A Dada Day of Fragrance, Misfortune, and Revelry: Day 9
Woke 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.
Woke 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.
But the city called with a siren’s song, and I was off to meet Joanne for an olfactory adventure at Nose. The walk there was a prelude, an americano and cinnamon bun in hand, pausing to savor a moment alone on the bustling Paris streets. Then, disaster—a bird's unfortunate aim, a collision with a stranger, coffee scalding my hand in an impromptu ballet of chaos. The street became a stage, the passersby unwitting audience members to my slapstick tragedy.
Joanne arrived, laughter mingling with the tail end of my debacle. We ducked into Nose, our spirits lifted by the promise of finding the perfect fragrance. The in-store experience—a blend of technology and human intuition—guided us through a maze of scents. I emerged victorious, armed with Radical Rose and Io Non Ho Mani Che Mi Accarezzino il Volto, each a bottled revolution, their sillage a declaration of presence.
Our quest for treasures continued through thrift stores, fingers brushing against the textures of past lives. A pair of worn Ferragamo heels whispered biographies from their scuffed soles—stories of smoky bars and forgotten Paris nights. Who wore these? What secrets did they hear? Joanne’s find—a new leather jacket, rich with potential stories—was a tangible slice of history.
As twilight deepened, we found ourselves at Kissproof, a bar wallpapered with the kisses of ghosts. Joanne pointed to a lipstick mark—hers, a relic of another night. She recommended the "Drink Yourself to Death," a carousel of spirits that danced around the palate: Harakiri pickleback, sparkling sake, and trompette de la mort. Potato chips and caviar joined the fray, an unlikely duo that sang of indulgence and whimsy.
John and his girlfriend appeared, threading their own narratives into the tapestry of the evening. The night pulsed with energy, each laugh and clink of glasses a brushstroke on the vibrant canvas of Paris nightlife.
Finally, the walk home—a solitary coda to the symphony of the day. The city’s lights blurred into a river of gold, the streets a gallery displaying the art of the everyday. Back at my apartment, the day’s adventures spilled onto paper, a stream of consciousness that meandered like the Seine.
In Paris, even the mundane becomes a masterpiece, and every misstep is a step into the absurd, the beautiful, the uniquely memorable.
Shadows, Scents, and the Alchemy of Art: Day 8
I 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.
I 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.
The shoot unfolded like a dance of fabric and form. Each frame captured the drape of denim and shirt, evoking the fluid marble folds of the Venus de Milo. Our modern-day session, echoing the timelessness of the Louvre's corridors—still unexplored by me.
Next, Zhu stepped into the frame. Language barriers couldn’t dampen the creativity; our gestures, a ballet of unspoken directions, transcended words. The camera captured more than images—it captured a silent symphony of understanding and artistry.
Post-shoot, the Musée du Parfum beckoned—a sanctuary of scent history. The ancient bottles, their curves and colors whispering of past centuries. The Civet, frozen in time, its essence once bottled now a display. History breathed through the museum, and I absorbed it all, a pilgrim at the altar of fragrance.
Grocery aisles later transformed into a gallery of gastronomy—wine, food, and the pièce de résistance, Nutella. The anticipation of spreading its sweet, rich darkness on a fresh baguette was a still life waiting to be devoured.
Now, the night's task looms—editing, retouching, transforming today’s raw captures into tomorrow’s masterpieces. But first, a moment with wine and Nutella, a simple pleasure amidst the complex tapestry of today’s creations.
This page, a cryptic bridge to understanding—each sketch and scribble a key to the day’s locked moments. Turn the page, and the story deepens, the images blend into the words, and the words into images. Read once, then again, maybe a third time. The narrative unwinds, spirals, returns to the start. A dada diary of days, where what you see isn't all there is, and what you read is only the beginning.
Circles, Collages, and the Golden Arches: Day 7
A week has passed—an orbit around a sun made of espresso, baguettes, and the hum of a camera shutter. I sip my coffee as the day begins, a loop I don’t dare break. The laptop glows with edits, pixels becoming faces, colors becoming memory. Eleven o’clock sneaks up like a shadow on the wall.
