In 2020, Ariana Grande showed off a new tattoo: a delicately sketched lotus flower climbing up her right arm. Known to bloom in the mud and symbolise beauty in adversity, the lotus flower was initially interpreted by some fans as a tribute to her late former partner, Mac Miller. But, as Grande’s own voice rises out of sludgy, dusk-coloured R&B on her new album, petal, and soars in spite of decidedly dark lyrics like “They say the artist needs tears to write again,” the lotus flower seems to take on new meaning. Both sonically and thematically, it reflects the album’s preoccupation with the relationship between suffering and artistic creation.

Back in 2024, as Grande’s previous critically acclaimed album, Eternal Sunshine, was undercut by rumours surrounding her relationship with then-married actor Ethan Slater, Dazed argued the only thing Ariana owes us is good music. Two years later, this could do with some clarification: she owes us nothing, including access to her private life, an explanation of her art, or visible proof that she is well. Yet again, Ariana’s personal life has cast a shadow over an album rollout – but this time, the discourse has centred not on romance but on relentless public commentary about Grande’s body during her ongoing international Eternal Sunshine tour.

Still, as if in response to the pervasive sense that she is a figure to be pitied, Grande insists on the title track, “petal”, that she is “not the victim”. Instead, over distorted R&B production and piano stabs that arrive like vases lobbed across the room in a fit of rage, Grande emerges as defiant. “I don’t need someone to save me,” she sings, her voice moving between its signature falsetto and an earthier register. “If this is my curse, I’ll let it ride, ride”. Whatever the song’s autobiographical significance, Grande presents herself as stronger than the public narrative surrounding her allows.

Setting aside the narratives surrounding its release, it’s undeniable that petal is a powerful project. Long-time creative collaborator Katia Temkin’s greyscale visuals are paired with climactic yet minimal production from Swedish-Iranian hitmaker Ilya Salmanzadeh (Thank U, Next; Eternal Sunshine). The distortion provides the mud from which Grande’s shining vocals bloom, giving the album a beautiful complexity. 

But a closer reading of the lyrics tells a darker story. References to death and endings recur throughout the album – “This music and I will never die”, “This is the beginning of the end”, “It’s bye, this time for real”, to name just three – alongside ominous explorations of tortured artistry that culminate in Ariana doing a “bad thing” and relinquishing herself to her “self-fulfilling prophecy”. The album invites a biographical reading, even if that reading remains necessarily speculative. Confessional or not, these are troubled lyrics, maybe even troubling. In a track called “warning signs”, for example, Grande asks: “This music is my pain, do you hear me everywhere?”

It’s ultimately unclear whether these lyrics reflect Grande’s personal life, her creative process or neither. Song lyrics are not diary entries or glimpses into an artist’s therapy notes, and darkness in art is not necessarily evidence of danger. Perhaps, as Grande herself reminds us, that’s not our place to determine. If we take the “petal” lyric “[As] long as she gets the ovation each night, heartbreak won’t bite in this paradise” at face value, then Ariana’s paradise shines as brightly as ever on petal.