IN CONVERSATION WITH SNOW RAVEN

interview by JANA LETONJA

More than just a musician or a fashion figure, Snow Raven is a cultural force—a bridge between indigenous knowledge and contemporary expression. With performances that echo across icy tundras and social platforms that reach millions worldwide, she invites us into a world where fashion, spirituality, and music weave into one powerful narrative.

Can you tell us about your upbringing in the Sakha Republic (Yakutia)? How has that environment shaped your identity?

“Urui-Aikhal, Aikhal-Michil!” is one of the greetings in the Sakha language and culture. My name is Snow Raven, Khaar Suor in Sakha, a name given to me by a powerful woman from my homeland. Ten years ago I struggled to accept it because of its heaviness, but what you resist persists. Once I accepted it, it felt as though feathers were hatching and I began to grow wings. Now I am learning how to fly.

A name is a powerful tool of identification, often given by someone who knows us deeply, usually parents, yet we forget that identity is also shaped subconsciously by nature itself. Let me take you to the coldest inhabited place on Earth, the snowy land of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia). We call it Sakha Sire. Winters can fall below –72 °C and summers can rise above +40 °C. In these extremes, four seasons explode with life. Flowers bloom, seeds ripen, everything rushes to transform the energy of sunlight and the elements into its own kind. This is how I understand my identity now. Nature shaped it. I absorbed the gifts of my environment through the colors I saw, the sounds I heard, the tastes of food, the textures I touched, and the scents that filled my lungs. I came to the United States seven and a half years ago, but I often return to my childhood in memory to study what nature and community taught me and how I can use those lessons today as an adult exploring a world far beyond my Arctic village.

I feel fortunate, even in the harsh conditions. As a newborn, my first act was to inhale the Arctic air, ancient and fresh, which gave me resilience and appreciation for life. Crawling as a child, my senses sharpened as I touched plants that greened in short summers, snow that changed texture with each degree, fire that both warmed and burned, and fur from once-living animals that kept us alive through winter. All of this taught me that energy passes from one state to another, that everything is interconnected, animals and humans alike. Walking opened new colors and heights. I remember the Arctic sun, especially in winter, when it turns white. We even have a saying, Ürün Kün, “the white sun.” Speaking wove me into a larger web. The primordial sounds from my mother’s womb becoming vowels and consonants, human knowledge blending with the Earth’s own voice through fish, insects, animals, birds, waves, storms, thunder, earthquakes, volcanoes. In Sakha we say Kihi Ajylga Ogoto, “a human is a child of nature.” We are nature, we are Earth.

All of this is embedded in my genes and my Sakha subconscious foundation. Later, living in different parts of the world, I built new realities. Now I build bridges between cultures and between worlds. I am grateful to be Sakha, an Arctic Indigenous people who survived countless winters and carried forward their wisdom through dance, song, and storytelling. I am grateful to be Snow Raven.

Even the first sip of our mother’s milk carries ancestral genes and knowledge, the wisdom that helped our people survive, and the nutrition of nature that feeds our body, mind, and soul.

Growing up in one of the coldest inhabited regions on Earth, what role did nature play in your personal development and artistic expression?

Life in Sakha Sire taught me survival through observation. My ancestors studied their bodies’ reactions to the environment, processed what they saw, and acted with precision. In our climate, a wrong choice could cost your life. Knowledge that worked was passed down generation to generation until it became tradition.

I see self-development as three aspects — body, mind, and soul — and nature shaped all three. For my body, I learned early that without warm clothing you fall ill. For my mind, harsh conditions demanded critical thinking, experimentation, and analysis. For my soul, cold and darkness gave me reverence for life and the energy cycle, how everything transforms from one form to another.

These lessons became the foundation of my art. Through synchronized breath, movement, rhythm, and voice, I translate that survival wisdom into music and performance. I believe art is our birthright. Every sentient being is a creator, transforming energy from one form to another. Imagination shapes belief, belief turns to knowledge, knowledge turns to wisdom. This is what I feel when I improvise, weaving nature’s story into melody and poetry.

Shamanism (oyuunnaahyn) appears to be a central part of your story. How do traditional spiritual practices influence your art and fashion?

