“For a long time Depression and anxiety have been my invisible enormities, I was once bound by them. I’ve sought help, rose from the dark, fallen down again, got back up and over time learned ways to help myself. Art and living creatively is one of those ways, because with a pen in my hand I know there are bigger enormities inside of me… enormities that are bigger than anxiety and brighter than depression.”
Name: Chloe Webb
Art materials: Some deliciously thick paper, black pigment ink pens, posca markers and a pair of hands in which I grew myself.
Tell us a little bit about yourself.
Just another lost soul who raided her Father’s record collection from an early age. You can find me either by the ocean, in the ocean, or at my desk.
Where does your inspiration come from?
Here, there and everywhere. People, places, creatures, emotions, moments – mostly all of those things all at once and a great urge to let people know that it’s entirely not to be entirely okay.
How would you describe how it feels to create your artwork?
It’s what I call “the wonder”. It’s all rather manic and feverish, beautifully so. It’s like all the blood in my body turns to brightly burning sparkle emojis.
Tell us about your creative process.
It begins slow and picks up the pace fast and from there it flows on in a haze. I never really spend more than a day on a piece. Once the idea arrives it’s very much gone time. I imagine it would be quite a strange thing to witness… I’ve never allowed someone to see me in that state. So it’s just me at my messy desk surrounded only by books, scattered pens and paper, and the same jar of shells, sea glass & dried flowers I knock over basically every time I draw or write.
What is the story behind your artwork, if any?
During my first ever exhibition I did earlier this year, a kind stranger told me my artworks contained a lot of hands. It was a simple observation really, but one that bought me a great revelation. I can remember a turbulent time when I had become quite hateful of my hands. I became filled with urges to hurt and break them. Thankfully, I didn’t follow through with those urges, which at the time I called weakness. But it was in that moment, standing in front of my art with that kind observant stranger that I realized that it was my strength. My hands are my gift… I must use them. So I guess the story is the journey, from a darker place to a lighter one. That journey continues for me perpetually as it does for so many others.
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