“Anne Hardy’s interiors look aged, as if they were lived in or used for years and years in pursuit of some specific, perhaps obsessive aim, (…) and then photographed after everyone’s left. They are plenty of labeled cubby holes, cigarette butts, trophies, assorted plants, phone numbers scribbled on a wall – things that almost tell a story, but don’t quite. Like with a Cindy Sherman still, you can’t help but try to put the narrative pieces together. The best part is, they don’t exactly fit.”
Amy Karafin