The CCTV camera angle — shooting from behind the DJ so they're not performing to a lens - is an interesting way to frame it. What was the thinking behind this?
It is interesting that people always comment on our camera angle, it has become a signature of sorts. DJs are mostly grateful of this angle as they don’t have to perform. We're not just documenting the set; we're capturing the room, the street, and everything happening around it. It's as much about the environment as it is the music.

Again, it all comes back to the archive. After six years of filming (having come a long way from Blu-Tack'd GoPros) we can look back and see how much has changed, mainly the people! In a way, Kindred has been quietly building a coming-of-age archive for an entire community. Some people played to three people in the room and are now headlining main stages at festivals!

London has always produced these social/community pockets where people find their people. What made you want to create that rather than just be part of it?
Hearing my parents talk about the places that were so important to the scenes they were part of made me want to create a space that people would one day reminisce about in the same way. We didn’t set out for Kindred to be anything super specific, we just did it — I guess this is reflective of the DIY culture we need.

You're running a space that's built around collective energy. Does your own practice feel like a counterbalance to that, or do the two feed each other?
My own practice weaves in and out of Kindred, but I like having something that is purely mine. The two constantly feed into one another. I make artwork for Jojo's record label, TEETH, which we distribute through Kindred, as well as AIRD, and I've also started working with other labels as an artist, bringing an understanding that comes from being on the inside of the scene.

One of the most rewarding things is seeing friends from Kindred come to my exhibitions. That's when the power of the space is really in full effect, introducing people to new work, new ideas, and to each other. The books we stock in the shop also become a kind of reference library for my own practice, so there's a constant exchange between the work I make and the world we've built at Kindred.

Your own artist creation is about disrupting the image — scratching into photographs rather than presenting them whole. Is that instinct connected to what you're doing with Kindred, or do they feel like separate things to you?
These feel separate, like a completely different world. The art itself is its own entity, but you can't avoid influence. I guess, in the wider scope, the scratched images are conceptually about image distribution and the pixel as a tangible object. I guess you could link it by thinking about distribution, sampling, and amplification, but maybe that's a stretch.

Scratch as an exhibition wasn't just images — it came with an album, poetry, a book. When you're working, does it feel like different mediums or one continuous thing that just takes different forms?
My work in many ways is about shape shifting. I don't believe a photograph is ever truly finished or fixed, the image is constantly changing depending on context and perspective. That's what draws me to photography as a medium. Perspective is never fact. With the Scratch album, I wanted to approach sampling in the same way I approach the Scratch series with a scalpel and paper. Both are acts of cutting, fragmenting, and reassembling. Every material is a tool for remixing and retrograding. I see sampling and the photographic crop as part of the same language - ways of reshaping existing material to create something new.

The Scratch album is really special to me as it brings together some of my favourite artists and people. It feels like a natural extension of the ideas in my visual practice, translated into sound.

You were recently included in A-COLD-WALL* Echo Forward exhibition alongside two other rising artists (Lucas Dupy and Marla-Sunshine Kellard-Jones). What does it mean to have your work recognised within that world?
The Echo Forward exhibition was actually an exhibition I was invited to curate, my first solo curated space (more to come). The title, Echo Forward, was about carrying something from the past into the future — taking what already exists and transforming it into something new. It was a real pleasure to be asked to take part, and an opportunity to step into a new world.

Slade (School of Fine Art) shaped a generation of artists who think differently. How did that impact you?
The Slade was great at cultivating energy in people. With only around 40 students in my year, the relationships you build become incredibly close almost like the friendships you make in primary school. It was a hugely formative time for me.

I was lucky to have great print technicians who were so open and generous, Lesley and James. I spent most of my days in the print room, and that process introduced a meditative, repetitive rhythm into the way I work. Pulling print after print taught me the value of repetition and imperfections . Looking back, I think that way of working naturally led to the Scratch series and, now, my repetitive hole-punching works-it’s all part of the same instinct, really.

What does making something physical give you that a purely digital output wouldn’t?
Something tactile. Something that can wear with age. A sign of time.

When you look at what Kindred has become, is it what you imagined , or has it become something you didn't expect?
We never really had a set-in-stone plan with Kindred, and we still don't. It's always just been about following what feels right and trusting our taste. What I never expected was how strong the community side of it would become. So many people have met through Kindred and gone on to make albums together, play B2Bs, start labels, and even fall in love!!! We will have our second street party this year on the first weekend of August, this is truly good, don’t miss it.

When you picture Kindred and your own work at their best, what does that look like?
Nothing is ever fully accomplished. I think if you're content with what you've made, that's the most important part.

What does London give you as a place to make/create things that you couldn't get anywhere else?
We are spoilt for choice in London, there are so many different scenes, areas and pockets to uncover - I have lived my whole life here and there are still streets I have never walked down. I think London is good at keeping you on your toes.

There feels like a genuine new wave of creatives coming through right now who are building their own worlds. Do you feel part of that, and what (and who) do you think is driving it?
I feel there's an energy in 2026 that's different from the last few years. People are busy and happy being busy. It feels like people are doing more for themselves. I think that, with the power of social media, people are able to build something of their own with fewer tools, and that's exciting. David Chen, Lewis Duckworth, Max
Ball, Jennifer Scott, Jake Walker, Ella Schlesinger. Jojo Mathiszig-Lee. To name a few.

You're running a tape label alongside everything else What drew you to cassettes and what does the format give an artist or a listener that other
mediums don’t?
I like the format of something that fits in the palm of your hand or your pocket. It goes back to the idea of the object again. I think a lot of people collect cassettes without even owning a tape player. There's something really neat about them aesthetically, and they're a much more cost-effective format to make.

There's something about the physicality of a cassette. You have to commit to the listen, you (generally) can't skip through like a record, the sound has a particular texture. Is that part of the appeal, or is it more about what it means as an object?

I have a friend who was telling me about a fifteen-minute track he plays in the club that essentially loops. At first, people are like, "Why?" But after a while, they settle into it, relax, and begin to listen in a different way. That feeling of resistance is an important one-not rushing through, but sitting with something. I think this relates to the tape in some way: taking it in as a whole rather than as a collection of fragmented songs.  

We bought a massive tape collection from our postman, who I'd got to know. It was full of old drum n bass, acid, and jungle-recordings from nights out, all hand-labelled. Owning that collection feels reminiscent of a whole period of time, and I'm sure a lot of those nights were never filmed, so the tapes are what live on. I think tapes are inherently nostalgic. With AIRD, I'm locking a moment in time into every tape I release.

Credits.
@Scarlett Griffiths (2026)
Words. Mick Wilson