such multidisciplinary ways?

The first thing that comes to mind is when someone asks, “Oh, you’re an artist? What do you do?” and I say I do more than one thing. Their reaction is often, “You can’t do that.” I hate that response because it’s 2025, we live in a time with access to so many tools and opportunities. It feels like a calling to push boundaries and explore new ways of creating.

I think of that expression, “Our ancestors ran so we could walk.” We’re in a moment where we don’t need to limit ourselves to replicating what already exists. Personally, I feel driven to take untraditional routes and challenge myself with each project.

Over the past four years, since becoming a full-time artist, I’ve made it a point to include an element of curiosity or learning in everything I do. Whether it’s experimenting with a new medium or diving into an idea’s roots, I constantly strive to create work that moves beyond conventional frameworks.

With technology evolving so quickly, the possibilities feel endless. Tools that were once difficult to access are now at our fingertips, and I’m excited to embrace that momentum to reimagine how art and performance can exist.

Your work often explores the intersection of the personal and the collective. How do you navigate the balance between your personal identity and the themes you aim to communicate to the audience, particularly in collaborative works?

I think there’s something inherently communal about being human. While my identity is specific,I’m Haitian Canadian, trans, and able-bodied, sharing who I am creates connections with others, even if we don’t share the same background.

For example, practicing Zen Buddhism has deeply influenced my perspective. Over the past two years, I’ve attended silent retreats and visited temples, especially in New York and Vancouver. What I love about Zen is its openness and communal nature, you meet people from all walks of life who share the same values. That sense of shared understanding mirrors how I present my work. Those who resonate with it will connect, no matter who they are.

That said, one challenge I’ve faced as an artist is being tokenized as a Black artist. While I’m proud of my identity and think it’s important to share, I don’t want my work to be reduced to that lens. This has motivated me to push my practice further, creating complex, layered pieces that can be appreciated for their depth and artistry beyond labels tied to my identity.

Can you take us through your current residency at MONOM, the renowned spatial sound studio and listening space in Berlin? What specific projects or ideas are you exploring there, and how does the space’s unique focus on spatial audio influence your creative process?

I’ve been at MONOM for a few days now, and it’s already been such a rewarding experience. This residency is unique because the team reached out to collaborate with artists, creating a piece together through discussions and shared ideas. That approach felt very natural for me, as I tend to develop work intuitively after being in a space and sensing its energy.

In our initial conversations, we discussed themes like spirituality, which often appear in my work. As I began working, the piece started to take shape as a kind of prayer. It’s inspired by wind, silence, white noise and the idea of a slow-building listening session that invites people to sit with the energy of the space and immerse themselves in the sound.

For me, this project is about being present and responsive to the space and the people around me. Even when performing live, I adapt based on the soundcheck or the energy of the venue. Spaces like MONOM allow me to explore this dynamic fully, crafting something that feels rooted in the moment.

With regard to spatial influences, The Akhet Edizione performance at Fondazione Casa Morra is part of a larger showcase in Naples. What role do you feel the venue and its historical significance play in shaping the energy and message of your performance? How does this specific performance engage with the concept of time, space, and place, especially within the context of Akhet, which suggests a moment of transition or creation?

That performance was my favorite show to date. Interestingly, my previous favorite was my first performance in Milan. I feel deeply connected to Italy, it has a unique energy I always tap into. The Italian electronic scene is incredibly supportive of avant-garde and unconventional work, and the audiences are a perfect balance of curiosity and openness.

The venue, Fondazione Casa Morra, was extraordinary. It’s a beautiful museum, and I had the privilege of staying there before the performance. This gave me time to immerse myself in the space and its history. Naples itself brought its own energy to the performance. The city’s chaotic charm reminds me of Mexico City, where I lived for a few years, and I’m drawn to that kind of vibrancy.

The performance took place on a grand staircase, and I felt compelled to wear a costume and mask. I hadn’t performed with a mask in a while, but doing so helped me channel the energy of the space and created a sense of separation between myself and the performance. This allowed me to fully embody the moment.