The word “shaman” comes from the Tungusic language, saman, meaning “one who knows.” Tungus people are nomadic reindeer herders, and their shamans are powerful. I had the honor of meeting Savei, a 12th-Sky shaman, who asked the spirits’ permission for me to play the dunur (drum).

A shaman is multi-talented, gifted by nature and cosmos, serving the sick, the community, and the land. In modern society, those same gifts are fragmented into entire industries — psychotherapy, acting, healing arts, fashion. Shamans combine them all - hypnotizer, herbalist, bone-setter, masseuse, singer, storyteller, medium, healer. They go through ettenii (rites of passage), transforming themselves to help others.

These practices evolved in trance states over generations and became our traditions. For example, Olonkho (heroic epic), a one-person theater where the storyteller shape-shifts into many characters, and Ohuokhai, a circular collective dance and chant that creates spiral energy and elevates the group. Such practices not only entertained but also healed, moved blood, released tension, and aligned the voice and body. Mimicking birds and animals is another shamanic technique, a way to summon totem powers encoded in our DNA. I use it in performances, prayer work, and even personal physical practice to relieve pain and embody animal perspectives.

Regalia is equally vital. In Sakha tradition, shamans collaborate with blacksmiths to forge protective metal pieces shaped like spirit animals or human anatomy. These hang over vulnerable parts of the body, their bells and metal clinching as the shaman jumps, creating sounds that ward off hostile spirits and guide journeys. Materials matter. Savei’s bear-skin regalia and drum signify 12th-Sky power and interstellar connection. This is the ancestral root of what we now call fashion, deeply practical, symbolic, and transformative. My own art and stage wear grow from this lineage.

How do you balance preserving Indigenous traditions while innovating in modern mediums like fashion and digital platforms?
Let me briefly explain what traditions are, especially those rooted in Indigenous cultures. Tradition is something that has survived over time and has been passed along generations because it works, it’s effective. Indigenous cultures that haven’t assimilated much into modern life could stand through the waves of change, perhaps shifting slightly, but not losing their essence. Such traditions are almost like scientific proof inside a culture, they worked in ancient times and still work today. The ones that have changed or been modified remind us to think, to experiment, and either to return to the roots or to find a new path.

Most traditions I inherit from my culture were documented and archived orally or in writing. I compare the traditions that survive today and ask how much they’ve changed. Often, the traditions we think have never changed were once innovations that brought new angles. For me, it’s about shaping survival techniques for mind, body, and soul. As a representative of modern society, of a generation that still learns and experiments, I respect and make room for the traditions that have stood the test of time, and at the same time, I remain open to adapting them to our evolving modern world. Exploration and research continue. We expand our knowledge of tradition, finding broader or better explanations, and sometimes make it work even better. Experiments come from someone’s lived experience and belief born from imagination. Using archaic techniques of ecstasy and tools of expression I’ve mentioned before — movement, sound, poetry, painting, and fashion — we add to what exists or bring new perspectives to what our ancestors practiced. When the environment changes, something that was once essential may no longer be useful, experiments reveal better versions or show us where we’re wrong. I believe life is cyclical. Humanity must learn, or we repeat the same mistakes.

Technology today, like the internet, is a digitized expression. I see a sequence. Human experience in imagination, then spoken orally, then written, then digitized. Language is a technology, writing is a technology, digitization is a technology. What’s next after AI, I don’t know, but it’s part of human experience in a path of evolution. Technology itself is neutral, like a knife. You can kill with it or create. It depends on how we use it.

Fashion is a powerful medium to bring awareness to today’s challenges. Designers can tell stories through clothing, exploring concepts of politics, environment, spirituality, and identity, or individuals can express themselves, creating cultural identity and individuality. We can create NFTs and clothes for avatars or AR and VR metaverses, or use natural, recycled, innovative materials to communicate ecological values, sustainable fashion and stagewear that help expression rather than burden it. We are all experimenting, some of these experiments become innovation, which in time becomes a new tradition. Keeping balance means going with the flow, understanding life’s cycles and rhythms, and discovering what works best for human survival today.

Your music blends powerful cultural elements with modern soundscapes. How would you describe your sound to someone unfamiliar with your work?
I would describe my music as a bridge between the ancient and the future. Here’s how I see the ancestry of modern music. Today’s hit songs, often pop, are three to four minutes long, built with formulas for production and samples. You can use that formula and invest money to reach millions, or you can create your own sound from your voice and instruments so the song resonates deeply.

