Many but not all prints in this collection are from Jani's cathartic project, "Beyond the Frame"
"I enjoy looking at everyday subjects in simple, abstract, minimalist ways. Abroad I find this easier than when at home, perhaps because I'm more relaxed and I have the time to absorb rather than worry about work and daily tasks. I think that at a surface level at least my images are mostly about happy memories, holidays and escapism. When I see images of foreign windows and doors like this, which seem so unlike British architecture, I am mentally transported to heat, sunshine and thoughts of travel. I have no formal training in photography so I respond quite personally to subjects that fascinate me.
I love the square format and I enjoy composing elements within the frame. I have always been a neat and tidy person and everything has to be orderly about me. I used to be a 'gold crown and bridge technician, which involved painstakingly intricate and methodical approaches to the work. Maybe this sense of order and balance is what I strive for in my compositions? I produce prints that I think I'd like to see on my own wall, often decorative but always carefully structured and that's become my rationale.
I don't usually theorise about why I take pictures but things changed about that after the death of my Dad. He had suffered from long-term illness and often had spells in hospital. He was feeling less well than normal this May and I started fretting about a holiday we had booked for June.
"Rhaid i chi fynd! Paid a fod yn wirion!" (You MUST go) he insisted (Don't be daft!) so with his reassurance I didn't cancel.
Sadly two weeks before the holiday, my lovely Dad passed away.
I am truly heartbroken about losing my Dad. I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to be with my family. My family however insisted that I should still go away and that Dad would have wanted that. Through discussion we agreed that maybe it would be a space and time to grieve and with a very sad heart I found myself travelling to the baking heat of Portugal. My head couldn't cope with anything much and each day I just wanted to go home to be with Mum. Lying on a beautiful warm beach didn't stop my mind racing about recent events, and my heart was in so much pain. Even the sea and the beach didn't bring me comfort.
After a few days, Glyn suggested we visited an historical town, rather than just pondering on the shoreline. Drinking coffees and sitting and chatting in the old streets, I found myself re-looking at windows and doors again; their rich colours, intricate textures and wonderful patterns fascinated me. This time however my mind went beyond the frames, beyond the closed doors and sun-bleached shutters. Because of my Dad's illness where he struggled to breathe, much of his life was spent indoors looking out through his front window at the world passing by. Every new person
walking past, every flock of starlings, every car that parked outside his house became a story for him to relate to visitors. Strangers walking by would never have known about my Dad, his life and his struggles. He did love his car and driving about but because of his chronic condition hed often remain in the car when Mam went off, so even his car window was a window onto his world, a life through glass.
Looking at these Portuguese windows and doors, I started wondering about the lives of those within. What were their lives like? Were others sitting there like my Dad just looking out? Sometimes I'd see very dilapidated windows with heat-etched wooden shutters and I'd consider stories for the inhabitants, but then I'd perhaps hear laughter and music and it broke my imagination. In one way it would be interesting to actually meet the inhabitants, but in another way the unknown means that I can create my own visions and narratives about those within.
I wasn't drawn to the new houses no matter how perfectly decorated. There was no sense of real history unlike the older houses with their weathered doors and windows - houses that had been lived in, perhaps for many generations, and so holding such rich stories.
Peeling paint or soft splinters were a marker of time and of the people within. I never really stopped thinking about my Dad as I silently walked around the quiet streets and cool alleyways. In the end we spent nearly five days exploring different old towns in the region. The concentration on the project helped me to deal with my pain and I felt that there was now a reason for me being there. I sensed Dad about me as I was working. In a way, the project evolved to become about him and the situation he often found himself in. I realised that every wonderful exterior was just a stone mask for the lives within.