The acoustics, the historical weight of the venue, and the energy of the crowd all came together in a way that felt transcendent. Listening back to the recording, I hardly recognized my voice,it was so specific to that time and place. It’s performances like these that remind me why I create. They inspire me to continue tailoring each performance to the unique energy of the moment.

Biraddali Dancing on the Horizon documents a process of ancestral, intergenerational learning. Can you elaborate on the significance and origins of this work?

This film was created by my friend and collaborator, Bhenji Ra, a performer and movement artist from Australia and the Philippines. Biraddali refers to a term used by the Tausug of the Philippines, a celestial being that resembles a woman with wings and supernatural beauty. In the film, Bhenjilearns a pre-Islamic dance of the Tausug people of the Sulu Archipelago and the eastern coast Bajau of Saba in the Philippines. The film portrays a ritual and the learning of this dance with her teacher and collaborator Sitti Airia Sangkula Askalani-Obeso.

The film weaves together movement, stunning landscapes, and traditional music. My sound work for the piece includes noise textures blended with music from the Bungalima Tausug Ensemble. It was an honor to contribute to this project, especially as Bhenjiand I have been collaborating on several performances over the past year.

When Bhenji approached me about scoring the film, she said she felt I could translate shadows and create a parallel realm through sound. That idea stayed with me throughout the process. The film is deeply rooted in cultural and spiritual resonance, and I aimed to honor that by incorporating both indigenous Filipino sounds and experimental elements.

This collaboration felt like a culmination of our previous work together. Bhenji’s expertise in movement and my focus on sound complemented each other, creating a rich interplay between frequencies and physical gestures.

Eternal and Sacred features a selection of pre-recorded mixes and live sets. The genres explored vary from electronic, experimental, industrial, classical, and jazz to ambient soundscapes. Can you elaborate on the existential vision behind the mix as well as the embodiment of this vision in the title?

Eternal and Sacred was a proclamation I made through a mix and live event. It brought together ten artists, who contributed mixes and performed for a radio showcase in New York. The event spanned an entire day, with performances and mixes streamed live.

One of the highlights was including M. Lamar, an artist whose work I deeply admire. M. Lamar blends gothic opera with themes of identity and transformation. Having him contribute a recorded performance for the event felt surreal, especially as I’ve been a fan of his music for so long.

The title reflects ideas close to my heart: timelessness, spirituality, and the creation of spaces that feel expansive yet grounded. The project allowed me to curate a collective experience where diverse genres and creative expressions could coexist.

The event was hosted at Montez Press Radio in Chinatown, New York, where people could listen throughout the day. Some performances were recorded live, adding to the ephemeral yet permanent nature of the project. The name Eternal and Sacred encapsulates the energy I wanted to evoke, a timeless, almost spiritual atmosphere. It remains one of my most fulfilling projects, and I hope to expand on it in the future.

From Seed to Skin explored ideas of transformation, skin, and identity. How do you use sound to symbolize processes of growth, decay, and renewal, and what role does sonic experimentation play in conveying these concepts? Could you elaborate on how your collaboration with Bhenji Ra shaped the overall concept, and how did each of you influence the other’s vision for this live performance?

That performance was the first collaboration between Bhenji and me, and it felt symbolic, like planting a seed. The performance we’re doing later this month is actually a continuation, almost like the third iteration of what began with From Seed to Skin.

The original performance took place in Mexico City during the Day of the Dead, which brought a powerful energy of renewal, death, and shifting perspectives. At the same time, there was a heightened awareness of ongoing genocide in the media, adding another layer of intensity to the work. Bhenji felt called to incorporate elements of Mexican mythology, particularly the god who is associated with transformation and is often depicted with two masks.

For this piece, I asked Bhenji to wear an older costume I had made called the Flesh Mesh. It’s a fabric printed with images of my own flesh, taken from a surgery, symbolizing the idea of a second skin. I had previously used it in other installations and performances, but in From Seed to Skin, it took on a new meaning of shedding and renewal.

