Amy Lombard

Photographs by Amy Lombard

Text by Sahara Borja

Faith, sass, and honey – an interview with Amy Lombard

You know the image well: An assemblage of freckles on the girl’s chest and faint tan lines hint at a lazy summer. She is presumably a redhead but you can’t really be sure because the frame is tight, revealing only a border of black lace decorating a generous décolletage, the straps hanging off her shoulders, and that flashy, fake diamond-studded marijuana leaf resting on her peachy skin. You know the deep creases of her arms pressing to her chest and her chest pressing in on itself, detailed by the deep, dark blacks made by the camera’s flash. There aren’t many places for your eyes to wander here but whatever, you think, let’s linger here longer. This place is juicy, bright, youthful, sharp, direct — for a photographer as young as Amy Lombard, she sure knows how to make you look.

Let me work backwards. Before the bleary-eyed gentleman came over to us and told us he loved us, sincerely, before he flung his backpack over his shoulder mindlessly and sent coins of every kind flying into every corner of the bar, before he went over to the lovely couple behind us and apologized profusely for 20 minutes straight, swaying but never falling, before all of the friendly yelling, Amy and I were seeking a quiet spot to chat. We chose a Polish bar whose inside resembled a mountain lodge. On this Monday, though, a surprisingly lively group of men are in attendance. The female ‘keep tends to her customers, all familiar faces, in between filing her nails. The jukebox plays nothing,