“I actually went to an exhibition in LA that was called All About Love,” she begins, her eyes bright. “That exhibition was in response to bell hooks’ book All About Love[: New Visions]. And then I was like, I want to do a response to both of those things, but in musical form. Exploring the beauty of what it means to love someone properly, and how we can love each other a little better in this modern world.”That exhibition became the spark that lit the flame for Dean. What followed was a collection of songs that unravel love in all its shapes, romantic, platonic, and self, through the lens of Dean’s signature storytelling.

“At the core of it, it’s just storytelling,” she explains. “I guess I look at music as not only therapy but also documenting a time. These songs just kind of fell out; they weren’t that difficult to make because they came from a really real place.” One of those songs is “Nice to Each Other”, a light, airy track with an understated depth that lingers long after it ends. “That song started on my piano at home,” she recalls. “I was playing doo doo doo doo doo like this, and then I started singing quite quickly. I think I have a voice memo of it. I just started going, ‘Nice to each other, doo doo doo doo doo,’ and then it was kind of born from there. I just knew it was going to be a song. Sometimes you write something and you’re like, ‘Oh, this is gonna be a song.’ You just know.” That sense of creative certainty and trust in her intuition reflects Dean’s growth as both artist and person. Olivia leans back in her chair for a moment, considering her words before breaking into a knowing smile. Growth, both personal and musical, has been the quiet hum running beneath The Art of Loving.

“I think I’ve just been able to take a deeper look,” she says thoughtfully. “Musically, I feel like I’ve written some of my best songs on this album. I definitely think I’ve taken more control.” It’s not just talk; Dean’s fingerprints are everywhere. The piano you hear on the record? “The piano across the whole thing is my piano from home,” she explains. “I think I’m just a more well-rounded and emotionally mature person on this album.” And you can hear that evolution not just in her voice, but in the quiet confidence with which she tells these stories. Dean’s world has widened since her debut, bigger stages, bigger rooms, bigger lessons, yet her songwriting feels even closer, more intimate. That emotional rawness takes center stage in “Close Up” and “Loud”, songs that crack open the softer, more uncertain corners of love. They’re heartbreak songs, yes, but not the kind that wallow, the type that see.

“I’m a real believer in never forcing anything,” she says gently, her voice soft but sure. “I think if you’re wondering whether someone loves you, then there’s probably something to it. I don’t think there’s smoke without fire. Love that works, works. And you make it work. Maybe just ask them. Maybe just get right to the point and ask them.” Refreshingly direct and full of the tenderness she threads through her music.

But it’s “Let Alone the One You Love” that feels like the album’s emotional summit. A track born from tears, reflection, and brutal truth. “Oh my God, that one – I cried a lot in the studio,” she admits. The song evolved through several versions before finding its final form, but the core remained constant: a woman standing at the crossroads of ambition and affection. “Sometimes, as a woman, you feel like you have to choose between following your career or following love,” she says. “Like there’s two paths. That song is about disappointment and feeling like, ‘Damn, really? You don’t want me to shine?’” That perfect mix of vulnerability and quiet defiance is what makes this album so transformative. If The Art of Loving is about learning to love deeply, it’s also about learning to live fully. Olivia’s career continues to blossom, and her gratitude is grounded in reality, not reach.

She smiles when asked about her dreams, and they’re equal parts grand and graceful. “I wanna play Red Rocks, that venue,” she grins. “I’d love to play Radio City Music Hall. And I’d love to do a show with an orchestra; just a whole big band orchestra show. I can really see that. It could be quite chic.” But she’s not chasing stardom, she’s living in the moment. “I feel like I’ve achieved so many things I’ve wanted to do. So at this point, I’m just like, if I could just do more of the same, I’d be happy.” Her love for performing comes not from the lights, but the connection. “I really like intimate venues,” she says. “I really like feeling connected to the audience and being able to see everybody. Sometimes, when shows get bigger, you stop seeing faces, which can be a bit weird. But I try to offer the same experience, that we’re all in the room together.”

That sense of closeness isn’t just a performance ethos, but it’s also a way of being. She tells me about a show in Montreal, a small moment that became something unforgettable. “There was this older lady with her best friend,” Dean recalls, eyes softening at the memory. “I was playing “I Could Be a Florist”, and I asked if there were any florists in the audience. It’s never happened before that the person was right in front of me! She said, ‘I’m a florist.’ Then they hugged, and I sang it to her. It was really cute, I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I’ll cry.’ It was such a sweet, emotional moment.” Small, real, human moments like that seem to be the heartbeats of Olivia’s career. When she talks about her craft, there’s no ego, no posturing, just quiet conviction. “Make the music you want to make.” When asked about pre-show rituals, she starts by stating, “Classical music is a good one to get centered…Warm up, have some honey and lemon, nothing that exciting, really. I wish it was like cartwheels or something like that!” she laughs.

Her advice to rising artists, though, lands with the weight of someone who’s lived it: “Make the music that you want to make. It feels quite obvious, but you can get really caught up making the music you feel like you should make, or the music you think will get you success. At the end of the day, you’re making it because you want to create something that doesn’t exist in the world. So just make something that you would love to listen to. If people like it, great. And if they don’t, make something else. But never make anything for anybody else, you’ll just end up unhappy.” There’s a quiet bravery in that, the courage to trust your own taste, your own truth.

And when I ask what wisdom she hopes listeners carry from this album, her voice slows, almost like a lullaby:  “Back yourself, you know? Never let anyone make you feel like you’re too big, or difficult, or unlovable. Everyone’s lovable; you just need to find the right person to love you. So just love yourself until then.”

It’s the thesis of her record, and of her heart: love deeply, live honestly, and never apologize for shining.

Photographer: Gwen Trannoy