Skip to Content


Aug. 2016 | I’m very happy to have a selection of images along with a few words featured at PhotoArtMag. Give them a visit at: PHOTOARTMAG.COM.

May 2016 | I have had the privilege to be seen and heard by questions of genuine sincerity & interest in an interview with Miggy Angel, at Burning House Press. Have a look: BURNING HOUSE PRESS.

March 2016 | A friend has (a propos ‘Jan. 2016’) made me aware of the following remarks by the Finnish composer Aulis Sallinen: “composing cannot be explained in any way other than self-referential” and “the musical event itself contains everything we need to know about it”. Obviously, we can accept aurally a kind of ‘self-reliance’ that we seem most unwilling to concede visually (for different reasons, not all of them very sound); I often envy these kinds of musicians, working in a field where the most obvious aspect of an artwork does not need to be ceaselessly pointed towards and reminded of. Where ♥ means ♥ and speaks to ♥, not System Circulatory:
Artery – Aorta, pulmonary trunk and right and left pulmonary arteries, Right coronary artery, left main coronary artery
Vein – Superior vena cava, inferior vena cava, right and left pulmonary veins, great cardiac vein, middle cardiac vein, small cardiac vein, anterior cardiac veins.
Nerve – Accelerans nerve, Vagus nerve

Oct. 2015 | Stalking Dogs – my wandering mind-ish, color photographic and strange habit of following dogs around – trenchcoat, notebook-in-hand – to spy on their daily appointments, is featured in Phosmag. You should give it a reasonable amount of your time: PHOSMAG.

Sep. 2015 | I’m happy to have my work in Phases magazine once again. Have a look here: PHASES. The images of Paracosmos are the same as those of Death To Photography; Paracosmos is a book project that combines both images and text – it’s diverse work about ‘seeing’ and ‘being’ and the ‘how’ rather than the ‘what’, etc, (etc), “etc”.

June 2015 | When Martin Waldseemüller in the year of 1507 drew the first map including America he named the country after Amerigo Vespucci, the man who had realized that this new land was a continent of its own. As we all know, America was first discovered by Christopher Columbus, or, if you prefer, Cristóbal Colón, Christoforo Colombo, Christoffa Corombo, Christophorus Columbus, Cristóvão Colombo. Others would claim that the viking Leifur Eiriksson was first. I can visualize him with my eyes closed: he has a wild gaze, casually unshaven as if there were no effort at all behind his looks, he’s sporting a tattoo in memory of a childhood friend who was stabbed to death in a drunken quarrel – it seems he had a soft side as well, Mr Eiriksson. Of course, there are other theories, claiming for instance that the Portuguese had started mapping American islands as early as 1424, or that the Phoenicians may have beaten them all to the punch with a large margin. It’s a bit tricky to decide who actually discovered America and what it is that was discovered. With the help of a skeleton we may conclude that the indigenous people of today was the indigenous people of the past – a skeleton of a fifteen year old girl who fell down a hole 13000 years ago, to die alone at the bottom of a limestone cave that was to be slowly filled with water as the ice age caved in.

Jan. 2015 | I was happy to be featured at Mutantspace (HERE) and inspired by what Moray Mair wrote about the images. To have my work/words taken seriously that way is always a great feeling. I’d like to use this opportunity to clarify that I’m not averse to meaning per se. I think ’presence’ or ’the image’ is itself thoroughly meaningful, the meaning I try to stay away from is ’description-meaning’; the latter having become a kind of intellectual hegemony of experience. (Intellectual is good, hegemony – not so much.) Our senses are inherently contextual, fundamentally creative and too busy talking to ever find the time to listen – but it is definitely possible to lower the voice. There is a song beneath the song; if we stretch ourselves, we can just about taste the scent of it.

Dec. 2014 | “Death To Photography” – the zine – is now a part of Josef Chladeks fantastic photographic resource: HERE. Also “DTP” was featured among that multitude of great work that is Phases Magazine – Phases.

Nov. 2014 | Antler Press made a beautiful zine on “Death To Photography” – it’s a limited edition, you can find it HERE.

Sep. 2014 | What I like about the cellos of Bach is how aware they are of their emergence out of the void. So much so that the sounds seem manufactured to help me hear silence. I’m not sure I’ve heard other music so apparently conscious of its own nature; the knowledge that in the absense of nothing I am nothing.