My creativity goes back to the ancestry of sound. Electronic samples come from human, creating rhythm, playing instruments, using the body as an instrument. I like showing what the human body can do, and what innate skills we carry. I return to archaic techniques of ecstasy — breath, movement, extracting rhythm, grooving, expressing primordial sounds — then I tune and combine tones into melody, and weave human language as poetry. It becomes its own music.

It’s a bridge between past and future, between the natural human and the scientifically modified in electronic music. If I record bird and animal sounds with my voice, then stretch them, the sample becomes completely different, but its source remains the same. I can stretch it, put some effects on it, and the sound transforms, a bridge between realms and times. I compose traditional-style songs and also improvise live by listening to nature and literally mimicking it, playing primal instruments such as drum (dunur) and mouth harp (khomus) and shakers. Then I live loop and drop the beats. This is how I blend powerful cultural elements with modern soundscapes.

Could you walk us through your creative process for one of your albums or songs?
My creative process is sacred because it allows me to transform energy moving through my body in the most effortless and effective way. I often say it’s not “me” who sings or dances, something moves through me, especially in improvisation. Creation is a sacred, intimate state between myself and the Creator.

First, I connect directly to source and record a first layer. This becomes a ceremonial album, raw and intimate. It may not use human language, not even my native tongue, it can include primordial language, sounds of nature using primal instruments like the shamanic drum (dunur) and mouth harp (khomus), both found worldwide. In ceremony, I connect to source, usually in nature or on local land. I hear birds and insects, learn their rhythm and tonality, and imagine their stories. I hear water, fire, wind, trees rubbing in the wind, rhythms inside everything. Waves, insects, animal calls, thunderstorms, raindrops, even cars in a city, all offer rhythm and tone.

Second, I drop the beats and create an electronic set, a shorter version of the long ceremonial set. I use the ceremonial recordings as a living library of samples and add electronic beats for EDM festivals. It becomes a dance set that reaches a wider audience.

Third, I create pop songs, becoming more poetic with Sakha and English lyrics. Pop songs, for me, are like mantras. Repetitive, easy-to-remember melodies that affect human consciousness, much like traditional community songs where we repeat after a lead singer. I find this path equally important because it allows me to deliver what has been cooking inside me, listened to in inner silence, into a three-to-four-minute song. I compress a rich experience into short poetry that becomes a community song people can sing together. It’s challenging to compress a profound experience into a short song, but that, too, is an art form. All three formats — my ceremonial sets, the electronic festival versions, and the pop songs — are like different layers of human consciousness I work with. The ceremonial style goes deep into those lesser-known inner sources, the electronic versions shape the rhythm for a larger crowd, and the pop songs bring it all into a shorter, more widely understood form with lyrics.

How do fashion and music intersect in your self-expression?
Fashion and music are manifestations of human expression through art, with roots going very deep. I am lucky to witness their survival in a raw state, consciousness connecting to unseen worlds, preserved to this day in oyuunnaahyn (Sakha shamanism), like fossils in permafrost. I come from the land of permafrost. For a shaman, music comes first as the voice of entities, spirits, and ancestors. Sound has survival and healing properties. In cold, dark winters, when you’re sick and in pain, sound can ease it. For me, music becomes storytelling. The shaman’s music arises from nature’s sounds, from the first drumbeat and a simple hum that grows into a whole narrative.

In Sakha, the process of becoming a healer is called ettenii. The shaman receives signs from spirits about future regalia, which is essential because it helps transformation, embodying certain spirits or frightening hostile ones. Traditionally, shamans partner with blacksmiths, who stand equal in power in our cultural view. The blacksmith creates shapes of spirit animals that hang from leather straps of the regalia. The material is the skin of an animal the shaman can embody and work with. The sign tells which animal to use. The shaman may craft it or collaborate with others who are almost like a designers. The 12th-Sky shaman’s regalia can be made from bear leather, symbolizing great power. When the shaman dances in ecstasy, entering trance and battling hostile spirits to retrieve a stolen soul, the metal animal shapes clinch and bells ring, the sounds scare hostile spirits. The regalia is heavy, literally a burden of metals. The many straps seem to fly as the shaman dances.

