Samuel by Anthony Amadeo

This series was created with Samuel, signed to The Lions.
Photographing him was effortless—he carries a quiet strength and elegance that immediately translated into something sculptural.

After the shoot, I turned the images into a set of analog collages. I love the process of cutting, layering, and reconfiguring—turning one image into two, and two into one. These pieces became about reflection, duality, and energy. Samuel’s presence—calm yet powerful—made the work come alive.

There’s something about collage that always feels like movement captured mid-thought. It’s part instinct, part accident, and all rhythm.

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(Series photographed and collaged by Anthony Amadeo for amadeo amadeo.)

The Twin Collages — Ronnie & Adam Levi

There’s something about twins that’s always fascinated me — maybe because I am one. There’s an invisible mirror that exists between two people born at the same time, and it’s impossible to look at one without catching a glimpse of the other.

This series features Ronnie and Adam Levi — twins who share a likeness so strong it feels cinematic, and yet, when photographed separately, their differences become magnetic. I photographed them individually, studying how they each inhabited their own space — the tilt of a head, a glance, a posture. Then I began to collage the images together, blending their forms into one analog body.

The process became a game of identity and symmetry — pushing, cutting, reassembling — until they began to merge into something that felt both familiar and strange. Each collage reveals a dialogue between them: the parts that align perfectly, and the edges that refuse to.

It was fun and instinctual, but it also stirred something deeper — memories of growing up with my own twin. That constant dance of wanting to be different even though you’re cut from the same photograph. There’s an odd beauty in sharing a life that’s both shared and separate.

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These collages live in that space — where sameness and individuality overlap. Two people, one portrait.

amadeo amadeo: The Journal (SUMMER ISSUE)

Grammy Rodriguez by Anthony Amadeo

Slice of Style with Christiano

Slice of Style with Christiano Wennmann. Photography and Collaging by Anthony Amadeo

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In the heart of Paris, amidst the electrifying buzz of Fashion Week, I witnessed the awe-inspiring debut of Willy Chavarria's AW25 collection, "Tarantula." As a fervent admirer of Chavarria’s work and his mastery in melding cultural narratives with bold, street-savvy designs, my anticipation was palpable. Paris, a city that commands the avant-garde, now played host to one of America's most compelling designers, and the show was nothing short of a revelation. Each piece paraded down the runway was a testament to community and unity, woven with the kind of joy that leaps straight from the soul. The textures—rich velvets and meticulous tailoring—paid homage to Parisian elegance while staying fiercely loyal to the essence of Chavarria’s vision.

It was here, in this milieu of artistic fervor, that I first spotted Christiano Wennman. His presence was as striking as the backdrop of the show, a canvas ripe for the artistry I envisioned. Christiano, known for his work at Scarr’s Pizza in New York’s Lower East Side, carries with him an aura of cool authenticity that resonates well beyond the confines of the kitchen. The idea of capturing his essence through my lens grew irresistible. Our collaboration in New York City birthed a series of collages that are as much a celebration of his individuality as they are of the cultural tapestry that brought us together. Through these images, infused with the energy and spirit of our surroundings, I invite you to explore a visual narrative that’s stitched from moments of inspiration, connection, and sheer artistic adventure.

A Carousel of Creation: Day 24

Awakened 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.

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Amidst the lively thrum of the open air markets, a symphony of stimuli awaited: vibrant produce, aromatic meats, glistening seafood, bursts of floral hues. Every sense engaged, a cascade of colors, textures, and scents—a banquet laid out under the awakening sky.

My internal hard drives spin, nearing capacity, each step through the city, each scent and sight, etching deeper into memory's canvas. Countless cafés whispered past, each espresso a pulse in my veins, every croissant and baguette a soft echo of Paris itself.

In an impulsive flourish, I gathered flowers, their petals ready to bask in the rare sunlight slicing through retreating clouds. A quick photoshoot with Arman unfurled, the new suit donned, becoming part of the day's narrative.

Post-shoot, my thoughts scrambled for order, a mental catalogue demanding to be filled and filed. Ideas churned, poised on the brink of creation—collages whispering to be born from the chaos.