The performance itself was deeply rooted in the present moment. I thrive on collaboration, and working with someone as intuitive and thoughtful as Bhenji was incredibly inspiring. Her vision brought in mythological and ritualistic elements, while I focused on sonic experimentation, creating sounds that felt raw and transformative.

Together, we were able to craft a piece that was reflective of growth, decay, and renewal, a work that resonated deeply with the themes we wanted to explore. It was a process of mutual inspiration, with each of us drawing on the other’s ideas and energy to create something profoundly layered and impactful.

In the performance and installation at Kurimanzutto Gallery, you both used your bodies as mediums of transformation. What role does physicality and embodiment play in your work, and how does it connect with themes of growth, decay, and renewal?

I love this question because physicality has become something I am increasingly curious about. 

This curiosity about embodiment is why I have always been drawn to performance. While I perform live music, I try to bring an intentional presence to the space, using my body to interact with the environment. Working with someone like Bhenji, who is so experienced in movement, has taught me so much about exploring my body’s role within performance.

I see embodiment as a way to leave a trace of myself in the work. Whether it is through a live performance, a physical gesture that remains, or a recorded element, I am fascinated by the idea of archiving and marking presence. It feels like an act of personal archaeology, leaving behind something meaningful while fully inhabiting the moment.

Formations for Eternity with Yesenia Rojas at Trans Pecos was a highly immersive live performance. How did you and Yesenia navigate the process of creating an experience that could engage the senses of the audience while also leaving space for introspection?

Yesenia is a close friend of mine. This performance was her first time doing something live, and it was exciting to collaborate on a project that felt so aligned with our shared interests. Both of us come from Caribbean descent, so themes of spirituality and ritual naturally emerged in our discussions. We envisioned the performance as “spiritual noise,” blending experimental sound with intentional, ceremonial elements.

We designed the environment to feel immersive and intimate, setting up four candles around us with the equipment placed in the middle. We faced each other while performing, surrounded by pillars of light, which gave the performance a cinematic quality. The setup became part of the experience, shaping the audience’s connection to the sound and creating a sense of timelessness.

This performance was the first under the Formations for Eternity name, and we both felt it had the potential to grow into an ongoing project. We are already discussing ways to expand it and record future performances. There is something deeply ritualistic about the way we approach these live sets, and it feels like a practice we want to explore further.

The term ‘eternity’ often evokes a sense of permanence, yet your performance seems to embrace the ephemeral. How do you reconcile these concepts, and how does it inform the way you craft live performances that are both fleeting and impactful?

I think it connects to what I mentioned earlier about leaving a trace. Even though live performances are ephemeral, there is something permanent in the impression they leave behind.

Over the years, I have become more selective about how I perform. Not every venue gives me the opportunity to fully realize my vision, but when I can, I think deeply about how to craft the experience. For me, it is about presence, being fully in the moment and creating something that resonates deeply, even if it is fleeting.

The kind of noise I work with often feels trance-like and timeless, as if it exists outside the boundaries of conventional time. I try to embody this quality in all my work. Whether it is through sound, lighting, or interaction with the space, I aim to create an experience that lingers in memory, even after the performance ends.

Ultimately, the reconciliation of eternity and ephemerality comes down to presence. By fully inhabiting the moment, I can create something impactful that leaves a lasting impression while embracing the fleeting beauty of live performance.

The Fantastical World of Tati au Miel series evokes a narrative-driven experience. In the second volume, ‘The Tale of The Vagabond,’ you create a world of migration, displacement, and transition. How do these themes resonate personally for you, and how do they manifest in the performance?

The Tale of The Vagabond emerged during a residency where I created a sculpture of a bird’s nest and performed alongside it. Even before starting the residency, I felt inspired to develop a character-driven story that leaned into fiction. The Vagabond is a human-bird hybrid, a metaphorical reflection of my life as a traveler and nomad.

