Beyond the Frame: On Travel, Colour and What Lies Beneath

5 minute read
April 16, 2026

Interview by Priyanka Pradhan

Rana Khadra is a Norway-based photogragher, designer, colour trainer, a member of colour marketing group CMG Global Colour, speaker, and the global head of creative & colour at Jotun. Yet, her most intriguing role is that of a global traveller with an eye for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Rana’s lens is drawn as much to people as to place, to the way environments imprint themselves quietly onto those who inhabit them. Her work, which moves fluidly across Morocco, India, Africa and the Middle East, resists the obvious image in favour of something slower, grounded and wholesome.

Rana Khadra at the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque in Muscat, Oman.

“The shepherd Fadhl El Seed, with whom I had a conversation about happiness, in Meroe, Sudan,” says Rana.

Colour is her entry point, but never the conclusion. In Marrakesh, it’s terracotta tones that settle into fabric and skin. In Chefchaouen, blue becomes atmosphere. In Jaipur, pink is pervasive. Beneath these visual signatures lies a more complex reading of travel that asks what it means to truly see, and what reveals itself when you do.

It’s this instinct to look beyond the obvious that shapes Khadra’s work. In conversation, she speaks about the perception of how colour, people and pause come together to define a place.

“Nyoman Laisa & Ni Made Cenik, a couple who after years of marriage act like they just met. He’s a farmer and together they live in a beautiful temple house in a village near Ubud. He proudly poses with his rooster. Ubud, Indonesia,” says Rana.

The ritual of flower offering in Bali is a daily practice of gratitude.

“Abu Abbas sells fabrics in Al Mutannabi Street and he was the inspiration behind Al Rasi. As he welcomed me into his shop with a poem, he said ‘Ala rasi’, gesturing the words with his hands on his head. Al Mutannabi Street, Iraq,” says Rana.

Wakan is a village at the top of a mountain in Oman, where almond trees grow. In this village, sharing food between houses is a signature practice.

Your photography has taken you across continents. Was there a single moment that changed how you see travel?

It happens when I stop. When I pause, listen, feel, and actually take a closer look. The moment I let go of lists and things I “should” see, that’s when a place reveals itself. Sometimes I can even smell it. Sudan gave me that shift. Not a specific image, but a conversation with a shepherd near the Meroë Pyramids. We spoke about something as simple and as complex as happiness. It completely reframed the way I see travel. It made me realise that travel isn’t just about going out into the world. It’s about going inward.

You’ve spoken about how people begin to mirror the colours around them. Where did you see this most clearly?

We are all a result of our environment, in the smallest and largest ways. As a colour hunter, I kept noticing it across many places, but it became undeniable in Marrakesh, Chefchaouen, and Jaipur. The colours that surround you slowly embed themselves into your subconscious. And it confirmed something I’ve always felt—we don’t just live in colour. We become it.

A local carries leaves in a temple in Bali, Indonesia.

“Khalti Mfadla prays for me in Chefchaouen, Morocco,” says Rana.

A yellow jallabiya with a blue door is a colour treat for the eyes. Marrakesh, Morocco.

Has your work across different regions changed how you read a place visually?

Completely. A colour is reflected in different countries in ways we don’t always realise. The light, the temperature of the sun, fabric, skin tone, food, culture. You start reading all of it together, and suddenly it makes sense. Parts of Africa taught me to be free in my colour choices. India taught me that colour has rhythm. The Middle East taught me the power of colour. Now when I arrive somewhere, I don’t just see a palette. I understand it.

If you had to assign colours to the UAE, what would they be?

I see the UAE as a palette rather than separate colours. Abu Dhabi is a soft white with warmth. Dubai is a colour that doesn’t exist yet—something that glows and pushes forward. Sharjah is a deep, grounded blue. Ras Al Khaimah is sunset orange. Fujairah is a mountain brown, raw and grounding. Ajman is an understated off-white. Umm Al Quwain is green, like the Ghaf tree. But together, they form something layered and unified. A colour of belonging.

A golden orange sunset of Ras Al Khaima, UAE.

In Jabal aL akhdar in spring time, roses blossom on a family-owned rose farm, Baith Al Sarh.

Is there a colour you return to, no matter where you are?

Always green. Maybe because I’m a Khadra. But also because it’s one of the easiest colours for the eye to process. It reduces stress and represents regeneration and growth. The more I travel, the more I realise I find it everywhere.

Does portraiture change how you experience a place?

People. Always people. Architecture draws me in, but people make me stay. Portraiture removes distance. You have to connect, observe, listen. It slows you down. And in that slowing down, a place reveals itself differently. That’s where culture lives.

A young man in Egypt proudly shows off his rooster. Al Moez Street, Cairo, Egypt.

In Nepal, the vibrations of the bell are a big part of praying. This woman performs the ritual in Kathmandu, Nepal.

In the streets of Shanghai, a young girl carries her cat, as she walks across the streets in traditional attire.

Have you encountered places where the visual palette doesn’t match the emotional reality?

Dubai is one of those places for me. Visually, it’s loud—glitz, shine, reflection everywhere. But beyond that, it’s a gathering of people from all over the world, each with different stories and emotional realities. The real colour is in the details. Not in what you see at first glance, but in what reveals itself when you take the time to look deeper.