Angharad Franziska


A presence that I trust will always waver, HD video with sound

There’s a very intimate quality to candles, their close reach, their focus on the self and immediate surroundings. They offer warmth and light, drawing people together by enshrining otherwise mundane domestic spaces. Candle flames flicker with our breath, dancing in words uttered over the kitchen table, melting their mark onto the furniture as time slips between us all. When we lose someone, or celebrate them, we draw ourselves around the flame once more. How do we create a sense of home? We spend time shrouded in soft, warm light, wrapped in the ambient glow of company.

I’ve taken to documenting moments with candles, filming the natural scenes that unravel under their light, as well as other patterns of light and life in my home. I combine this imagery with my poetry, which is often a means of making sense of my experiences and innermost thoughts, processing the distance I feel while trying to ground myself with new roots. I hope to illustrate a sincere depiction of my relationship with the idea of home - something that’s tender and loving, yet tumultuous and complicated.

When I think of my family home back in South Wales, I think about taking the meditative time to go around lighting candles in the living room, before sitting with the dogs and allowing myself sensory and emotional respite. Allowing warmth and light to muffle my thoughts and fill the silence. I’ve always repeated this personal ritual of homemaking, wherever home may be.

The world is increasingly stressful to inhabit and chaotic to navigate, so now candlelight seems almost novel in its gradual melting of time and natural, fluid light. Candles seem an homage to slow thought and sensitivity.