A. 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.
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Photography
A. 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 MoreThere’s a presence in the room before the shutter clicks.
George Maragkos—striking, sharp, and unmistakably cinematic—moves through frame with the ease of someone who’s been here before, even if this is just the beginning.
In his debut session with amadeo amadeo, George arrived dressed in all black: pleated trousers, a leather jacket, a tailored blazer—clothing that clung to the light and carved out drama in the shadows. His Greek features carried the weight of myth, but his gestures were thoroughly modern: abstract, fluid, intentional.
We worked through reflections, distortions, and movement. At every turn, George didn’t just pose—he acted, reacted, told. A face not just for fashion, but for storytelling.
These first portraits mark the beginning of a portfolio designed to not only impress, but to mesmerize. He is the prototype of what we’re cultivating here: presence, poise, and personality.
Welcome George Maragkos, the first of many to come.
For 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 black-and-white images recently leaked from the studio of Anthony Amadeo appear—at first glance—to be nothing more than striking portraits, poetic in their stillness, echoing the sculptural tension of classicism reimagined for a modern mythology. But to those who’ve looked deeper... something else has emerged.
Read MoreGrammy Rodriguez photographed 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?
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.
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 MoreDawn cracks, a lemon slice of sun through the Parisian haze. Emails float like driftwood in the digital sea, preparing me for the day’s creative tide. Mariia arrives at eleven, her presence a fresh breeze. We paint with light and shadows, lemons punctuating the canvas of our shoot, their citrus brightness slicing through the monotone.
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 MoreThe day began not with urgency but with indulgence. The kind of indulgence that lets you linger over a fried egg and cheese on baguette, contemplating whether breakfast might be the most poetic meal of the day. It was quiet luxury—warm yolk, crusty bread, and the promise of Paris unfolding itself, one unpredictable moment at a time. Khanjar was my companion, oud curling around me like a secret whispered into silk. Out the door and into the streets, where everything was waiting.
Read MoreAnthony Amadeo's Best Portraits of 2024
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