How do we take care of things we like? We photograph them. A motion of excitement in reaching for your pocket. We capture something not only because of its visual qualities, but because the camera is a tool of language, our way of respond to what we see. Taking the photo is our action in order to give something importance, a way of articulating something in order to remember. When Maria photographs her textiles, her hands - however without capturing its tactility, she restores and frames the idea of keeping something between your fingertips. The hand, Marias hand, the fabrics that her hands are holding; or the layers of fabric she later has printed this on to another set of layers of fabric, again stroked with her hands and the iron. We never really need to touch the photograph, other than in order to scroll it away, and it doesn’t pose the same questions as other ways of capturing something. It is images becoming real and it doesn’t provoke the same need for touching in order to know what you see. Contrary are the fabrics, folded and layered, and the photos of fabrics.

The texture of everyday life feel different when printed on cotton than on the screen, neither being more accurate than the other. The texture also becomes visible as you are able to compare it between formats rather than making experiences being defined by its context. As everything captured merges into a new fabric, it confronts us by feeling the need to touch everything we don’t know with our hands. Like a baby.