Exhaustion tugs at my limbs, a physical echo of the mental marathon. Yet, the creative current surges, relentless. I am a conduit overflowing—notebooks brimming, pens draining, the need for more hands, more tools, more canvases to capture the torrent of visions.

Evening found me with Joanne, immersed in the ambient pulse of a listening party. The club—a cavern of sounds and silhouettes, light weaving through smoke, crafting ephemeral tapestries in the air. Again, the senses overwhelmed, inspiration drawn from every note, every shadow.

Earlier, the solitude of my tiny room witnessed the intimate dance of light and flowers, textures whispered to textiles, patterns promising future garments. These visions, these fleeting moments, I imagine them reborn as silk shirts, as art draped over moving forms.

Night deepens; the editing and retouching marathon continues. Portraits, places, textures—each image a thread in the broader tapestry of this Parisian sojourn. My mind races to keep pace with the burgeoning archive, desperate to translate sensation into form, to pin down the ephemeral before it fades.

Lists form, tasks mount—there is a universe to construct, a culture to curate within the boundless realms of Amadeo Amadeo. Every image, every scent, every tactile experience is a building block of something grander, a narrative stitched from the fabric of this city, of this journey.

What am I creating? A world. How and for whom? With urgency, for the eyes and hearts that will know to look deeper, to feel the undercurrents of each piece. This creation is not merely for display—it is an invitation to delve, to discover, to feel the pulse of my artistic heart.

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Tonight, I do not just create—I unleash; not merely images or scents or fabrics, but the essence of an experience, the soul of a creator touched by the magic of Paris.

Glossary for 'Paris Paris' Collages by Amadeo Amadeo: Day 21

Schiaparelli Couture

'Paris Paris' Collages Glossary

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1. Juxtaposition [ˌjʌk.stə.pəˈzɪʃ.ən]
   n. A harmony of contradictions; where ancient cobblestones meet the fleeting shadow of a modern wanderer, both claiming the same moment in time yet centuries apart.

2. Luxury [ˈlʌkʃ.ər.i]
   n. The art of savoring the commonplace; like the ballet of Parisians cradling their baguettes under their arms, each a scepter ruling the mundane walk home.

3. Ephemera [ɪˈfɛmərə]
   n. The immortal traces of fleeting moments; the peeling posters and torn flyers that dress the city's walls, each layer a silent testament to the city's unending dialogue with time.

4. Silhouette [ˌsɪluˈɛt]
   n. The outline of a city defined not by buildings, but by the spaces between where light meets dark, crafting stories in the gaps of what is seen and unseen.

5. Chiaroscuro [ˌkiːɑːrəˈskjʊəroʊ]
   n. The dance of light and shadow across Parisian facades, where each shadow deepens the story and each highlight narrates a day’s joy or a night’s sorrow.

6. Fragrance [ˈfreɪɡrəns]
   n. Invisible threads weaving through the city, stitching together scenes with the scent of rain on warm pavements or the faint perfume trailing from a stranger's scarf.

7. Orchestra [ˈɔːr.kɪ.strə]
   n. The soundscape of the city; from the cacophony of traffic to the lilt of spoken French at a café, orchestrated not by a conductor but by the day itself.

8. Canvas [ˈkæn.vəs]
   n. Paris itself, where every street, every face, every burst of wind against café curtains paints its own story, waiting for an artist to frame it.

9. Alchemy [ˈæl.kɪ.mi]
   n. The transmutation of everyday Paris into art; turning golden hour light into painted strokes, or the hum of the Metro into the baseline of life’s soundtrack.

A Symphony of Sunlight and Synthesis: Day 19

The 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.

"I need to go outside," the thought struck with the urgency of a struck match. Out in the open, the city pulsed with a vibrancy that only sunlight could paint. I became a wanderer, a collector of sights and textures. Peeling billboards and fading art from the walls of Paris buildings—each fragment a treasure, a piece of the city’s soul destined for my collages.

