Matilda Marsh
Instagram: @matilda__marsh

For years I never left the barriers of my hometown, as a child all I knew was the people and things that surrounded me. As I grew up and moved on to other things, I realized for the first time that I was moving on from not just the location, but I was also leaving behind all the opportunities I never took when I was there. Specifically, it wasn’t until I had left that I realized I never learned from my mother how to sew. This sounds minor, but it was something I had always admired and never tried to learn. The fabric in these photographs were collected straight from her cutting room floor in hopes of bringing a bit of home along with me when I moved away.

I recall a strong wish to freeze time back home when I was not presently there. Since moving out, three people close to my heart have died while I was not there. I have never witnessed death while being home with the comfort of my family. I was confronted with the reality that time moves forward wherever you are. As I photographed this project, these scraps of fabric from my mother’s quilting room, followed me everywhere like ghosts. They became a symbol of the only memento I had from my house. Originally destined to be thrown away, I decided to take them with me to photograph. If for nothing else, I took these photographs to preserve the physical reminders of the connections with my family, my home, and my upbringing. Through touch and immersion within nature, I am searching for a way back home in a landscape that is unfamiliar.