Anna Sommer has a fondness for the comedies and dramas that we act out ourselves, the furtive moments, the thousand little things that happen in our private lives. She amuses herself with them. And scares herself with them sometimes, too.

She dissects everything: men, women, children, animals. Not satisfied with simply catching them in the act, she engraves them with a vigorous, untrembling dry point. She started engraving one fine day, as a lark, just to give that demanding skill a try, and over time, she gradually created a surprising portrait of the world, in which humor and elegance vie with cruelty – a light, almost entertaining cruelty.
And if the portrait is a remarkable likeness, it is surely because its inspiration comes less from its subjects’ flaunted appearance than from their discreet, diary-like murmuring