Jesse Grylls doesn’t stack his work in a hierarchy. Music isn’t the headline, and painting isn’t the footnote. Everything he does sits on equal footing, feeding the same creative engine. He operates like a one-man studio system where ideas migrate between mediums until they find the right form.

His short films and visual projects are often the entry point: cinematic fragments that blend adventure, nature, introspection, and a kind of primal self-awareness. They look like travel logs until you realise they’re emotional cartography disguised as content. There’s no separation between the landscape and the inner world he’s navigating.

The paintings hold that same energy. They are large, layered, and physical. Colours collide, textures stack up, and nothing feels accidental. The canvases look less like pictures and more like terrain you could walk across. They are not illustrations of ideas but the aftermath of thought, gesture, and instinct.

His music sits comfortably alongside it all. It is atmospheric and honest, never trying to compete for attention, just adding another dimension to the world he is building. The guitars feel like distant weather. The electronics feel like pulse and breath. The vocals come across as private reflections that somehow make perfect sense once you have seen the visuals and paintings around them.

What stands out is the intention behind it. Grylls is not trying to entertain for the sake of it. He is documenting a way of living that resists passivity. The art, the films, the music, the physical projects he builds in the real world, they are all expressions of the same impulse. They push back against the idea that a person must be only one thing or that creativity should be tidy and predictable.

Trying to define him in a single medium misses the point. Jesse Grylls is not building a career. He is building a universe, and every piece of work is another door into it.