A week has passed—an orbit around a sun made of espresso, baguettes, and the hum of a camera shutter. I sip my coffee as the day begins, a loop I don’t dare break. The laptop glows with edits, pixels becoming faces, colors becoming memory. Eleven o’clock sneaks up like a shadow on the wall.
Go arrives. From Tokyo to Paris, we exchange stories about the labyrinth of creativity. My mind, still tethered to retouching, takes the shoot in a natural direction—close-ups, faces fragmented into collages in my head. Go’s expressions tell stories I don’t yet know how to write. When we finish, the golden arches call us. McDonald’s Paris: a paradox of the familiar and the foreign. Fries that taste like nostalgia, burgers wrapped in intrigue. The birthplace reimagined.
Back to my apartment, Aapo arrives. We dive into the shoot, the conversation orbiting art and movement. I show him the collages that pulse like living things, fragments of color and texture stitched together by imagination. His excitement mirrors mine; the future of these images glimmers in our shared anticipation.
Afterward, the city whispers, and I wander. The Moulin Rouge windmill spins lazily, a relic of Parisian spectacle. Down the hill, my feet trace streets that no longer feel foreign. My internal compass aligns, the map of Paris slowly etching itself into my memory.
Today’s fixation? A laundromat. Circles of dryer doors reflect the endless loops of this city, this week, my thoughts. The machines hum their mechanical song, a rhythm that matches my steps. Circles inside circles, a motif that won’t let me go.
Back at my apartment, dinner is ramen. A simple bowl, a spiraling reflection of the day’s themes. Circling back through the week in my mind, I see the loops:
Weekly Recap:
Day 1: Bent wire becomes sculpture. Trash cans whisper poetry. Aldehydes and buttery air swirl into eggshell blue, and Paris exhales cigarette smoke like an artist puffing on inspiration.
Day 2: A dome devours me—a Saint Honoré cake alive with golden arches. Sacré-Cœur sits atop a hill paved with pastries. The carousel spins, a kaleidoscope of sugary visions.
Day 3: Grapefruit bursts through Hedonist’s amber fog. The Arc de Triomphe becomes a portal, old stones bending into floral textiles at Yves Saint Laurent’s world of petals and gowns. Somewhere, a voice sings me back to the Seine.
Day 4: Jazz notes carve shapes in the cold air. Sea urchins spill golden secrets into stainless steel trays. Scallop shells march in rows, repeating the mantra of old cabaret posters. My battery blinks its last, but I keep moving.
Day 5: Sicilian lemons tossed into the trash—what is old, what is new? Pop art unfolds in grocery aisles; marbled meats and neon fruits sing in harmony. Charging batteries, I recharge myself.
Day 6: Lane’s photos ripple into the past, colors spilling into black-and-white memories. A comic artist’s studio brims with ink and paper, old and new colliding. Glass reflects stone, chocolate bridges centuries, and the Eiffel Tower’s light twinkles like a memory already forgotten.
Today was circles: the dryers, the ramen bowl, the rhythm of a week replaying in my mind. A paradox of completion and continuation. The city folds back into itself, and I follow its loops, always beginning, always ending. Tomorrow will come, and the circle will turn again.
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.
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.
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.
Old is new. New is old. Perhaps neither exist. Or perhaps both do, endlessly.
Charging Batteries, Tossed Lemons, and Fragrance as a Symphony: Day 5
The day began not with sunrise, but with an espresso barely strong enough to pull me from the haze of sleeplessness. My shower was a waterfall of heat, coaxing my mind into coherence. Grand Musk lingered on my skin, spicy, woody, animalic—a second skin of warmth. My camera battery blinked in its death throes. I had none of its resolve.
The day began not with sunrise, but with an espresso barely strong enough to pull me from the haze of sleeplessness. My shower was a waterfall of heat, coaxing my mind into coherence. Grand Musk lingered on my skin, spicy, woody, animalic—a second skin of warmth. My camera battery blinked in its death throes. I had none of its resolve.
