These images are scans of 'purificators' - the correct ecclesiastical term for those squares of white cotton or linen used to wipe the wine from the rim of the chalice in the celebration of the Eucharist. In the act of communion, the faithful believe that the wine becomes transubstantiated into the blood of Christ. The purificator, pristine and immaculate, becomes variously stained with red traces and smears as it is held against the rim of the vessel. An anthropologist might see in this ritual a complex exchange of symbolic polarities - the pure and the soiled, the primary and the contingent. The crisp white square records the encounter with the red stain in a way that is close to the biblical narrative of the Shroud of Veronica. Christ, sweating from the strain of carrying the cross through the streets of Jerusalem on his way to Calvary, is approached by a woman who steps forward from the crowd and offers Christ her veil. She wipes his blood and sweat onto the white cloth and, a moment later, Christ moves on to his inexorable fate. Veronica looks down at the cloth in her hands and unfurls the fabric: the stain miraculously paints a picture of the face of Christ. In fact, the name Veronica means exactly this: a true image. The legend of the Shroud of Veronica has a special resonance for the photographer because photography too claims to produce a true image, an authentic picture of the world, as the impassive camera registers the image before it.