My camera was my loyal scribe as I captured the architecture, each building a potential cornerstone for the fantastical landscapes I planned to assemble. Today wasn't just about creation; it was about connection—the tactile feel of the city’s energy coursing through my veins, urging me to bottle this vibrancy and channel it into my art.

The city’s rhythm felt like a palpable heartbeat under my feet, a drumbeat to which my own creative pulse quickened. Every corner offered a dialogue with the past, each street a narrative unfolding beneath the azure sky. I was collecting not just materials but energy—bottling the essence of Paris to unleash within the confines of my studio.

Back at my sanctuary, thoughts turned to my fragrances—the Codex collection, each scent a story waiting to be told, a sensory journey waiting to be embarked upon. The fragrances are more than olfactory delights; they are distillations of experiences, of emotions, of the very essence of creativity that Paris has imbued in me. Which of these will first transition from concept to tangible reality? The anticipation is exhilarating.

Let’s create. Let’s transform this torrent of creative energy into something palpable. I’m eager, almost painfully so, to share this artistic fervor with the world. Each piece I create, each fragrance I conceive, is an invitation—to feel, to explore, to dream alongside me.

Dear reader, as I hold back the visual feast until the unveiling of the complete collage, I invite you to engage with the anticipation. What stirs your soul in the realms of art and scent? How do you capture the essence of your experiences? Share your thoughts, your stories, your inspirations in the comments below.

And as for the sketch accompanying this entry, let it be a hint, a whisper of the grand tapestry of art and emotion that I’m weaving from the heart of Paris. The full revelation awaits, but for now, let us revel in the mystery, in the delicious suspense of creation.

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Stay tuned, for creativity knows no bounds, and soon, the fruits of these sun-soaked days will burst forth in colors, textures, and scents that I hope will move you as deeply as they’ve moved me.

Inventory of Recurrences: Day 12

Today’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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Echoes Catalogue:

• Espresso: Morning ritual, the dark brew mirroring the river's flow, each sip a pause, a consideration.

• Circles: Dryer doors, croissant spirals, camera lenses—endless loops dancing through days and thoughts.

• Doors: Gateways to cafes, to shops of antiquities, each entry a new chapter, each exit a closure.

• Antiques: Objects with layers of lives lived, stories told in wood grain and chipped paint, history held in tactile memories.

• Juxtapositions: Old paired with new in artifacts and conversations, the past and present melding in the city's streets and my own creations.

• Luxuries in Excess: The buttery layers of pastries, the dense aroma of perfume, luxury not as opulence but as everyday Parisian air.

• Art: From street sketches to gallery masterpieces, Paris frames itself, each scene a living canvas.

• Fragrances: Bottles of history, scents cutting through time, a perfume shop as a museum of olfactory art.

• Cafes: Hubs of creativity, espresso steam mingling with human warmth, laughter echoing off tiled walls.

• Craftsmen: Artisans pressing history into books, pulling espresso shots, stitching leather, their skills a bridge from past craft to present need.

• Footsteps: My own on cobblestones, echoing those of flâneurs past, a rhythmic beat to the city’s timeless song.

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Glossary of the Frequented:

• Flâneur (n.): an urban explorer, a connoisseur of street symphony, an observer of the ballet of the boulevards.

• Répétition (n.): the act of encountering the same motifs, the same themes, the dance of the familiar in daily vistas.

• Antique (adj.): bearing the patina of the past, objects and moments aged into beauty, carrying stories in each worn corner.

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This journal entry itself becomes a meta-collage, a layering of observations and reflections, where the mundane meets the profound in the list of daily recurrences. Paris teaches that even in stillness, even in the act of looking back, the mind walks new paths.

The Old, The New, The Twinkle Between: Day 6

This morning began with eggs and tomatoes, the color of memory. Coffee hot enough to wake me, edits sharp enough to carve into Lane’s images. I sat at my bistro table, sipping and clicking, time folding like the ripples in my espresso. My task? To make the new old, or maybe the old new.