The model, Lane, arrived promptly at 11. A creative himself, he brought an energy that matched mine, though I was running on fumes. The shoot unfolded like a dream on borrowed time. Each shutter click felt like a heartbeat stolen from the blinking red light of my camera. I kept thinking: These images will collage themselves someday. Shapes will overlap. Meanings will multiply. But not yet.
The battery gasped its last. The shoot wrapped with a smile, and Lane left me with Parisian recommendations—a breadcrumb trail I could barely follow. I needed espresso. I needed a camera shop. I needed the buzz of life, not the static of anxiety.
On the way to salvation (or, at least, a battery charger), I detoured into Etat Libre d’Orange. The air inside was thick with mischief and memory. I asked to re-smell Secretions Magnifiques—a scent of metal, salt, and skin. The saleswoman smiled and sprayed my wrist. We talked about fragrance as art, as emotion, as storytelling. I discovered I Am Trash—an olfactory paradox of rotting apples and fermenting flowers. Then Afternoon of a Faun transported me to a forest damp with morning dew. On my other wrist, a Harrods exclusive oud transformed my perception of shape and smell: angular, jagged, unlike anything I’d known. Art in a bottle.
But the battery loomed. I pressed on to the camera shop, where language barriers wrapped me in knots. Did he have the charger? He did. Then he didn’t. Then he did again but couldn’t sell it. A second shop was only blocks away. Hope persists. There, the man smiled and said, Lucky you—this is the last one. Relief, a purchase, and at last, a path back to the essence of calm.
But first, the grocery.
Inside, rows of labels stacked like a pop-art installation. Colors screamed from every aisle: marbled meats, neon fruits, metallic jars. Sicilian lemons caught my eye, their waxy yellow skins promising a burst of memory, of scent, of taste. I cradled them like treasure.
At checkout, the man behind the counter and I spoke two languages that collided but did not combine. He picked up my lemons, looked at me, then tossed them into the trash. The act was surreal, absurd—a punctuation mark I hadn’t written. I didn’t argue. Some losses, like a drained battery, are inevitable.
Back at the apartment, I made espresso. Dinner followed, simple and satisfying, a punctuation mark I could write myself. The camera battery blinked with new life as I charged my own energy: wine, emails, the quiet hum of accomplishment. The day had been a sequence of collisions—lost translations, tossed lemons, and detours into the art of scent—but here I was, whole, alive, powered once again.
In Paris, even exhaustion feels poetic. Charging a battery, whether for a camera or a soul, is an act of trust. The power returns. The images wait. Tomorrow, they will come alive.
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.
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.
Tomorrow, the city will hum again, and I will follow its tune.
Circles, Sillage, and the Luxury of Wandering: Day 3
The 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.
The 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.
The Eiffel Tower was my destination, or so I told myself. But can a destination be anything more than a suggestion in a city like this? First, I stumbled into Perrotin. A curvy stroke of paint on canvas stopped me cold. Texture like milk solidified into luxury, color like fruit loops that remembered being fruit. Outside again, side streets called to me with their empty charm. Locals pushed against the cold, their arms heavy with fresh produce, flowers, and a baguette tucked under every elbow like a punctuation mark.
Luxury. What is it? Not the heavy definition they teach you but the light one you feel when the details line up just so. Peeling café signs, glossy typography, the sway of a cigarette. Luxe is a bouquet bought for a few euros and dropped into a handmade vase. It’s the unrepeatable ceremony of this moment, right here, right now.
Then, Arc de Triomphe. Its enormity loomed, and suddenly I was home at Washington Square Park, under its younger sibling, the Washington Square Arch. The arches held hands across time, and I walked through their shadow, on to Musée Yves Saint Laurent. Inside, an explosion of florals: sketches, textiles, silk gazar flowers pinned into couture gowns. Yves’ love of flowers mirrored the bouquets tucked under Parisian arms, and I thought, luxury can bloom anywhere, in anything.
Out the door, into Marché Avenue du Président Wilson. Fresh-cut flowers, glistening produce, the crackle of market life. It was a palette of textures and colors, a living still-life. And then, as if summoned, Parfums Henry Jacques. My favorite house, my secret altar. I won’t spoil the magic—it’s not ready to be told—but I walked out cloaked in N° 81 and Paccino, their sillage weaving an invisible path back to the Seine.