Another important piece is the mask or headpiece that covers the face. It protects identity from hostile spirits and helps the shaman fall into trance, easier to embody spirit when ego and identity are quiet. These roots of self-expression go back to an ancient belief system and to people with extraordinary skill to connect with the unseen, guide the community through harsh seasons, and heal the sick. Traditional regalia and national clothing play a huge role in my expression. Wearing them feels like protection from my ancestors and learning from elders whose hands stitched symbols of nature, cosmos, and mystery. I feel honored to wear them on stage, but they are heavy, so I am designing lighter garments for dancing and singing simultaneously. I want clothing that tells the story with me and changes as I shape-shift on stage. I usually co-design stage outfits with Indigenous designers at home, but now I’m creating my own.

Jewelry in my culture protects vulnerable parts of the body. It is made from silver or brass. Sakha people value silver more than gold. Recently. I filmed the music video for “Aan Alaxchyn” (Spirit of Nature) track in my homeland about a bridal ceremony, showing layers from leather undergarments to heavy winter clothing of cow leather. Traditionally, women of the mother’s lineage dress the bride, braiding her hair, placing silver jewelry and hairpieces, blessing and protecting her as she leaves her nest. She receives clothing for all four seasons. The final piece is a mask. In the past, Sakha girls wore masks before marriage. Esteemed Indigenous elders and designers created the seasonal garments for the video. It will be released next year.

Clothing helps me shape-shift. High heels versus reindeer shoes, skirt or pants, glasses on or off, all these transform you, like adding or removing parts of yourself. People carry multiple expressive energies, different archetypes. Music expresses through sound, fashion through sight, touch, even scent. Both are powerful, almost hypnotic, therefore we must be careful with our storytelling.

Sometimes it doesn’t feel like “my” expression. My body becomes a vessel for other spirits, for Earth’s children (animals, birds), or the local land spirits. Sometimes I don’t remember what happened on stage. When I listen back, I ask “Was that me?” Fashion and music together let me express what I feel from the bottom of my soul. They intersect as shape-shifting that empties me, not a mask on top, but a movement underneath identity.

Are there particular styles, materials, or symbols from your native culture that you incorporate into your fashion choices?
The root of my passion is creating and designing something practical and beautiful at the same time. In my culture, fashion helps you survive intense cold and also helps you survive within society and community. It highlights uniqueness and cultural identity. It embodies the land’s wisdom. Our colors and patterns come from nature and are woven into silhouettes, garments, and the whole language of dress. The styles I wear on stage and casually are inspired by my homeland. At 18, I left my grandfather’s home in a village of 300 people and moved to Yakutsk, the capital of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia), with over 200.000 residents. As a student, I wore a headpiece made from white and black horse tail, beautifully woven. My grandfather said it eases headaches and balances energy. I wore it every day for three years. Some friends joked “Do you wear it in the shower?” At that time, many Sakha people did not wear traditional elements casually, but I felt spiritually protected and firmly rooted in who I am.

When I later moved to Moscow, I lost some connection to Earth. The larger “matrix” of concrete roads and buildings chopped and trapped energy in boxes. Returning to myself, even in bigger cities, I feel protected and connected because I reclaimed my traditional clothing, even off-stage. It feels good to wear a piece of land, the warmth and wisdom of elders’ hands, their symbols and blessings. Wearing them reminds me I’m not alone, my tribe supports me. There is also an intimate connection beyond identity, just you with yourself. I’m entering a period where I will design a ceremonial regalia outfit with my own hands, using gifted elements — bones, stones, feathers, pieces of nature — with felt symbolism. These will go into my special regalia.

You have a strong social media presence. How has that helped you connect with global audiences?
Before moving to the United States, I had about .500 Instagram followers. I began my musical path as a street performer with my music partner. Those were powerful moments in my career because they tested my commitment. It was hard work, even in a beautiful place like the Santa Monica Promenade. We were happy to make $50 a day at maximum. We played in the streets because we didn’t have work permits. After three months, I organized a tour, starting with small yoga spaces and conscious community gatherings. I kept creating, managing social media, and building content. Over time, that grew into a strong community. I want a deep connection around human transformation and the techniques I use to sharpen the five senses. Globally, humans seek connection. Social media is a tool designed for that, but it also can take the connection away. It’s neutral, like a knife, and how we use it determines its impact.

