Jazz Grant’s work feels like stepping into a dream—one where memory, history, and imagination swirl together in vivid, unexpected ways. A British artist known for her mixed media practice, Jazz focuses on non-digital collage and stop-motion animation, creating pieces that explore how we construct and preserve memories. Her work delves into the chaotic, often overwhelming processes of accessing historical and contemporary information, turning fragments of the past and present into something entirely new. Her unique approach has caught the eye of cultural giants. Jazz created a mural for Jay-Z’s Book of HOV exhibition in New York City, crafted a cover for Dazed magazine, and collaborated with industry heavyweights like Drake, Loewe, Burberry, Gucci, Hermès, and Adidas. Her work has been celebrated in The Face, Love Magazine, and Creative Review. In the summer of 2024, Jazz held her debut solo exhibition, a quiet yet powerful moment that solidified her position as an inspiring voice in contemporary art.
The beach is a big one for me. There’s something about being near the water that just clears my mind. It’s not even about swimming, necessarily—more the rhythm of the waves, the smell of salt, the feeling of sand. It slows everything down.
I also love visiting galleries. I don’t go with a specific intention, just to see what pulls me in. Sometimes it’s the art itself, other times it’s just the space, the quiet. It’s a way to shift perspective, to see things from a different angle.
The cinema. I really enjoy how immersive it is—how you can just disappear into a story. I love how films can transport you somewhere else entirely, or even help you see your own world a little differently. Film helps you step outside of yourself, even if only for a couple of hours.
Eat Ethio in Margate is a rare find. It’s not just about the food, though the food is incredible. It’s an experience—they host these amazing dining experiences, with music, coffee ceremonies, and have a real sense of community. Every detail feels intentional, and you leave feeling like you’ve been part of something really special.
There’s a place in Montego Bay called Millennium Victoria. It’s right in the heart of Jamaica, and they serve Ital food that feels so nourishing. It’s simple, honest cooking, but there’s something about it that feels almost healing. You can taste the love and intention in every bite.
Oaxaquita in Mexico City. It was the first place I ate in Mexico, and I still think about it. They serve Oaxacan Tlayudas, there’s this mix of flavours and a sense of history and tradition that you can really taste.
Seed Archive by Christian Cassiel is such a special place. It doesn’t really feel like a store—it’s more like stepping into someone’s world. The pieces there are so considered, and I always find myself drawn to things I didn’t expect. It makes you want to take your time, just looking and thinking.
Lagunilla in Mexico City is probably my favourite antique market. There’s a sense of adventure to it, like you never quite know what you’re going to find. It’s full of all these hidden treasures, and I love that mix of beauty and chaos. I always leave with something that I know if could speak would have a million stories to tell.
And then there’s Jermaine Gallacher’s. He has such a distinct eye—bold, a little bit offbeat, but everything feels like it belongs. His pieces have so much character. I like spaces that feel like they have a story, and his always do.
I’ve been doing pole dancing recently. It’s one of those things where you really have to be present—there’s no room for overthinking. I like how it combines strength and fluidity. There’s something about being so connected to your body that feels freeing. It’s a practice where I can just focus on the movement and nothing else, which is quite rare for me.
I’ve also always loved yoga. It’s become a bit of a ritual. I like how it slows everything down, how it’s not just about the physical side but also about giving yourself space to breathe, to sit with whatever comes up. It’s grounding in this really gentle, subtle way.
And then, honestly, just dancing in my kitchen. I do it all the time. I’ll put on a playlist, something with a good rhythm, and just let myself move. It’s silly and fun, and it’s a reminder not to take everything so seriously.
I watched Athena recently, and it completely blew my mind. It shifted something in me, make me see things differently. The way it was shot, the storytelling—it all felt so raw and real. It made me think a lot about how powerful film can be when it comes to capturing chaos and emotion.
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver is a book I read quite young, and the feeling of it has stuck with me ever since. There’s this simplicity to his writing, but the weight of it hits you unexpectedly. The tone and the space between the words—there’s so much left unsaid, and I find that really inspiring.
And Pipilotti Rist’s show at the Hayward Gallery in 2011—I think about it frequently. It was immersive and strange, and it felt like stepping into someone else’s dream. It opened up this whole new way of thinking about art and space.
I’ve always got time for Camden Art Centre. I never really go with expectations—I just turn up and see what’s on. I like how it’s not too big, so you can take your time, and there’s always something thoughtful about the curation. You can actually sit with the work and let it unravel slowly.
Carl Freedman Gallery in Margate is another favourite. Whatever’s on there, I always make an effort to see it. There’s something exciting about how they present work—, and it feels like a space that really supports artists to push their ideas further. There’s also a nice balance of established and emerging artists, which keeps it interesting.
Arsenale at the Venice Biennale. That space is something else. You walk through, and it’s this sensory overload of art from all over the world. It’s a bit overwhelming, but in a good way. You get this mix of perspectives and it kind of lingers with you—like you’re still processing it weeks later. I love how it challenges and inspires me in unexpected ways.
Michael Armitage isn’t a new discovery for me, but his work never stops inspiring. There’s this beautiful way he blends painting with storytelling, and his pieces have so many layers—both visually and emotionally. I’m always drawn to the way he explores identity and history, how he creates these dreamlike worlds that still feel so connected to reality.
I’ve also been really into the Throughline podcast. It’s such a thoughtful deep dive into history and how it shapes our present. I love how it takes these big topics and unravels them in a way that feels both insightful and accessible. It makes me see the world a little differently after listening.
And Sir John Akomfrah—he’s always been a hero of mine. His work is so powerful, the way he uses film to explore memory, identity, and diaspora. There’s such a strength in his storytelling, and I find that really moving.
"1.28.19" by Chynna is one I keep going back to. There’s something about her flow and the way she layers words that feels both raw and thoughtful. It’s almost like a stream of consciousness, and I find that really inspiring.
John Glacier’s "Platoon" is another. Her voice has this hazy, dreamlike quality, and I love how the track feels a bit like stepping into another world. It’s the kind of song that makes me want to create something, even if I don’t know what that is yet.
And then there’s "Where Is My Mind" by Pixies. That one has been with me since I was a teenager. It’s got this perfect mix of angst and melody, and every time it comes back around, it hits differently. It’s strange how certain songs can be like that—how they almost change shape with you over time.
If I could talk to anyone, it would be Louise Bourgeois. There’s something about her work that feels so honest and raw, and I think that would translate into how she spoke, too. I’d love to just sit with her and hear her unfiltered opinion on anything—art, life, maybe even something really mundane. She had this incredible ability to translate emotion into physical form, and I imagine her perspective would be completely unique. I’m drawn to the way she wasn’t afraid to explore darker themes but still brought a kind of softness to her work. It would be fascinating to hear her talk about her process, but also just to see where the conversation might wander. I imagine I would leave with my mind spinning, and maybe a little bit of a different view on how to create.
It’s all a façade.