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 MoreA. Clown hasn’t been seen in some time. He didn’t storm off stage, didn’t slam the door, didn’t even leave a note—he simply stepped behind the silver curtain and let the folds swallow him.
Read MoreA short reflection on scale, shape, and the feeling of not fitting in. A written piece from Anthony Amadeo—before the images, just the words.
Read MoreThe Summer Issue is a sun-soaked archive of memory, body, scent, and image. From portraits that bloom like plants to fragrances that bottle heat and longing, this issue is a garden grown from nostalgia and stretched into modern myth. Featuring editorial collage, recipes, soap, and spoken moments for hot days and cool shadows.
Read MoreFor years, I nodded along when people would dismissively mutter, "Art is just a bunch of BS."
And for years, I genuinely thought they meant Balloon Sculptures.
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 MorePhotocopies of Vincent Paladino by Anthony Amadeo
Read MoreAA: Jamil, it was such a pleasure photographing you during your visit to NYC!
Your profile is incredible to photograph, and you brought such a strong energy to the shoot. How was the experience for you, especially being part of the giant denim jeans series?
Tomorrow, 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 MoreAwakened before dawn, I ventured forth—across the Seine, to the pulse of Paris waking. The morning called for a whimsical visit to Café du Clown. A. Clown surfaced, mischief in tow, craving the playful side of the Parisian palette.
Read MoreEphemeral Whispers of the Seine
Mirror echoes in chiaroscuro skies, juxtapose, collide, cradle— A day never lived, a night never slept. Croissant moon phases flipping through fabric swatches, each thread a lifeline to yesterday’s espresso dream.
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 MoreToday unfurls like a scroll, inked with tasks yet written in the frenzied script of a mind ablaze. I am the eye of a creative storm, each gust a gale of ideas swirling, threatening to overtake my capacity to channel them into the tangible. Work, work, work—the mantra pulses in my veins, a rhythm beating against the ticking clock.
Read MoreThe dawn unfurled with a rare generosity today—the sun, a long-absent friend, decided to grace Paris with its radiant presence. As the light spilled through my window, I was at my workstation, espresso at my side, fingers dancing over images needing the breath of life through retouching. But the sun’s embrace was too compelling, whispering promises of inspiration through the golden warmth.
Read MoreToday dawned prematurely, at 5:30 a.m., with the restless energy of creation pulsing through the pre-dawn silence. Espresso in hand, steaming like the city's cobblestone under morning mist, I dove into a sea of images awaiting transformation—edits, collages, an alchemy of artistry.
Read MoreAwakened at the witching hour—4:30 a.m., the city still cloaked in its nocturnal shroud. Sleep's remnants cling like cobwebs, but the allure of the undone propels me from bed to workstation. The glow of the screen, my sole companion, as I bend light and shadow to my will until dawn.
Read MoreThis morning dawned like an open canvas—espresso steam twirling into the early air, mingling with the anticipation of creative communion. The ritual shower left my thoughts clearer, my senses sharper, ready to dance with the day's demands. As the clock nudged closer to eleven, I descended to greet Martin, my co-conspirator for today's visual symphony. With a quick dash for an Americano—my fuel—I primed us for the unfolding artistry.
Read MoreDawn unfurled with the usual urgency; my retouching station beckoned. Prints lay scattered like leaves, each one a prelude to destruction and rebirth through collage. Ripping, tearing, reassembling—today was a day for creating chaos that begets beauty.
Read MoreToday’s exploration was internal, a reflective mapping of patterns and themes that surfaced from the flurry of the past days. Seated at my digital desk, I traced the lines of repetition in my Parisian journey, drafting an inventory not of goods, but of experiences and echoes.
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