At last, the Eiffel Tower. Rising from the end of Rue Saint-Dominique, it was a chalky mirage, a dusty white painting come to life. The juxtaposition was surreal: the opulent sillage of my fragrance against the powdery street. A circle colliding with a square. And when I arrived? It was just the Eiffel Tower. A giant underbelly of steel, a moment as underwhelming as it was iconic. But from Palais de Tokyo, the tower became a background, a symbol redefined by the people photographing it, sketching it, dreaming it.
The walk home was a carousel of choices: roundabouts spinning me like a needle on a record. Dead or Alive played in my head—“You spin me right round, baby, right round.” I followed circles into circles, then stopped for a bottle of wine. Every door I passed had a round, intricate knob in its center, a portal in disguise. Circles within circles, a motif pulling the day into a spiral.
Back at my apartment, wine in hand, I thought about the luxury of this randomness. A journey that chose me. A fragrance that lingered like a ghost. A circle pretending to be a square. Or is it the other way around? It’s whatever you say it is, until you don’t say it, and then it’s nothing.
Tomorrow will be another riddle, another scent trail, another puzzle for us to unravel. Until then, let this linger. Let it turn round and round in your mind.
Circles, Squares, and Scent Trails: Day 2 in Paris
Today began as all great journeys do—with breakfast. A meal? No, a ritual. Eggs cracked like the cosmos, bread toasted to the precise hue of a sepia photograph. Fueled, prepped, and curious, I ventured into the Parisian ether with no plan, no map, no compass but whimsy. Paris whispered, “Follow me,” and I obeyed.
Today began as all great journeys do—with breakfast. A meal? No, a ritual. Eggs cracked like the cosmos, bread toasted to the precise hue of a sepia photograph. Fueled, prepped, and curious, I ventured into the Parisian ether with no plan, no map, no compass but whimsy. Paris whispered, “Follow me,” and I obeyed.
First stop: Galeries Lafayette, a cathedral to commerce and scent. The atrium engulfed me—golden arches framing a glass dome that transformed the space into a Saint Honoré cake, and I, the cherry. I sniffed my way to the Ex Nihilo booth. Hedonist transported me back to my grandfather’s kitchen: citrus zest cutting through ginger, grapefruit sparkling on a base of amber like sunlight through stained glass. Gold Immortals? Sweet, floral silk. And Timeless Lovers—a store exclusive—left me reeling. I felt gilded, perfumed, like a ghost draped in velvet.
Out into the streets, up the serpentine path to Montmartre, my nose trailing behind boulangeries, fromageries, and florists. The pastries taunted me, each one a jewel of sugared perfection: Paris-Brest, Chouquettes, Mille-feuille. The list stretched endlessly like the hill before me. Every step closer to Sacré-Cœur was marked by a gasp—first at the domes, then at the carousel spinning in concentric circles, then at the view. Paris sprawled out below like an impressionist painting. The artists in Montmartre sketched tourist faces, and I wondered if they could draw the scent of the crêpes folding delicately into the air.
Onward to Jardin du Palais Royal, where trees lined up in cubist rows, their stark geometry slicing through my morning of domes and spirals. My brain shifted: circles gave way to squares, curves to sharp angles. Pierre Guillaume’s logo echoed this transformation, leading me instinctively to his store. There I met “Femme en Smoking,” a scent I couldn’t define—feminine, floral, but woody, sharp. The spray on my wrist became a breadcrumb in my day’s trail, guiding me forward.
By evening, I crossed the Seine to Notre Dame, its towers pressing against the Parisian sky like a hymn. My phone’s battery dwindled as I wandered, drawn to the bookstands along the riverbanks, their yellowing pages humming stories to me. Under a nearby bridge, a ghost of my younger self appeared—a memory of a photograph taken here 16 years ago. Full circle, or square? I can’t say.