Lane’s photos became an experiment: How do you colorize black and white without losing the ghost? Like those photos from Aunt Mary’s, faces painted with watercolors that floated on the edge of reality. Trial, error, repeat. Each pixel a whisper from the past, asking, Am I new yet?

The city called. I answered.

I walked by small storefronts, each a tiny theater staging its own play. A chocolatier sculpting gems of cocoa, futuristic shapes born from a craft older than the word “modern.” A comic artist hunched over his desk, black-and-white frames spilling onto the studio walls like a graphic novel alive. Old comics, new ink. The air felt heavy with contrast, like a song played in two keys at once.

Then, a ping—Joanne. An old friend from New York, now here, now Parisian. We met for coffee, wandered past bridges, Notre Dame standing sentinel as we reminisced. My eyes, still tourists in this city, took in every detail: cracked paint, cobblestones, shadows bending over wrought iron. Joanne left for work, leaving me to my vignettes—storefronts glowing like relics in their glass frames.

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Antique shops whispered promises of new lives for old things. Doors locked for the night, their treasures out of reach, but I imagined each item: a mirror reflecting someone else’s face, a chair bearing someone else’s weight. Is it still old if it belongs to me now? Or does possession make it new?

A reflection stopped me: an old French building mirrored in a modern glass façade, its ornate curves warped by the building’s jagged geometry. Old and new danced, each reshaping the other, a duet in contradictions. My mind spiraled: Can old become new if it never knew it was old?

Jazz floated on the air, breaking my spiral. A trio of musicians played on the street, their notes tumbling into the cold night. People paused, baguette sandwiches in hand, faces lit with joy. Music made old by its familiarity, new by its impermanence. I stood still, listening, feeling my thoughts scatter like sheet music caught in the wind.

Crossing a bridge, I noticed time was slipping toward 6 p.m.—the hour when the Eiffel Tower bursts into glitter. I paused, called Jaimie in New York, and shared the moment as the city sparkled. The tower twinkled, Paris inhaled, and for ten minutes, everything felt suspended in light.

Back at my apartment, I poured wine and pondered the day: old colliding with new, the way chocolate shapes meet tradition, the way jazz fills the streets, the way a reflection can be older than the building it mirrors. Paris is a city where time folds in on itself, where every moment is a collage.

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Musée d'Orsay

Old is new. New is old. Perhaps neither exist. Or perhaps both do, endlessly.

Sequences, Sounds, and Sandwiches: Day 4

The day began with a shot of espresso, hot and black, as if to remind me that the day too would be sharp, woody, animalic. Grand Musk clung to my skin like a whisper, blueberry dancing somewhere in the shadows. A warm scent for a cold morning. Out the door, into the city, and into the question: What am I collecting today? Collage pieces for a canvas unseen, textures, sounds, and sequences spiraling into the folds of my mind.

But first, panic: I’ve left my camera charger in New York. A missing fragment in today’s sequence. Where will I find it? I’ll let the city decide.

Thrift stores became my altar. Paris did not disappoint. A Euro Disney costume shirt—a relic, a poem, a puzzle. I’ll shoot my model in this. Then, a window: giant denim, the exact jeans I’ve been searching for. A shrine to oversized dreams, closed for now, but its memory will return tomorrow.

Cafés lined the streets, each chair a soldier in perfect formation. Shearling pelts draped over backs, blankets folded neatly for the cold. The seafood markets shimmered: orange scallops, black mussels, sea urchin spilling gold from their mouths. The palette of the ocean laid bare: metallic blacks, milky whites, raw ambers. The rows of shells were cabaret posters in disguise, a lineup of legs ready to kick into the night. Photograph the legs, I remind myself. A mental note for later.

A piano interrupted my sequence. Its sound was liquid, flowing around the corner like honey. A baby grand on the street. A man playing it, keys moving like dominoes, each one triggering another thought: Who put this here? What is it saying? Why is it art? My stomach growled its approval, and I moved on to find food.

