Tim Hardy: Love Is a Crowded Theatre
The photographer Tim Hardy is moving to America. Before he leaves, Cameron Hurst speaks with him about his charged, psychoanalysis-inflected oeuvre.

Tim Hardy, still from Vanity Torso Animal Spirit, 2024, Tasmanian oak veneered MDF, clear varnish, two Sony PVM-20 CRT monitors, progressive video (20-minute continuous loop), two-channel audio, 2427 x 501 x 573 mm. Photo: Tim Hardy.
Tim Hardy had been photographing the same praying mantis every Friday for six weeks when she disappeared. Her name: Dora. Her location: the Melbourne Museum. Her age: unknown. Hardy liked to visit her on his day off and had settled into a ritual of sorts, so it came as a surprise when he returned one week and she was gone. He sent three emails asking after her whereabouts. Finally, an official reply came: “While the unique individual mantis you previously photographed was removed due to it passing away, another individual has replaced it.” Like her namesake — one of Freud’s patients, a teenage girl infamously diagnosed with hysteria — she had exited her analysis abruptly. Months later, Dora reappeared in a photograph exhibited at Conners Conners’ annual emerging artist show, part of an artwork of Hardy’s titled Reliquaries. What was she doing there?
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Tim Hardy: Love Is a Crowded Theatre by Cameron Hurst is featured in full in Issue 5 of Memo magazine.
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Cameron Hurst is a writer and art historian. She is an editor of The Paris End newsletter and is currently doing a PhD on Northern European Renaissance art at the University of Melbourne.


