Natalie Chapman’s women hold their ground. There’s a kind of casual boldness to them - intentional, but never performative. They know where they are. They’ve survived it, or shaped it, or both.
The colour is loud - deliberately so. Not for effect, but for insulation. Pattern and gesture doing what the body can’t. These works don’t behave. They don’t try to please. They’re not tidy, not deferential.
And still, there’s tenderness. A chipped mug. A hand resting. A knowing look. Shifting power. Girls with nowhere soft to land who learned to land in themselves.
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