The sandwich shop was a hut, a shrine to hunger. Stacks of baguettes stood like little skyscrapers. Quiches, golden and steaming, lined up in perfect geometry. I pointed, the vendor read my mind, and I walked out with both—a baguette sandwich and quiche, food for my stomach, art for my taste buds. The mustard hit first, a jolt of spice that made my knees buckle. I sat on the street like a poet in ecstasy, chewing metaphors.

Then, Pompidou Centre, a machine disguised as a building. Tubes and lines and repetition, art within art, as if the structure itself were trying to outdo the works it contained. I thought of Fibonacci spirals, geometric sequences, the rhythm of a day. Everything lined up, repeating like a mantra.

Perfumer H beckoned next, a temple of scent. “Dandelion” smelled like spring’s ghost; “Dust,” like the echo of a forgotten room. Archive scents whispered their secrets, and I was tempted by bespoke possibilities. Fragrance as story, glass as skin, scent as identity.

Onward to Jardin du Palais-Royal, where the rows of trees whispered symmetry, and the iron gates hummed repetition. The crunch of pebbles beneath my feet played percussion, matching the rhythm of my thoughts: crunch, crunch, see, see, think, think.

And then, a voice—soaring, magnetic. A street performer sang, his vocal cords weaving a spell in the crisp air. Was it opera? Cabaret? No, just Paris speaking through his. I stood still, caught in the art of sound, letting it wash over me like a tide.

The day folded in on itself as I returned to my apartment, where I sat to write, to think, to see see see see see all that had transpired. A day of rows and rhythms, of sequences and sounds. A puzzle made of baguettes, piano keys, and sea urchins.

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Sounds in the Jardin

Tomorrow, the city will hum again, and I will follow its tune.

A Month of Creativity, Inspiration, and Croissants

In just a few days, I’ll be heading to one of my favorite cities in the world: Paris. This month-long trip is a whirlwind of creativity, inspiration, and adventure, and I can hardly wait to dive in. The air in Paris has always felt electric to me—a blend of art, romance, and boundless creativity. It’s a city where every corner tells a story, and I’m ready to add a few new chapters of my own.

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New Faces, New Collages
I’ll be shooting an entirely new roster of models, and let me tell you, I am buzzing with ideas. The collage project I’ve been working on is about to take a sensory leap forward—interactive, intoxicating, immersive in every sense of the word. You’ll see it unfold piece by piece (yes, a collage pun), and I’ll be documenting everything in my daily journal. Think cryptic notes, fragments of inspiration, and hints of what’s to come. I promise it’ll leave you intrigued and coming back to watch it all come together.

The Scent of Paris
Paris is the city of fragrance, and my scent journey continues here in the most perfect setting. I’ll be working to complete the ten stories of The Codex while exploring the niche perfumeries that make Paris legendary. From tiny, tucked-away shops to the grandest maisons, I’ll be hunting down fragrances that whisper secrets of the city.

Fashion Frenzy
With Men’s Week and Couture Week happening while I’m there, I’m ready to soak up every ounce of fashion inspiration. Street style, luxury boutiques, thrift treasures—I want it all. The layers of Paris’ fashion scene, from the avant-garde to the timeless, will weave their way into my work. And yes, I’ll be sitting at cafes, sipping wine, people-watching, and jotting down ideas as the city hums around me.

The Parisian Experience
Cheese, croissants, baguettes…need I say more? Wine at sunset. The art galleries and museums that make Paris an eternal beacon for creatives. I’ll be diving deep into it all, engulfing myself in Parisian culture and letting the city guide me toward unexpected discoveries. Networking with other creatives, making new friends, and creating new work are all on the agenda.

Join the Journey
I’ll be sharing this adventure in The Journal and on my socials, so you can follow along with every twist and turn. There will be riddles, hints, and plenty of surprises as I weave the story of this trip. It’s a Dadaist manifesto of sorts—chaotic, cryptic, but oh-so-enticing. Join me in the comments and share your tips: the best thrift shops, fragrances I absolutely need to smell, gallery shows I can’t miss, your favorite cafe or hidden spot. Let’s make this journey as collaborative as it is personal.

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Paris awaits, and I’m ready to create. Are you ready to come along? Let’s go!