With my phone at 3%, I backtracked my way home, or maybe “Femme en Smoking” led me. A final stop at the Monop for a baguette—another ritual. I stood in line as the battery threatened to extinguish, praying for one last charge to complete my purchase. Success: baguette secured.
Now, as I collapse into my apartment, I leave you with this: Follow my scent trail, the invisible breadcrumbs of “Femme en Smoking” through circles and squares, spirals and angles. Tomorrow is another abstraction waiting to be explored.
Stay curious. Stay scented. Stay tuned.
A Smell, A Sight, A Sculptural Trash Can: Paris, Day One
Today, I arrived in Paris. This morning? This morning was soft, like the inside of a baguette. Checked into my Le Marais sanctuary, took a nap that lasted both 15 minutes and a millennium. Then I began to roam—a flâneur with no map, just a nose and a notebook.
The air was alive with a chaos of smells: aldehydes skipping like schoolchildren, buttery clouds, milky murmurs. Paris smelt of eggshell blue. Undertones brewed in the corners—espresso whispers, chocolate shadows, the spectral exhale of cigarettes, cigars curling their fingers toward dusk. Evening dropped its sepia-toned curtain.
A Pierre Cardin storefront caught my eye—a structure of dreams I need to revisit. But first, perfume. Jovoy was an altar to olfactory gods, and I knelt. Khanjar by Oman Luxury—still as arresting as the first time in London, a scent so sharp it slices memory. From there to Dover Street Parfums Market, a pocket of whimsy where I stumbled upon Thumbsucker by Stora Skuggan. It’s Shocking by Schiaparelli reincarnated, or perhaps reanimated—a ghost wearing lipstick. I loved it. I loved it the way you love a mistake.
Serge Lutens was next, all science fiction and apothecary chic. Bottles like laboratory beacons, thin and tall, vessels of future potions. Their discovery set: a story in every vial.
Hunger set in—not a Parisian hunger but something primal. Grocery store simplicity called: baguette, cheese, cured meats. Could I wait until I got home to start eating? Could I hell. The baguette was an art form in itself, torn apart like my notebook pages.
Somewhere in this first day's haze, I wandered to the Louvre's pyramid—a shard of light in the city’s ribcage. But more captivating? The trash receptacles. Oh, the trash receptacles! Wire sculptures holding plastic bags like offerings to an urban god. One was bent, mangled, kissed by a motorbike. Its twisted form was sublime, a swoop of accidental genius. I drew it in my journal, and that, my dear readers, is my masterpiece of the day.
Trash cans as art. Perfumes as poetry. Bread as the divine. Day one in Paris was everything and nothing at once.
The Polarizing Power of Secretions Magnifiques
Fragrance House: Etat Libre d'Orange
Nose: Antoine Lie
Few fragrances have stirred the pot quite like Secretions Magnifiques. Billed as an olfactory exploration of intimacy, body fluids, and raw human sensuality, this creation by Antoine Lie is an infamous piece of fragrance lore. I’d read countless reviews—both horrified and enamored—before finally getting my own nose on it. Intrigued by the divisive chatter, I needed to experience this "art" firsthand. Spoiler alert: it didn’t disappoint.
The Encounter
I discovered this polarizing scent at New London Pharmacy, a hidden gem that surprised me with its extensive niche fragrance collection. The enthusiastic woman behind the counter was quick to share her thoughts on Secretions Magnifiques, retrieving it from the shelf with arms extended as if handling a live grenade. Her reaction to the test strip—a subtle recoil, followed by a nervous nose adjustment—only amplified my anticipation.
The first sniff? Intense, shocking, and wholly unique. Metallic, salty, milky, and slightly green, the opening conjures seaweed-strewn shores and something deeply animalic. It's neither good nor bad, feminine nor masculine—it simply is. Naturally, I had to take the plunge and spray it on my skin. After all, fragrances live their fullest lives on warm, human flesh.
On Skin: The Evolution
The immediate hit on my arm was a cocktail of sea spray, warm skin, and a metallic tang—like the taste of a nicked lip or the lingering scent of salty ocean air. As it settled, the fragrance warmed into something softer, sweeter even. On me, the mid-development brought hints of milkiness and wood, turning it into a surprisingly wearable second-skin scent. It’s as if you’ve spent the morning rolling in sand under the sun with someone special, their warmth lingering on your skin.
