Journalism
Year /
2024
Client /
Luma Furniture
Country /
Sweden
Category /
Commercial Photography
Kind of Work /
Product Campaign & Lifestyle Photography
mnts read
I
Some design speaks for itself.
When Luma Furniture contacted me in the winter of 2024, they had already completed their newest collection—a series of oak tables, lounge chairs and modular shelving inspired by Scandinavian coastal homes.
The furniture was finished.
The branding was finished.
Even the catalogue layout had already been designed. What they were missing was a visual story.
Not photographs of products. Photographs of life around those products. That distinction changed everything.
II
Although Luma's headquarters are located on Linnégatan in central Gothenburg, very little of the campaign was photographed there. Instead, we spent nearly a week searching for homes that reflected the same philosophy as the furniture itself.
We visited modern apartments overlooking the Göta River. Renovated townhouses in Haga. Minimalist homes tucked away in quiet residential streets around Örgryte. Many were beautiful. Few felt believable. Eventually we found a 1960s villa overlooking a small woodland just outside the city.
Nothing inside the house appeared perfect. Books were stacked on the floor. Children's drawings covered one side of the refrigerator. A blanket remained folded across the sofa from the evening before. It immediately felt real.
One thing I always ask clients is whether they want photographs of rooms or photographs of life. Most choose the second option. People don't buy furniture because of dimensions. They buy it because they imagine how it might become part of their daily routine. So instead of photographing empty spaces, we invited a young family to spend two days inside the house.
No actors. No scripts. No staged conversations. They prepared breakfast. Played board games. Read books. Watered plants. Worked from the dining table. The furniture quietly became part of those moments. Sometimes the best direction is simply giving people permission to ignore the camera.
One image from the campaign remains one of my personal favourites. While photographing the dining room, I noticed one of the children building a tower from wooden blocks beneath a dining chair. Nobody had planned it. The art director initially suggested moving the toys to create a cleaner composition. Instead, we left everything exactly where it was. The photograph suddenly felt human. Beautiful homes don't stay perfectly organised.
The campaign wasn't trying to sell perfection. It was celebrating everyday living. That image later became one of the most shared photographs from the collection launch.
III
The original production schedule promised sunshine throughout the week. Instead, western Sweden delivered four days of continuous rain. At first the client worried the campaign would feel too dark. But rain transformed the interiors. Large windows reflected soft grey skies instead of direct sunlight. Oak surfaces became warmer. Textiles gained texture. The rooms felt calmer.
Instead of postponing the production, we adapted our rhythm. Coffee breaks became longer. Photography became slower. The weather quietly shaped the emotional tone of the entire campaign. Looking back, I can't imagine photographing it any other way.
During one afternoon, the stylist and I removed almost half the decorative objects from the living room — Plants. Books. Ceramics. Artwork. Every removal made the room feel stronger.
Minimalism isn't about emptiness. It's about allowing meaningful objects enough space to breathe. By the end of the day, the room contained only what belonged there. The furniture no longer competed for attention. Neither did the photographs.
Commercial photography often focuses on features. Materials. Craftsmanship. Construction. Those details certainly matter. But I believe people first connect emotionally. Only afterwards do they become interested in specifications. Throughout the campaign we deliberately avoided dramatic close-ups.
Instead, we photographed the furniture within complete environments. A chair beside a rainy window. A dining table after breakfast. Shelving filled with books collected over decades. Objects become meaningful when they become part of someone's story.
"People never remember the furniture first. They remember how the room made them feel."
IV
The collection debuted during Gothenburg Design Festival, where the campaign appeared across exhibition graphics, printed catalogues and digital installations. Walking through the exhibition, I noticed something interesting. Visitors weren't discussing camera techniques. They weren't asking how the lighting had been created.
Instead, they were talking about the homes.
"I could imagine living here."
"That reminds me of my grandparents' house."
"It feels peaceful."
Those comments mattered far more than compliments about photography. The images had achieved exactly what we intended. They invited people into a feeling rather than presenting a product.
Every commercial assignment teaches me something different. Luma Furniture reminded me that good design rarely asks to become the centre of attention. It quietly supports everyday life. I think photography should do the same. The camera doesn't need to make ordinary moments appear extraordinary. Sometimes ordinary moments are already extraordinary enough. A child building towers beneath a dining table.
Rain against large windows. Coffee slowly cooling on an oak surface while someone finishes another chapter of a book. Those are the details people remember. Not because they're dramatic. Because they're familiar. And perhaps that's what Scandinavian design has always understood so well. The most meaningful objects don't change the way we live.
They simply make everyday life a little more beautiful.
Location
Luma Furniture Headquarters
Linnégatan 18
413 04 Gothenburg, Sweden
all
"A home tells its story through the moments that were never arranged."
