All her life, Emma Hardyman has wrestled with contradictions. After all, she was practically rendered a living, breathing contradiction the moment she was born into her half-Peruvian, half-white working-class Mormon family.

In young adulthood, Hardyman became increasingly disillusioned with Mormonism's righteous black-and-white thinking, as well as its exclusionary elitism, and decided to leave the church.

But she also acknowledged that the institution's all-or-nothing philosophy had become a part of her, resulting in a considerable test of grace and unlearning.

As the singer-songwriter behind Little Moon, the Tiny Desk Contest-winning, Utah-based avant-folk project, Hardyman uses music as an outlet to illuminate contradictions of all kinds.

Following the release of her 2020 debut LP Unphased, Hardyman set out to write a romantic album about her newlywed husband Nathan (who also sings and plays guitar in Little Moon), but the universe had other plans.

After Nathan's mother tragically passed away, Hardyman recalibrated her vision and started work on a love-as-grief, grief-as-love album titled Dear Divine.

The record serves as a mirror for the darkest parts of ourselves, allowing us to examine our ego_not to dismantle it, but to better understand how we love, process adversity and move through the world.

Centering the classical music, folk, video game soundtracks and Tabernacle Choir hymns she grew up with, as well as ephemeral snapshots of personal significance, Dear Divine is an abundant tapestry of Hardyman's life.

As enlivening melodies radiate from a string trio, you can envision the classical music that thrums from her parents' radio 24/7, as Hardyman sings in an otherworldly coo, you can imagine her younger self swooning over the tranquil records of Vashti Bunyan and Joan Baez, and as arpeggiated synths twinkle, you can visualize the enchanting kingdom of Hyrule from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time that she still adores.

Songs like "now" and "messy love" embrace the gloriously jumbled stew of life, with the former chronicling Hardyman's arduous quest for love and trust and the latter patiently navigating the ways romantic partners can mirror each other's shortcomings.

As Dear Divine attests, Emma Hardyman may not have it all figured out, but that's kind of the point.

Through grief, faith crises and all-encompassing love, she's found the most wisdom in life's maddeningly consistent inconsistencies, as well as the subtle ways one can cultivate a feeling of home.

Dear Divine doesn't take a red pen to life, it brings an open heart, an open mind and achingly beautiful, opulently weird folk songs.