When I met a friend later, the dry-down had already shifted to a woody, creamy accord. She smelled my arm and remarked, "It’s like people sitting around a warm, chlorine pool, with the body heat rising and mixing with the air." That’s the magic of Secretions Magnifiques: it’s weirdly familiar yet utterly disorienting. It invites interpretations as varied as the people experiencing it.
The Artistry
This isn’t a fragrance for those who believe perfume’s sole purpose is to “smell nice.” It’s for the adventurous—those who seek to provoke conversation, challenge norms, and redefine what it means to wear scent. Antoine Lie has crafted an olfactory narrative that’s as much performance art as it is perfume. Its ability to mimic the intimate smell of human closeness, sweat, and even bodily fluids is both uncomfortable and comforting.
Layering Potential
Secretions Magnifiques would shine as a layering scent. Pair it with something smoky to amplify its warmth, or add a floral fragrance for contrast. Its chameleon-like quality makes it a versatile tool in the hands of a creative wearer.
Final Thoughts
Secretions Magnifiques is not for the faint of heart. It’s provocative, subversive, and unapologetically human. But therein lies its beauty. It’s a scent that captures the raw essence of human interaction—the warmth of an embrace, the salt of the sea, the metallic bite of life’s imperfections. For those bold enough to wear it, it’s a fragrance that turns heads, raises questions, and invites touch.
Would I wear it daily? Probably not. But do I admire its audacity and the masterful hand of Antoine Lie? Absolutely. If you’re a fragrance enthusiast who believes perfume can transcend mere scent and venture into the realm of art, this one deserves a spot in your collection.
Let me know if you’ve tried Secretions Magnifiques or if there’s a similarly divisive fragrance you’d recommend I explore. Smell on!
A Month of Creativity, Inspiration, and Croissants
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.
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.
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.
Paris awaits, and I’m ready to create. Are you ready to come along? Let’s go!
Irving Penn: Kinship
Another standout was his collaboration with Issey Miyake in the late 1980s—a dream partnership blending Miyake’s sharp pleats and bold shapes with Penn’s stark black-and-white photography. The graphic nature of these images is timeless, an artistic conversation between two visionaries. I’ve long wanted the Irving Penn x Issey Miyake book for my collection, and seeing these photographs in person only deepened my admiration for their artistry.
Walking into Pace Gallery to see Irving Penn: Kinship felt like revisiting an old friend. Curated by Hank Willis Thomas, the exhibition showcases Penn’s ability to unify diverse subjects—from couture fashion to cultural portraits—with a grace that transcends time.
Hank Willis Thomas’s curation is a masterstroke, pairing images like a couture photograph alongside a dandelion or a biker gang next to the New Guinea Mudmen. These juxtapositions reveal the fluidity and consistency of Penn’s vision, making the contrasts both striking and deeply connected.
Some highlights for me included works from Penn’s Cigarettes series, first shown in 1977. There’s a raw intimacy to these images, as if each discarded cigarette carries the stories of the people who smoked them. I found myself captivated, imagining who they might have been and what moments led to those final smoldering drags. There’s a print from this series at the Met that I’ve stared at countless times, but seeing another in this exhibition brought the same sense of wonder and storytelling.
Another standout was his collaboration with Issey Miyake in the late 1980s—a dream partnership blending Miyake’s sharp pleats and bold shapes with Penn’s stark black-and-white photography. The graphic nature of these images is timeless, an artistic conversation between two visionaries. I’ve long wanted the Irving Penn x Issey Miyake book for my collection, and seeing these photographs in person only deepened my admiration for their artistry.
If you’re in New York City, don’t miss Irving Penn: Kinship. It’s an unforgettable showcase of one of photography’s greats, curated to perfection. The exhibition runs until February 22, 2025, at Pace Gallery.
Recollections in a Bottle: The Story of No. 37
There 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.
There 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.
