We recently connected with Camille Tredoux and have shared our conversation below.

Camille, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

There was a time I thought I had my life mapped out. I was a straight-A student with a 4.0 GPA, a collegiate cross country athlete, and headed toward law school—checking every box, following the script, and measuring success by a standard I’d upheld for as long as I could remember. But quietly, something was shifting. Music had always been central to who I was, even if I hadn’t yet allowed myself to pursue it fully.

My upbringing was nomadic—split between Romania and Johannesburg before settling in Colorado for a decade. I grew up moving through cultures, languages, and identities, but it wasn’t until I moved to Portland to care for my father in his final months after battling a rare form of cancer that I began to understand the urgency of time. Sitting with someone you love as they near the end changes you. That experience—caught between life and death—opened something in me.

Three days before he passed, my father called. We were both holding more than we could say. In that conversation, he asked me directly to pursue music. He told me not to waste time. That I had something. That I needed to do it professionally. And deep down, I already knew he was right. That conversation gave me the permission I hadn’t yet given myself.

So I left college. I stepped away from the security of a degree and the familiarity of a mapped-out future, and I chose to pursue music full-time. It was a leap into the unknown—but it remains the most honest decision I’ve made.

Since then, I’ve committed myself fully to this path. My music explores what it means to be human—to grieve, to expand, to love, to begin again. I blend soul and mysticism into songs shaped by the places I’ve lived and the people who’ve shaped me. I write from the threshold—that space where grief and beauty often sit side by side.

Over the past year, I’ve stepped intentionally into the professional realm. I released my first studio recordings, began performing across Portland’s vibrant scene, and was awarded Best Lyricist at the PNW Music Awards. I’m part of a growing collective of women in music—a space of creative exchange, visibility, and support. I’ve also been entrusted with several large-scale projects that, while not yet public, will significantly expand my career and reach. With a growing audience and tour plans ahead, I’m stepping into this next chapter with clarity and momentum.

Music isn’t just my work—it’s how I survive, how I love, and how I make sense of the world. And I know now that choosing it wasn’t a risk. It was a return.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

I’m a singer-songwriter, storyteller, and performing artist working at the intersection of soul, mysticism, and emotional truth. My music lives where grief and beauty meet — where longing, transformation, and raw human experience become song. I create art that speaks to the threshold moments in life: loss, love, reinvention, expansion. My songs are deeply personal and narratively driven, rooted in a jazz-soul-folk tradition with poetic lyricism at the core.

Before I pursued music professionally, I was on a very different path. I was a NCAA cross-country athlete. straight-A student with a 4.0 GPA, on track for law school — checking all the conventional boxes of success. But something in me was quietly unraveling. Music had always lived at the center of who I was, even if I hadn’t yet allowed myself to claim it as more than a passion.

I was born in the U.S., but my upbringing was nomadic — I spent my early years between Romania and Johannesburg, South Africa until the age of thirteen before settling in Colorado for a decade. That movement shaped my worldview. I was always navigating multiple cultures, languages, and identities — and music became the one space that could hold it all. But it wasn’t until I moved to Portland to care for my father in the final months of his life battling a rare form of cancer that something shifted for good. Witnessing him cross the threshold between life and death cracked something open in me. Three days before he passed, he called and told me to go after my music — not as a hobby, but as my path. That conversation gave me the clarity and courage I needed. I left college soon after and began building a career in music from the ground up.

Since then, I’ve poured myself into this work. I write, record, and perform original music that blends soul, jazz, blues, folk, and ambient textures. My songs are both intimate and expansive — exploring the emotional terrain of what it means to be human. I’ve released studio recordings, performed throughout Portland, and won Best Lyricist at the PNW Music Awards. I’m part of a vibrant women-in-music collective, and I’ve also been invited to work on several large-scale creative projects (soon to be announced) that will significantly expand my reach as an artist.

