ARTEMIS

ARTEMIS IS MAKING ROOM FOR A NEW SOUND

MUSIC / INTERVIEWED BY LAUX | AUGUST 2026

IMAGERY VIA
@QUIET_STORM_LEE

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Before this interview, I was thinking about you while I shuffled my Tarot deck. I pulled The Hanged Man for you. It represents surrender, patience, and seeing the world from a new perspective. Sometimes the greatest transformation doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from letting go long enough for our perspective to change.

Can you tell me about a time when letting go changed the direction of your life?

That's exactly what I'm going through right now. Letting go happened with this last church show. It pulled me so far outside of my comfort zone that I started questioning everything, including how I presented myself.

I spent some time looking through your Instagram, and I watched the gospel performances you posted. I noticed your long hair. I noticed your shoes. I found myself wondering what that experience felt like for you. Is that what you were talking about?

Yeah. That's exactly what I meant. I'm a Libra. We don't really like change. We like things to flow a certain way. I already have my own style. Then suddenly I had family members saying things like, "You look like you just came from shooting dice on the corner."

They'd compliment my performance, but criticize my appearance. My whole goal was to go in there and simply be myself. But after hearing those comments, I started getting inside my own head. I watched the videos back and started wondering if maybe I did need to change.

How did you navigate being yourself while also feeling those expectations from the church?

I was born and raised in church. Growing up, I always heard, "Come as you are." So that's exactly what I did. I came as I was. But then people immediately started trying to change me. That's when I caught myself thinking, this is exactly why so many LGBTQ people don't feel comfortable coming to church. It's happening again. I didn't want the devil to win. So I stayed.

When they asked me to send in headshots, I realized I didn't have a single photograph of myself without a hat. Not one. I was thirty-eight years old. I sat there scrolling through my phone and started crying. I remember asking myself, "What am I hiding?" That moment changed something.

Can you tell me more about that? What changed?

Spiritually, I felt like God was reaching for me. I really did. I could feel Him. But at the same time, I wasn't sure I was ready. Once I started seeing some of the judgment and negativity that came with being involved in church, I started pulling back. I don't want to play with church. If I'm going to give myself to it, I want to be completely ready.

What does giving yourself to church look like to you?

Everything. After I left the church, I disappeared from social media for almost seven months. I didn't want to smoke online anymore. I didn’t want to present myself the way I always had. It suddenly felt like everyone was watching me because I'd opened another chapter of my life.

Every time there was a performance, I had to become this other version of myself. Eventually I didn't know where I belonged anymore.

It sounds like there was a difference between what you felt spiritually... and what people expected from you.

Exactly. Watching myself transform wasn't actually the hard part. After that first performance, I remember thinking, "Wow... I haven't seen myself like this in a long time." There was actually something beautiful about it.

I wasn't against changing. I just wanted it to happen because it felt authentic... not because someone else expected it from me.

I didn't join this because I wanted people constantly telling me who I needed to become. I already knew God was doing something in me. I could feel it. The problem was everyone else trying to decide what that transformation was supposed to look like.

People don't realize everything that goes into those performances. The outfits. The hair. The preparation. The money. You’re telling somebody to sacrifice and they aren't even getting paid. Meanwhile, I still have bills. I'm still trying to survive. That was really difficult.

Was this the church you grew up in?

No. It was actually my old choir director from high school. Back then I was one of the featured singers. I'd usually get the solos. He reached out because he was putting together this big production. He told me I came to mind immediately. He said I needed to be part of it. So I said yes.

What happened once you became part of the production?

Everything started moving. We were going into the studio. I was doing radio interviews. I was getting bookings. It finally felt like something was happening. Then it just stopped.

The last really big show I did was at the Oakland Paramount. It was huge. But I only had a couple rehearsals. People were showing up late. I'd work all day, drive to rehearsal, stay there until eleven or midnight, and then have to get up and do it all over again.

Do you still enjoy singing gospel?

Absolutely. Gospel is home for me. I know I can sing gospel. That part has never been in question. Even while all of this has been happening, I still keep one hand in music. But my life has changed. The things I used to write about, the things I used to be, that's not who I am anymore.

So now I'm trying to figure out what this next chapter sounds like.

How has your writing changed?

Because Leezey isn't here anymore.

I'm still figuring out who Artemis is. I know who I used to be. I don't know if I've completely met this version of myself yet. I'm still discovering her.

Who was Leezey?

Leezey was a mess. She was fun. Sometimes I miss her. Sometimes I really don't. I've grown so much that I genuinely love who I am now.

Back then, Leezey was the ladies' man. The gigolo. I always joke that I didn't sell drugs, I sold time. I was the drug. I lived fast. I was performing in clubs. My goal every year was to make it onto the Pride stage. I did. Two or three years in a row. I made that happen myself.

When I first started performing alone, it terrified me. I was so used to having an entourage around me. Walking onto a stage by myself gave me butterflies. Eventually the butterflies disappeared. I started telling myself, "I've got this." That confidence became part of who I was.

Can you tell me about the turning point? What shifted you from Leezey into Artemis?