From The Codex, Page 36: A synesthetic interpretation of No. 37.
Walking through their garden on a sunny spring morning, the air was fresh and earthy. There was a sense of vitality in the freshly cut greens and the damp soil, the sun awakening every leaf and bloom. The top notes of No. 37 evoke this exact moment, an invitation to step into a lush, living space where nature sings its brightest song.
Inside the house, Aunt Mary’s presence filled the room, not just through her kindness but through the delicate floral trail she left wherever she went. Lily of the valley, lilac, rose, and jasmine danced in the air, anchored by the warm embrace of amber. The middle notes of No. 37 are a tribute to her—a celebration of her elegance and the way her scent turned a house into a home.
Then there was Uncle Bozo’s den, a place of mystery and grounding energy. It smelled of well-worn leather, musky tones, and a faint whisper of tobacco. It was a world that felt lived-in and storied, where every object had purpose and history. The base notes of No. 37 capture this darker, earthier side—a counterbalance to the brightness of the garden and the softness of the florals.
Creating No. 37 wasn’t just about capturing a moment; it was about preserving a feeling. It’s a scent that tells a story, one that can transport you to a time and place where the air is thick with love, history, and life itself. I’ve always believed that scent is the most intimate form of storytelling, and No. 37 is my way of sharing a piece of my heart with you.
If you close your eyes and breathe it in, maybe you’ll find your own memories within its layers. Maybe it will remind you of a garden you’ve walked through, a loved one’s perfume, or the comfort of a space you’ve called home. Or maybe it will create new memories entirely, ones you’ll carry forward.
No. 37 is more than a fragrance; it’s a doorway. Where will it take you?
While the fragrance is still in the works, the stories and concepts behind it are already unfolding. Stay tuned as No. 37 takes shape, becoming a physical expression of the memories and emotions it seeks to capture. Coming soon.
Sam Morris: Character, Movement, and Pieces of a Boy
AA: Let’s talk about your book, Pieces of a Boy.
This is your second book—congratulations! What’s the story behind it, and what inspired you to write it? How does navigating the creative world of writing compare to other creative outlets you explore?
SM: This book came about at a difficult personal time for me and I found that writing became my go-to creative outlet to cope during that time. The overall process of writing that memoir was extremely confronting, but cathartic, and it has shown me that writing will likely become a huge part of my life moving forward.
Anthony Amadeo explores the creative depths of Sam Morris, from emotive portraits to his latest book.
AA: Sam, let’s start with the shoots we’ve done together in NYC.
We always had so much fun creating those character-based portraits—playing with graphic lines, body shapes, and bold emotive moments. How did you feel stepping into those concepts? Did it feel like acting, or was it more about expressing different sides of yourself?
SM: I always felt like you captured me at my realest to be honest. Those portraits of me through the years (as we did many shoots) really are reflective of my character. I feel like you had a great way of capturing the inbetween moments, which is ultimately where you’re most yourself.
AA: You’re based in Brighton Beach, which sounds so inspiring.
What’s life like there for you? Does the energy of the UK’s coastal creative scene influence your work or the way you approach storytelling?
SM: I moved to Brighton to actually find more peace. I’ve been writing a lot down here and the energy in Brighton definitely contributes positively to that as it has a much slower pace. It’s also a very queer city, so I feel very safe here.
AA: Let’s talk about your book, Pieces of a Boy.
This is your second book—congratulations! What’s the story behind it, and what inspired you to write it? How does navigating the creative world of writing compare to other creative outlets you explore?
SM: This book came about at a difficult personal time for me and I found that writing became my go-to creative outlet to cope during that time. The overall process of writing that memoir was extremely confronting, but cathartic, and it has shown me that writing will likely become a huge part of my life moving forward.
AA: Writing seems like such an introspective medium.
What’s your process like when sitting down to write? Is it structured, spontaneous, or somewhere in between? How do you stay inspired and motivated throughout the journey of writing a book?
SM: I would say I usually write spontaneously, when interesting angles or sentences pop into my mind. Then I will develop the writing from there, in a more structured way. Best piece of advice I had from incredible TV writer Russell T Davies was ‘get it down, then get it good’ - can’t edit a blank page.
