When I first came across Arnold Kouassi on Instagram, I knew instantly that I had to photograph him. There was something in his presence that felt like it belonged in the Giant Denim series—his energy, his movement, his ability to create shapes with his body that felt sculptural. What I loved most, though, was that he kept on his own jewelry for the shoot. Rings, watch, chains, bracelets—personal artifacts that added texture and narrative to the images. Those small details allowed the portraits to hold both his story and mine at the same time.
Read MoreTHE AMADEO INCIDENT
Or, The Artist Who Came to Earth With a Camera and a Nose for Memory
by a former employee of the U.S. Bureau of Olfactory Surveillance
Read MoreTomorrow, the echoes of my steps will fade from these cobblestone streets, yet today, the city still pulses beneath my feet. Paris, you are a manuscript written in the ink of infinite encounters, a palimpsest of creativity and chaos. How to encapsulate this whirlwind? Let us dive into the looking glass, reflect backwards, upside down, inside out.
Read MoreIn the dwindling days of this Parisian saga, each moment distills into a cryptic concoction, a question posed in the language of creation. What tales do these streets whisper into the vials of my forthcoming fragrances? Each essence a chapter, every note a narrative—10 fragrances, 10 stories, 10 invitations to delve deeper into the world of Amadeo Amadeo.
Read MoreDraw, O coward! No, sir, panic is a basic in a prison.
Rip, cut, collect. Art, a star. Collages, so elegant. A canal, plan, a NASA lad. Did I as I said I’d do? O, stone, be not so.
Read MoreAwoke with the dawn, a puzzle waiting to be solved. First, Lasse—our red locks a clue to the camaraderie and creativity that would unfold. Click, flash, a mystery captured in each frame. What tales do these images whisper?
Read MoreDawn unfurled slowly as I embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. The city was hushed, streets emptied of their usual clamor, offering a rare solitude. With only my footsteps as company, I wandered, the echo of each step a soft conversation with the cobblestones.
Read MoreWoke enveloped by a dawn of enthusiasm—espresso in one hand, retouching tool in the other. Nia arrived, her energy radiating like a beacon through the calm of my studio. Click, flash, laughter—our session was a whirlwind of creativity and conversation, a dance of light and shadow capturing her vibrant essence. As she left, I plunged into edits, the digital canvas morphing under my hands, each pixel a note in an unfolding symphony.
Read MoreI rose with the sun casting long shadows across the crumpled sheets—a canvas of light and dark. Espresso brewed, the scent filled the apartment, the first muse of the day. Just as the coffee hit its darkest note, Koki arrived, his presence slicing through the morning haze.
Read MoreThere are moments in life so vivid, so deeply woven into the fabric of who we are, that their memories feel like they have their own fragrance. For me, that moment was at the house of Aunt Mary and Uncle Bozo. It’s not just a house; it’s a world filled with layered scents—a garden in full bloom, the elegance of Aunt Mary’s perfume, and the grounding warmth of Uncle Bozo’s den. These are the inspirations behind No. 37, a fragrance I’ve created to encapsulate this treasured memory.
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