When the Frame Tells a Story — But Never Steals the Show

In my studio there are two photo frames that always make people stop for a moment. Not because they are perfect — quite the opposite. They are old window frames, reused and repurposed, carrying the marks of time with them. Scratches, uneven paint, worn wood. Things modern frames usually try hard to hide. These do not.

They have charm because they are honest.

An old window can be a perfect photo frame.

Six aurora photo prints in one frame

The first one is a smaller window frame with six glass rectangles. It’s painted in a soft, yellowish tone. Time has done its work: the paint has fallen off in places, revealing wood underneath. I deliberately left it like that. Into this frame I mounted six Northern Lights photographs — one in each pane. The structure of the window almost forces the viewer to slow down. Instead of one large image demanding attention, you get six quiet moments. Six variations of light, movement, and color. Together they form a whole, but each image still stands on its own.

The frame doesn’t try to compete with the photographs. It supports them. It gives them context.

This old window frame is heavy and it used to hang in the hallway of my studio. But since it got replaced with something else it hasn't found the right wall. So it rests on the floor.

A frame with personality

The second frame is larger and heavier, taken from an old house that was torn down. I asked if I could have the window frame. I already knew what I wanted to do with it. It had been painted white at some point, but instead of restoring it or repainting it, I brushed off as much paint as I could with a steel brush. What remains is a surface where wood dominates, but paint still clings on in textures, cracks, and uneven layers. You see history in it. You feel it.

This frame carries a single photograph, called Tenderness. (Read about it here!)

Old frames like these can easily become the star of the show if you let them. That’s the risk. And that’s where restraint matters. No matter how wild, rough, or expressive a frame is, the photograph must always remain the main thing. The frame should guide the eye inward, not pull it outward.

Beautiful patina.

At some point (maybe when building, maybe when tearing down – I don't know) a piece of the window frame was removed. I have not bothered to replace it. Should I?

Frame your aurora prints boldly but wisely

I encourage people who buy my photo prints to be creative with framing. Use old wood, recycled materials, unconventional solutions. A frame doesn’t have to be perfect, new, or expensive to work beautifully. In fact, slightly imperfect frames often pair exceptionally well with nature photography. They share the same language. Nature is not flawless. Neither are old things. That’s part of their appeal.

But there is a clear line you should not cross.

If the frame starts shouting louder than the image, you’ve gone too far.

A strong photograph can carry a lot, but it shouldn’t have to fight for attention. Think of the frame as a stage. A good stage doesn’t steal the scene; it makes the performance stronger.

In my studio at Nordland Aurora, these two window frames do exactly that. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not. They don’t hide their age. They don’t aim for perfection. They simply hold the photographs and let them speak — with a bit of character around the edges.

If you take one thing with you from this, let it be this: dare to be creative with your framing. Dare to reuse, repurpose, experiment. But always respect the image. Let the photograph lead. The frame is there to follow.