Proper Mad, Isn’t It? My London Tales of Collage and Chaos

London was always one of those places I dreamt of visiting—the culture, the history, the art scene, and yes, the brutalist architecture. January 2024 marked my first trip to the UK, and I spent nearly the entire month soaking up every bit of London that I could. What came out of that trip? 89 collages—each one a snapshot of my time there, blending the faces of the models I photographed with iconic architecture, quirky souvenirs, and the random brilliance of London itself. These collages, inspired by dadaism and surrealism, are my love letter to the city, and most of them haven’t even been shared yet. Let’s dive in.

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The Studio with a View

I found an incredible penthouse studio just outside the Barbican. Perched atop an old walk-up building, it had a full glass wall that opened like an accordion to a balcony overlooking the stark, geometric brutalism of the Barbican estate. It was everything I wanted: inspiring, moody, and perfectly London. On the main floor of the building was an old-school diner serving a proper full English brekkie. Each morning, I started my day with a coffee, a crumpet with fried egg and beans, and that unbeatable view.

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Walking (and Walking) Through London

Even though I was staying for a long time, I couldn’t resist spending my first day walking 22 miles around the city. From cobblestone streets to massive landmarks, I wanted to see it all. The V&A blew me away with its eclectic collection, while The Tanks at the Tate Modern felt like stepping into a space tailor-made for my aesthetic. I lingered at the Tate Britain, gobsmacked by Francis Bacon’s “Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion” for what felt like yonks. And of course, the National Portrait Gallery was a treasure trove of Tudor portraits.

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Pub Culture and Fish & Chips

London’s pub culture is unmatched. One of the coolest pubs I visited was a 600-year-old gem called The Red Lion. A model I photographed mentioned she worked there, and I couldn’t believe my luck since I had packed my “Red Lion” hoodie from Los Angeles. It felt like fate. I also met up with Jasper, a mate who recently moved to London, and we did the quintessential fish-and-chips experience—a proper nosh if I’ve ever had one!

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Fragrance Finds

Exploring London meant discovering new fragrances. Jovoy introduced me to Khanjar by Omanluxury, an animalic, oud-heavy masterpiece that’s now a favourite. At Harrods’ Salon de Parfums, I indulged in luxury scent heaven. The Henry Jacques boutique, especially their Harrods-exclusive “Royal Dream,” felt like stepping into olfactory royalty—iris and amber blending into something regal yet warm. Absolute bang-on, if you ask me.

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Collaging in London

The models I photographed in my studio had no idea what their portraits would become. I started the editing process right there in London, finding a small local printing shop to bring my images to life. The collages began with tearing, cutting, and rearranging, channeling the random, chaotic energy of dadaism. Some were surreal, others focused on juxtaposing the human form with the stark lines of London’s architecture. A few even included souvenir postcards I picked up along the way.

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Once back in the States, the real fun began. Ripping and manipulating the images further, I aimed to create works that truly embodied the essence of London—its vibrancy, grit, and charm. Video collages came next, inspired by the absurd brilliance of Monty Python, adding a playful layer to the series. You can see these on my Instagram (@Anthonyxamadeo).

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Vintage Finds and Local Gems

Spitalfields and Brick Lane were vintage shopping paradises. I picked up a vintage shearling bomber from a retired vet who was selling his collection of military uniforms. We had a good chinwag, and the experience felt as priceless as the jacket itself. Borough Market became my go-to for food, especially the cheeses. I’ll never forget the orange blue cheese—absolutely lush.

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The Full Circle

Sitting on my balcony every morning with my coffee and breakfast, I’d wait for the models to arrive, ready to capture them in the studio. Those moments—quiet, creative, and full of anticipation—defined my time in London. The collages that came out of this trip are deeply personal, yet they’re a testament to the universal magic of London. They combine faces, places, and moments into a chaotic yet cohesive whole that mirrors the city itself.

Each collage, its own story within the larger narrative of my London journey. Take your time. Get lost in them, just as I got lost in London.

P.S. I can’t wait to share what I’m stirring up for Paris 2025. Stay tuned!