June 2014 | Death To Photography grew up among the wolves. Lost in translations it knows not what it is and how to behave among humans – wolflike qualities aren’t lost here though met with the ambivalence of awe and disdain. Just look at it, stuck in a state of relentless imagery, obsessively supplying itself with itself, secretly aspiring for the major arcana: the fool, the star, the magician.

May 2014 | Jag drömde att jag tilläts bläddra i ett gigantiskt och av tid mycket vackert snidat band i vilket de döda samlades utan kapitelindelning. De var enkelt tecknade i en stil som förhöll sig till det forntida egyptiska med klädsam respektlöshet; en av de avlidna blinkade åt mig medan de andra nöjde sig med en foglig om inte tillmötesgående närvaro. Jag insåg att det var farligt för mig att betrakta boken för länge: det fanns en risk att sugas in i den, vilket gjorde mig illa till mods när jag vid flera tillfällen återkom till sidorna av hud och vass för att slå upp ett sista uppslag en sista gång. Som när jag har en bit födesledagstårta kvar i kylen eller när det ändå bara återstår ett glas och ett halvt i flaskan.

April 2014 | Given the choice, I always use the explicit version when making playlists for streaming music. That’s just how I roll.

March 2014 | I read somewhere that dogs experience humans merely as larger dogs. That must be why they treat me like a dog, licking my face although we are not lovers. And, if it’s true, they must be thoroughly impressed: this morning a parson russell terrier watched me use the front paws to put socks on the back paws.

Feb. 2014 | In the darkness restless to become spring: a car headlights the birches. Ethereal, sudden, an unexpected beauty – belly riding ferris wheel – it’s swift enough to make you dizzy. And the road is dirty; I have pebbles in my shoes.

Feb. 2014 | Om människan vore ett däggdjur vore vi kardborrar.

Jan. 2014 | There is a couple solving a crossword together on the subway northbound. He is holding the pen and paper, tired but not unhappy. She is the active one, silent between words but focused. He is closing his eyes, visible from where I’m sittin but not from her point of view. Whenever a word is ready to write she will account for it with passion. As far as I can see the crossword is in swedish but that is likely not their native tongue, they’re speaking some other language unfamiliar to me.

Fredric Nord is a photographer and writer living in Karlstad, Sweden. He enjoys too much coffee and watching dogs run as fast as they can. His work has appeared in Phases Magazine, Phosmag, Mutantspace, Burning House Press and in print via Antler Press. Fredric is currently making new photographs, writing an essay on photography as poetry and constructing a book of photographs & lyrics to be titled Paracosmos.



PhotoArtMag (mixed selection/words)

Burning House Press (interview)

Phases (Paracosmos/Death To Photography)

Antler Press (zine, Death To Photography)
The zine is sold out but is featured at

Phosmag (Stalking Dogs)

Mutantspace (Death To Photography)

High quality prints in editions of 20 are available – inquire at:


For the occasional tweet:


All content © Fredric Nord

I would define poetry but it would not survive. And if I could write a statement properly, the work would be obsolete. This text is written only to provide an idea of where my images are coming from.

I have no investment in ’being original, or ’provoking thoughts’, nor do I aim to document a fleeting world, tell stories or capture moments. I have no agenda apart from the work itself, nothing is investigated nor is anything explained or wanting explanation. My sole interest is the fundamental poetry of presence and the visual music of photography. I collect portfolios to be layers of poetry on poetry. The way rings of a tree trunk seems to determine age but really is an expanding with space. Looking at a photograph doesn’t have to be very different from picking up a tree cone, saturated with the warmth of summer sunlight, gently cupping it in your hand.

And the way I see it, any photograph is itself a form of visualized ‘wondering’. Why would I want to translate that into an intellectual conundrum? It would be like trading an experience for a description of an experience. The description, of course, becomes an experience in its own right, but an entirely different one: the experience of seeing an image is lost to the experience of describing it. In this sense, even having an opinion of an artwork means you didn’t experience it – you rejected it by measuring it against the prejudice of yourself. And killed it, kind of, as an autonomous experience – that is: you turned whatever it had to offer into an aspect of your own personality. Nothing is really gained by that as life becomes a zero-sum game; no ‘nourishment’ can shine through under those circumstances. We must not always ‘talk’. We can sometimes be still. Sometimes listen.

In order to give you my presence, I need you to offer me yours. Jeanette Winterson writes: The usual response of “This painting has nothing to say to me” had become “I have nothing to say to this painting.” I have nothing to say to that statement except that this ’method’ must also be available as a way of looking at the world.

icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_blackicon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_blackicon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_blackicon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_blackicon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black icon_black