This character embodies themes of being an outsider, someone without a fixed home. Growing up, the word “vagabond” was often present, sometimes even used as an insult in my Haitian upbringing, which added personal resonance to the concept. The bird imagery felt natural, symbolizing freedom, migration, and the fluidity of identity.

The narrative unfolds not through traditional storytelling but through installations and performances, each offering hints about the Vagabond’s existence and experiences. It allows me to explore deeply personal themes in a more tangible, relatable way, blending my abstract tendencies with a fictional framework.

How do you view the intersection of technology and sound in the Vagabond’s Altar? 

It functions as an altar for a fictional character, blending physical objects I created with 3D-scanned and AI-generated elements. Viewers can interact with the piece through AR, placing it in their environment and scaling it to explore its details at their own pace.

What excites me about AR is its ability to make art more accessible. Anyone with a mobile phone can experience the work intimately, creating their own personal connection. This was my first AR piece, and I am eager to explore how technology can allow art to exist anywhere while giving audiences the freedom to engage on their terms.

Your performance at Mutek Montreal was part of an experimental music festival. Can you describe how you approach live sets like this one, how do you balance the organic elements of performance with the technological aspects that are so integral to your work?

The performance at Mutek Montreal was the live audio-visual iteration of my exhibition Rêverie, as both happened simultaneously in the city. It took place in a 360-degree dome at the Society of Arts and Technology, with visuals projected across the space and surround sound immersing the audience.

Because I was working with VR during my residency, I integrated visuals from the VR project into the performance to complement the dome’s environment. The site-specific nature of the dome heavily influenced the experience. For example, I adapted my sound sculpture for live performance and incorporated technology like motion sensors to make the experience both interactive and immersive.

Performing at Mutek felt significant, especially since it was in my hometown and allowed me to explore new directions in combining XR technology with live performance. It was an exciting way to experiment with emerging mediums while staying true to my artistic voice.

The Chime with Motion Sensor is an innovative piece that functions both as a MIDI controller and a live instrument. Can you describe the concept behind this piece and how it explores the relationship between physical movement and digital sound creation? How does the motion sensor function as a tool for both performance and composition, and what does it reveal about the relationship between technology and the human body?

During a residency, I participated in a workshop on digital fabrication and sensors, which introduced me to motion sensors. That sparked the idea of incorporating them into a chime. The first version was part of an installation, featuring 3D-printed objects that moved but did not produce sound.

I later developed a smaller, portable version with acoustic elements like small bells alongside electronic components. The motion sensor triggers sounds, blending physicality and technology. This interplay creates a tactile, interactive experience where movement generates sound, making it feel intuitive and accessible.

The chime represents my ongoing curiosity about integrating movement and sound. It highlights the relationship between the body and technology, showing how physical gestures can directly shape the auditory experience.

With the growing prevalence of augmented and virtual reality, what potential do you see for these mediums in the future of live performance or art installation? How do they enable a new form of intimacy and immersion with your work?

I believe AR and VR are becoming increasingly integrated into art and performance, offering exciting possibilities for intimacy and immersion. For example, performing in a 360-degree dome with projections felt like a form of augmented reality, where the audience could step into a fully immersive world.

That said, I think it is crucial to make these technologies accessible and human-centric. I am less interested in creating work that requires heavy equipment like VR headsets and more focused on using technology to simplify and enhance experiences. Motion sensors, for example, allow for intuitive interactions without overwhelming barriers.

Ultimately, I see AR and VR as tools to expand how audiences connect with art, providing them with new ways to explore and engage while maintaining a sense of presence and immediacy. As I continue to experiment, I hope to find ways to merge these mediums seamlessly into my practice, making technology a complement to, rather than a replacement for, physical interaction.

Carousel is a fascinating blend of experimental music, visuals, and themes of emotional vulnerability. Can you walk us through the inspiration behind this piece? 

