To evolve as an artist is not simply to change, but to deepen a way of working over time. For Michelle Vargi, this development is shaped through a disciplined daily studio practice and a commitment to rebuilding her live sets between tours. Alongside her work as an architect, her approach to music reflects a process grounded in structure and exploration. We spoke with her about discipline, growth, and how creative ideas take shape through doing.
How did your relationship to practice or routine develop over time?
I’ve always been a very disciplined person. When I first started with music I made a rule: never leave a project half finished. Even when I didn’t like how something was turning out, I forced myself to finish it - a practice that can be creatively painful because you stop enjoying the work when it doesn’t please you.
I still do this today. That stubborn habit has given me the tools to sit with frustration and push through it, and I apply it to every area of my life. As for practice, I truly believe practice makes the master. Talent can be a shortcut, but with steady practice and consistency you can reach far beyond the goals you set for yourself.
“Never leave a project half finished.”
When you talk about always finishing projects even when they become frustrating, can you remember a moment where that approach led somewhere unexpected creatively?
All the time! When I create, I rarely know how it will end - the process always leads to unexpected results. I tend to experiment and rearrange many parts on the fly.
Even when the project becomes frustrating, I push through because each adjustment opens new possibilities. I discover textures, combinations, or narratives I hadn't imagined at the start. In the end, the piece is usually very different from the original idea.
What does discipline look like in your day-to-day life?
I lead a double life as an architect and a producer, so I have to be ruthlessly efficient with my hours and protect myself from burnout. That means planning deep work blocks, setting clear boundaries between tasks, and building small rituals that help me switch hats quickly - a single playlist to move into studio mode, a short walk to clear my head.
Doing live sets adds another layer of pressure. Because I always want to bring something to test or experiment when I perform - partly to avoid my own boredom, and partly because I imagine my audience will feel the same (even though I know that tension is mostly in my head).
So for me, discipline is not just showing up. It’s finishing things, protecting creative time, and pacing myself so the double life stays sustainable rather than exhausting.
You mentioned the “double life” of architecture and music - do those two worlds influence each other in how you think about structure or creativity?
Yeah, for sure. I kind of see architecture and music as the same thing in different forms. Architecture is more physical and structured, music is more fluid - but both are about rhythm, balance, and how everything fits together.
When I’m designing, I think a lot about flow and pacing, almost like how a song builds and releases. And with music, I think more spatially - layering sounds and creating a sense of place. They definitely feed into each other all the time.
What does discipline make possible creatively?
Honestly, discipline is what turns inspiration into something real. If you keep practicing, creativity stops being something that appears only if you’re lucky - it becomes something you do on purpose.
Doing something over and over again lets you dig deeper and make better. You try things, fail and repeat - that’s basically how new ideas can happen.
“Discipline is what turns inspiration into something real.”
What happens to your perspective when you encounter ideas or sounds outside your usual world?
I love encountering new sounds and perspectives. Since I don't spend a lot of time digging, I treat tours as research trips too. I go out to see local shows and festivals to watch artists from different scenes, and absorb new ideas from there.
It’s a creative challenge I enjoy. Trying new styles pushes me out of my routines, and sometimes leads to results that I never expected.
When you say touring becomes a kind of research trip, what are you usually looking for or noticing when you watch other artists perform?
I’m always really curious about live sets - how artists build them, what their setups look like, and how they shape the flow of the performance. I pay a lot of attention to how the crowd reacts too - what moments really connect and why.
And honestly, a big part of it is just discovering music I’ve never heard before, that’s usually the main thing I’m looking for.
How do you move into new territory without losing connection to what made you start?
Moving into new territory can be challenging, but I try to keep where I came from - the Uruguayan school of sound, a particular way of understanding electronic music.
Even when I experiment with different genres, I filter those ideas so the results still remind me of the origin that actually is very close all the time as I am still living in Uruguay.
You mentioned the “Uruguayan school of sound” - how would you describe that perspective?
I think it comes a lot from the atmosphere here. Uruguay is a small country, and especially in winter everything feels more introspective - the days are grey, a bit slower, more inward.
Because of that, people naturally come together in more intimate spaces, like clubs, where the experience becomes almost collective.
That environment shapes the sound. There’s a tendency toward more intense, emotional music - something that resonates on a deeper level rather than just being purely functional. It’s not just about dancing, it’s about feeling something, about being carried through a story during the set.
So for me, the “Uruguayan school of sound” is about that connection: music that’s immersive, a bit introspective, but still powerful. Something that reflects both the mood of the place and the closeness of the scene.
“It’s not just about dancing, it’s about feeling something.”
As your work changes, what remains the same in how you think or create?
In Uruguay, live shows are often approached like DJ sets, and that perspective has stayed with me. When I make music I think of the dancefloor first and when I build a set I plan the different moments and emotions I want to create, just like a DJ.
I blend styles and sequence tracks in a way that moves people, so the experience never becomes static or predictable.
How do you recognise when growth is meaningful rather than just change?
To me, change often feels technical and surface level - swapping sounds, testing new production tricks, or trying new elements just to see what fits.
Growth is bigger and more integrated. It means losing the fear of trying ideas that might fail, learning to read and respond to the crowd in the moment. It also brings a deeper satisfaction with your work - not just because something sounds different, but because the music connects and the audience reacts.
Change is experimentation. Growth is when those experiments become skills - and a more confident, purposeful relationship with your music and your listeners.