I think COVID was part of it. I went through a really difficult period. I lost my job after five years. Everything felt uncertain.

But I also think my relationship changed me. Before her, I cheated. I partied. I drank. I lived fast. But in nine years together, I've never cheated once. I think I was finally tired. I didn't want to keep living the same life. Drinking. Clubbing. Running the streets.

I wanted to know what a real relationship felt like. That's when Leezey slowly started disappearing.

You stopped being Leezey about nine years ago?

Pretty much. There was definitely some overlap in the beginning. We got together around 2017, and I was still slowly letting go of that old life. But Christina had standards. She worked in a hospital. She had kids.

She wasn't interested in the lifestyle I'd been living. And honestly, I liked that. I liked the challenge.

So you fell in love.

Yeah. I really did.

She offered stability. Something I'd never really experienced before.

Every relationship I'd had before that, I pretty much did whatever I wanted. I'd stay out until two or three in the morning. Nobody questioned me. Now midnight rolls around and somebody's asking where I am.

That was completely different for me. But I respected it. I respected what we were building together. Sometimes I miss those carefree nights.

But I don't miss juggling multiple relationships. I don't miss the stress. The arguments. Trying to keep everybody happy.

There's so much peace in building one life with one person. That's what I've always wanted.

I'd love to know what kind of kid you were growing up.

Depressed.

My mom and I were just talking about this recently. I was always the kid sitting alone in a dark room with the blinds closed. My mom would come in and pull the curtains open. She'd say, "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

That was me as a kid. A lot of it goes back to my dad. He was murdered when I was four months old.

Four months old...

Yeah. He was only nineteen years old. They always tell me I'm his twin. I'm his only child. His only legacy.

Growing up, I watched other kids with their dads. I'd never been hugged by mine. Never been kissed by him. Never got to know him. That leaves a hole.

Did you have a relationship with his side of the family?

I did. But it never felt the way I thought it should. My grandmother even raised foster children. Sometimes it honestly felt like those kids received more love than I did.

I was always the tomboy. As I got older, the tattoos, the grills, the way I dressed, I started feeling pushed further and further away.

I'm the first granddaughter in a huge family. Everybody would be together except me. I'd constantly ask myself, why am I never invited? Why nobody call me? Eventually I started feeling isolated.

Do you think being gay had something to do with that?

I think as I got older, yeah. When I was little, everyone already knew I was a tomboy. But once I became an adult and fully embraced who I was, everything changed.

I'm not even the only gay person in the family anymore. There are other cousins now. When I found that out, I couldn't help thinking, y'all treated me this way, and now it's happening inside your own house. That hurt.

Did you ever try repairing those relationships?

Yeah. I reached out this year on my birthday. I woke up feeling like I wanted a clean slate. I wrote my aunt a long message. I admitted where I'd been wrong. I told her how I'd been feeling. I just wanted honesty. But it wasn't the response I hoped for.

A while before that, I'd even driven over to my grandmother's house. Nobody answered the door. There was love there once. I know there was. Something changed when I got older.

I watched my mom spend years fighting for me to be included. Eventually, I stopped asking. I had to grow. I had to heal. I've spent years trying. Nobody really tried for me.

At the core of it... it sounds like you just wanted to feel loved. Wanted to feel seen.

That's all I wanted.

And the only time people really reached out was when they wanted me to sing. A wedding. A funeral. Some family event. That's when my phone would ring.

Otherwise, nothing. So I started saying no. That's one of the reasons I've become so protective of my relationship. We've built our own family. I'm good over here. I know what real love feels like now.

What about your mom's side of the family?

They're completely different. We're educated, but we're still hood. We'll fight. We'll argue. We'll drink. We'll get on each other's nerves. But if something happens, everybody shows up. Somebody needs help? Everybody pulls up.

That's the difference. On my dad's side, I stopped expecting people to show up.

Do you still have relationships with any of your cousins?

A few. But I cut a lot of people off, especially some of my boy cousins. I always felt like whenever I needed somebody, nobody came. I always had to stand on my own.

My girlfriend told me one time that she thinks I have a "man complex." At first I got defensive. But then I really sat with it. I started crying because I realized she's right.

My dad wasn't here. I never had that relationship. So when some of my boy cousins thought they were going to talk down to me or try to intimidate me, I wasn't having it. I fought back. I always fought back.

But underneath all of that, it wasn't really about fighting. It was heartbreak.

The people I wanted love from were the same people who disappointed me. Eventually I blocked a lot of them on social media. I stopped looking. Stopped waiting. Stopped hoping. Now I just live my life.

Do you think that's part of why you started making music?

Absolutely. Music gave me a place to be heard.

When did music first become part of your life?

High school. Around 2007 or 2008. I started making music with my best friend. Eventually we stopped being friends, so I kept going by myself. I've been making music ever since.

Who made you feel like an artist?

My mom. Without question. She's my biggest fan.

One day she heard me singing upstairs. She was downstairs cooking. She stopped what she was doing, ran upstairs, and asked me to sing it again. She got so excited she started calling the entire family. She made me sing over the phone for everybody.