I’m grateful for social media. As street performers unknown in a new country, we grew our audience organically. Social media feels like an artificial extension of the brain, connecting people who have never met and live far away. People find you, follow if they resonate, and reach out. I also explore the world through social media, discovering talent, finding collaboration, and being heard: voice, point of view, worldview. It helps create and engage communities. Yes, it can also take your life force if you scroll mindlessly. But, again, it’s like a knife. If you manage your energy and your relationship to the tool, it can help immensely. It is also a way to claim sovereignty over your self-expression and your own material, a decentralized human expression where people find one another’s unique voices and create ideas that can move the world. That is its power, and that is how it helps me.

How do you stay grounded while being so active across the platforms TikTok, Instagram and YouTube?
As I said, you can use technology to harm or to create. Social media is one of those technologies. If you know how to use it, you can benefit from it. Sometimes I feel the blade graze my skin, but I make sure I don’t bleed. That happens when I slip into consuming content without noticing time. Exploring others’ talents can inspire you, but you can get carried away. I practice watching myself from the outside, as if another person were observing me at the computer or on my phone. I try to be a creator more than a consumer. That supports my spiritual balance. I take days off from my phone, computer, and anything digital — “digital fasting.” I also create in my imagination, like “scrolling” my own inner world of expressions rather than others’. You can close your eyes, meditate on your life, and be silent. I like silence and darkness. Even though I fear the dark, it teaches me. I like being in nature, quietly learning from it. I like observing people. These tools keep me grounded.

Expanding your team helps, and today AI can take over some mechanical tasks. I am curious about how AI can free humans from unnecessary mechanical work. I try to separate real life and the digital world. There is an external focus, on your surroundings, that makes you present, an internal focus (on body, organs, nervous system), and a third focus (online), which consumes a lot of energy. Attention costs energy, the brain eats a lot of it. We spend daily life force sitting at a computer or on social media, on an avatar that is only a mask. Then there is the real you. Balancing time and energy between these parts is essential, being aware of switches between modes. I am learning to handle all three.

What’s next for you? Any upcoming projects in fashion, music, or something new entirely?
I love generating ideas and roadmaps for my artistic expression, sometimes too many, which can be overwhelming, so I move step by step and pick the low-hanging fruit.

In music, I’m excited about new skills in Ableton Live and live looping. I’m creating long ceremonial sets, two hours and more. My longest single take was five hours, designed for healing and for journeyers and facilitators of human transformation. I’m also working on an electronic dance album,  heavy bass, dubstep, drum & bass, genres whose rhythms echo Indigenous beats and feel ecstatic and transcendent. I’ve recorded three English-language pop songs planned for 2026, a new side of me I discovered.

In fashion, I want to create my own clothing line and jewelry that anyone can wear, carrying blessings from my people through traditional patterns, symbols, and shapes, done as cultural appreciation and celebration, not appropriation. Nature guides me. The bark and “skin” of trees, textures and colors of leaves and petals, the expression of sunlight on Earth. Marine life also inspires me, a different world shaped by water. On land, wind is a designer. Under water, water is a designer. Sun and soil are co-designers. Animals and insects are the most beautiful fashion designers and models of Earth. Their designs are practical for survival. I prefer all-natural materials and limit plastics and toxins. Learning about non-toxic materials shocked me, and I want to raise awareness through fashion and music.

In education and tech, I’m building online courses aligned with my music, since all sounds and samples are my own human expression with primal instruments like drum and mouth harp. I teach opening the human voice, mimicking birds and animal sounds, khomus, and reindeer breath. I’m developing a Northern Dance, a movement class and an app for my teachings. I’m also working on a healing-music app, a companion for human transformation with preparation, artistic expression, integration, and data that could support research in mental and physical health. 

And to sum it all up, I just want to encourage everyone to never be afraid to sound or look a little ‘weird,’ because that uniqueness is your own special form of expression.

TEAM CREDITS:

photography KOUROSH SOTOODEH
makeup CHARLOTTE WILLER
post production ELMIRA ALIEVA