Many of the sounds in Carousel were initially created during The Tale of The Vagabond. The root inspiration for this project was the concept of ever-changing forms and the idea of recreating and reinterpreting my own work. I am a big believer in revisiting previous ideas and evolving them into something new, and Carousel embodies this approach.

The title itself evokes imagery of a carousel at an amusement park, with its whimsical, cyclical motion. This EP captures that energy, blending playful, childlike wonder with experimental sonic textures. For example, the first track, La Berceuse, uses vocal samples from my friend Embaci, and its title refers to a French lullaby, a song to soothe or put someone to sleep. The tracks often feel like lullabies spiraling into echoes, creating a dreamlike atmosphere.

Another influence was the Haitian literary movement known as Spiralism, which explores themes of timelessness, transformation, and the expansion of life. This philosophy deeply shaped the EP, blending ideas of childlike innocence with an abstract sense of infinite possibility.

Solar Return feels like a deeply introspective and cosmic exploration of time and transformation. Could you elaborate on the concept behind this project and how it relates to your personal and creative evolution?

Solar Return was one of my first projects, and it holds a special place for me. It includes some of my favorite tracks, which I still perform live. At the time, I felt an urgency to create and release work, it was driven by a chaotic energy and a sense of survival. I had a lot of ideas and felt the need to get them out into the world quickly.

Looking back, I see how my creative process has evolved since then. These days, I feel more grounded and patient. I no longer feel the same rush to release work and prefer to take my time refining and expanding my ideas. This shift feels like a natural progression as I have become more established in my practice.

The themes in Solar Return, transformation, cycles, and renewal, still resonate with me, but I am exploring them with a deeper sense of intentionality. Moving forward, I plan to revisit some of these earlier works in a deluxe edition, combining them with new visuals and creating a more expansive body of work.

In The Exorcism of Tania Daniel, you delve into the supernatural, ritualistic practices, and transformation. Can you describe the genesis of this work, and how the idea of an “exorcism” informs the emotional and sonic landscape of the piece? How does embodiment and physical interaction with sound manifest in this project, and what does it symbolize in the context of personal transformation and release?

As my debut project, The Exorcism of Tania Daniel was deeply rooted in themes of trance, possession, and release. The idea of an exorcism felt like a fitting metaphor for letting go and confronting the darker aspects of life. Growing up with Haitian heritage, I was influenced by voodoo rituals, where possession and exorcisms are integral parts of spiritual practice.

At the same time, the project drew parallels with modern rave culture and the way people describe the catharsis of dance and techno music. While some people interpreted the project through that lens, my intention was always more spiritual, highlighting the beauty in confronting and embracing the complexities of life.

This work planted the seed for my ongoing Tati au Miel projects. It established a foundation of exploring abstract, spiritual, and transformative themes. Even now, I am inspired by ideas of fog, veils, and shifting realms, both as visual motifs and as symbolic representations of life’s layers and transitions.

Looking toward the future, what themes or concepts are you most excited to explore in your upcoming works? How do you envision your practice evolving over the next few years, especially as technology continues to advance in art-making?

In recent years, my live performances have become more reflective of my evolving sound. I’ve started incorporating new instruments, like bells and the flute, into my work. Learning the flute has been an exciting challenge, it’s still new for me, but performing with it has been an empowering experience.

Moving forward, I plan to release a larger body of work. My goal is to create a full-length album with at least 12 to 15 tracks, combining elements from my past projects with new approaches I’ve been exploring. Taking my time to develop this album will allow me to craft something cohesive, intentional, and deeply personal.

As technology continues to advance, I’m excited to experiment with interactive and immersive elements in my work. Whether through AR, VR, or physical installations, I want to create experiences that are accessible, innovative, and grounded. My goal is to push boundaries while maintaining a sense of intimacy and connection.

This next phase feels like an opportunity to integrate everything I’ve learned so far while exploring new directions. It’s a balance of honouring my past work and embracing the unknown, all while staying true to the essence of my practice.