She kept saying, "My baby can sing." That's probably the first time I realized maybe I really could.

Then when I got to middle school and high school, music became my world. I went to Oakland School for the Arts. Choir was serious. You had to keep at least a 3.0 GPA to stay in. If you stayed in, you got to travel. The Bahamas. Competitions. All kinds of opportunities.

I stayed in choir all four years. I even tried balancing basketball at the same time.

Eventually I gave basketball up.

Music won.

Do you make your own beats?

No. I usually find them online. Every once in a while a producer will send me something, but it has to slap. If it doesn't move me, I can't write to it.

What's your writing process?

The beat comes first. Always. I'll listen to it over and over. I'll think about how other people are going to hear it.

Then I start humming. I'll play with melodies until something starts coming out naturally. Once I find that, I'll write the first couple of lines. After that, the song usually tells me where it wants to go.

One thing I noticed listening to your music is that you sing your own hooks.

Yeah. That's me. I remember a pretty well-known rapper in the Bay asking why I was singing my own hooks instead of having somebody else do them.

Before I could answer, my producer said, "Because that's how she wants to do it. Not everybody can sing and rap." That really stuck with me.

I think that's one of your biggest strengths. You're two artists in one person.

The funny thing is, I still think I need a ghostwriter sometimes.

Really? Why?

Not for rapping. For singing. I can write hooks. I can hear melodies. But writing a full R&B song is hard for me.

That's one of the reasons I was so excited about finishing the gospel album. It would've been the first time I really got to hear myself carry an entire singing record. I wanted to know what that version of me sounded like.

Can you think of a project that changed the way you see the world?

Martin Luther King Day this year. Burke's School invited me to sing. That experience changed me.

Watching those kids, the teachers, everyone listening together, some were crying. Most of the students were white. I remember looking around the room thinking, we're one.

Music did that. For those few minutes, nothing else mattered.

Who invited you to sing at Burke's?

Margot. She works at the school. She'd actually come to church and watched me perform several times before inviting me.

The school even paid me to come sing. But honestly, the money wasn't even the best part. The best part was realizing those families had experienced something they probably never would have experienced otherwise.

They came into a Black church. They felt that energy. They felt that spirit. I got to share a part of myself and a part of my culture with people who may never have stepped into that space on their own. That meant everything to me.

Listening to your music, I kept hearing this thread about becoming someone new. What changed?

For the first time, I'm actually living as myself.

Growing up, I felt like I had to become what everybody else expected.

The people in the streets knew me as Peter Lee's daughter. I felt like I had to be tough. I had to be respected. Looking back, I don't think I was really living for myself. I was living for everybody else.

That's why I told you earlier, I think I'm still a little stuck. Because now I'm trying to figure out: Who am I? What do I actually like? Not what everybody else expects from me. What do I want?

Do you still feel called toward church? Maybe not that particular church, but church in general?

I do. I really do. But I also realized there was a lot of pressure that came with it.

That's part of why I feel so stuck right now. I've been focused more on trying to survive. Trying to become successful. I'm tired of struggling.

Maybe right now this just isn't my season.

When you say stuck, what do you mean?

Disappointed. That's really the word. Disappointed.

Disappointed in who?

Mr. Cole. Somebody I've looked up to since I was thirteen years old. I never thought he'd leave me hanging like that.

What happened?

He pulled me into this whole experience because he said I needed to share my light with the world. And I believed him.

I stepped completely outside my comfort zone. He told me, "I see you becoming something you probably don't even see yet." I trusted him.

Then after the Paramount show, everything changed. I performed in front of thousands of people. I felt completely unprepared.

Afterwards it was almost like, "Okay, thanks." No direction. No next step. No real guidance.

It started making me wonder: Was I here because people genuinely believed in me, or because I was helping sell tickets?

It sounds like you felt hurt by someone you really trusted.

Exactly. He was like an uncle to me. Almost like the father figure I never had. That's why this hurt so much.

Right now, music feels like it's giving me the same thing life has been giving me: a lot of disappointment.

What kind of help do you feel like you need?

Somebody to help put me in the right rooms. I've managed myself my whole career. There's only so much one person can do.

For the first time, I finally felt like I had somebody managing me. Things were moving. Then when it came time to actually make the album, everything slowed down.

After all those drives and all those hours, we still hadn't recorded a single song. I couldn't keep doing that.

I've already got songs. I don't even want to keep waiting on new music. I want to shoot videos for what I already have.

People haven't even heard those songs yet. Why keep chasing something new when I already have music I'm proud of sitting on my computer?

You don't really have to wait on anybody anymore.

You're right. That's the beauty of social media now.

I think I've just been in my head trying to figure out what's next. And when your money isn't right, that's all you think about. Everything else gets pushed aside.

I'm basically starting over right now. I've cleaned up the house a lot recently. I finally have space. I want to dedicate one corner of the house to creating. My own little live-stream space.

I've already got the vision. Now I just need to build it.

Instagram: @quiet_storm_lee
TikTok: @citylee88