What sets my work apart is the intention behind it. My music isn’t just entertainment — it’s an offering. It’s a space for people to feel deeply, to remember themselves, to heal, to come home. I hold spaces that invite stillness, honesty, and transformation — whether through performance, songwriting, or sound-based gatherings. My sound is emotional without being performative, spiritual without being abstract, grounded in lived experience while reaching for the sacred.

What I’m most proud of is the way I’ve remained true to the essence of my art. I’ve built my career slowly and intentionally, creating a body of work that reflects the depth and integrity I want to carry forward. I want potential clients, fans, and listeners to know that everything I put out into the world is crafted with care, depth, and presence. I’m here to move people — and I believe music, at its best, does just that.

With tour plans ahead, new music on the way, and some exciting collaborations on the horizon, I’m stepping into this next chapter with more vision and clarity than ever before.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?

One thing non-creatives might struggle to fully grasp about the life of a musician is how much it requires from every part of you — body, mind, and soul — all at once. There’s no clear line between “on” and “off.” Music isn’t something I clock into from 9 to 5. It’s a constant current running through my nervous system, a full-bodied engagement with life that doesn’t stop just because I want rest or stability.

The work is physically and emotionally demanding. Performing live takes enormous energy and presence. Writing music requires deep internal excavation. And behind all that, there’s the business side — managing your calendar, pitching yourself, booking shows, handling finances, staying visible online, leading your team (if you’re lucky enough to have one). You wear every hat: artist, strategist, publicist, manager, sometimes even therapist. It’s entrepreneurial at its core.

What makes it especially hard is that the creative process itself is unpredictable. You can’t force brilliance. There are days when the songs just don’t come, and others where they pour out like they’ve been waiting for you your whole life. But that inconsistency doesn’t change the fact that deadlines, opportunities, and bills still exist. There’s pressure to produce when inspiration isn’t flowing — to package your heart on a timeline.

Financially, it’s unstable. Income is often gig-to-gig, project-to-project, month-to-month. You’re building a brand while also trying to stay true to your art. You’re creating beauty and magic in a system that doesn’t always compensate artists fairly — and still, you have to show up with excellence and vision, because no one will believe in it if you don’t.

What people sometimes overlook is that most artists aren’t just dreamers — we’re workers. We commit to something elusive and challenging every single day. We’re doing grueling labor in a field that runs on feeling, mystery, and nuance. And we do it because we believe in the power of art to move people, to create meaning, to shift culture.

So if you’ve ever been touched by a song, film, painting, poem — know that it came from someone who chose to keep going, even when it was hard. That’s the part most people don’t see. And it’s why I have deep respect for every creative who’s still in the game.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

To truly support artists and help foster a thriving creative ecosystem, society needs to shift how it values creativity — not just as entertainment, but as essential nourishment for culture, connection, and emotional health.

Support doesn’t always have to be grand or expensive. Start local. Go to shows in your neighborhood. Buy a ticket. Stream the music of emerging artists — and not just once. Follow them, playlist them, share their songs with your friends. If you attend a live show, post about it online. Tag the artist. These small actions ripple outward and make a real impact, especially in an industry where visibility and reach can make or break momentum.

There’s a tendency in our culture to focus energy only on the biggest, most polished names. But every household name started out small. When we pour attention into local talent — showing up, spreading the word, investing time and care — we help build an ecosystem that isn’t just sustainable but vibrant and diverse.

Also, we need to normalize paying artists fairly — for performances, licensing, collaborations, and beyond. Exposure is not compensation. Artists are workers, and their labor — emotional, intellectual, physical — deserves to be honored accordingly.

Finally, let’s create more spaces for artists to gather, collaborate, and rest. A healthy creative community thrives on relationships, not just output. When artists feel seen, supported, and connected, everyone benefits — because the work that emerges from that kind of ecosystem is richer, more meaningful, and more impactful.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.camilletredouxmusic.com/
• Instagram: @camilletredoux
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/camille.tredoux/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClTslENY4bV4G7a-OuOT7Pw

Image Credits

Grace Marie (for black & white photo)
Jason De Leon (all photos except yellow photo)
Jenine Dalusong (For yellow photo)