AA: You’re clearly someone with many creative sides.
What other creative outlets do you enjoy? Are there any projects, hobbies, or passions that keep you energized outside of writing?
SM: Honesty outside of creating things I really enjoy people watching, both in life and in media. Sometimes reality TV is fascinating to me because I can watch it, almost ironically, just to observe how people express themselves or connect with each other & their surroundings. This, in-turn, usually helps with my work.
AA: If we were to shoot again, what kind of character would you want to explore?
Would it be something bold and graphic again, or are you itching to try something completely new?
SM: Honestly I’m a very different person now. I feel like I’m much more grounded than I was before, and I think that would be captured on camera. I’m older now and I’ve done a lot of work in therapy, it would be fun to see if a different Sam was captured if we shot like before, but I have to admit I am always interested in trying something new.
AA: Finally, where can people keep up with you and your work?
Do you have any upcoming projects, book events, or creative ventures you’re excited to share?
SM: Honestly I plan to write more in 2025, and I may also be looking into working on some sort of adaptation of my book Pieces Of A Boy - so watch this space I guess.
Walter Cook: Redheads, Denim, and Surreal Shapes
AA: Walter, let’s start with our shoot—it was such a fun day!
We threw everything at it: oversized denim, an oversized black suit, and even a Ghillie suit. What was it like stepping into those surreal and abstract concepts? Did anything surprise you about how the final images turned out?
Anthony Amadeo chats with Walter Cook about abstract shoots, creative trust, and what’s next.
AA: Walter, let’s start with our shoot—it was such a fun day!
We threw everything at it: oversized denim, an oversized black suit, and even a Ghillie suit. What was it like stepping into those surreal and abstract concepts? Did anything surprise you about how the final images turned out?
WC: Going into the shoot I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was my first shoot and I didn’t have any base expectations because of that. The surreal aspect of the clothes made me feel more comfortable than I thought I would be. I wasn’t as worried about making the clothes look perfect or making sure I was standing in exactly the right pose. I was excited to get the images back and they blew me away. In the moment you don’t see the final picture, but afterwards you can look back on the moment when it was taken to see what you were thinking or doing. This just reaffirmed my belief that it isn’t about what I see or want, but what can be captured from another point of view.
AA: You really nailed those abstract shapes and ideas.
That oversized denim became something totally freeform in your hands. How did you approach working with those pieces, and did you feel like you were building something new in each moment?
WC: Working with the denim was something that felt very freeing. Trying to find different ways it would move, and to make it stay in those positions for longer than a few seconds before it fell was very fun. I didn’t think of it as clothing while trying to move it which I believe helped create some of the more abstract shapes that emerged.
AA: And let’s not forget the oversized black suit and the Ghillie suit.
The textures, the movement—it was all so dynamic. Do you have a favorite moment or look from the shoot? What stood out to you most about working with those pieces?
WC: One of my favorite looks from the shoot is when we were taking the Ghillie suit pictures. We had taken a couple of pictures before you went over and grabbed the oversized suit and pants. I was thinking I was going to change into them, but you said to just put them on over the ghillie suit. That was unexpected and created some amazing images. I personally love the picture where I have the suit over my shoulder. I remember trying to create that shot with you and I love the way it came out in the end.
AA: We bonded over both having red hair during the shoot—definitely a standout feature!
What’s the funniest or most unexpected comment you’ve ever gotten about being a redhead? Do you think it shapes how people see you or the energy you bring to creative projects?
WC: Having red hair has definitely been something that stands out while doing modeling. It can shape some shoots depending on what the photographer or brand is looking for, but with others it is just an added bonus. As you know it catches people’s eye as they are looking at potential models to work with. Even a second glance makes all the difference in the world. Something to draw the eyes in so they can see what else I have to offer. In terms of unexpected and funny comments there is one I have heard many times. “You know women would kill for hair like yours”. It always comes out at the most unexpected times or from people I have just met which makes it funny to me.
“You know women would kill for hair like yours”
AA: Modeling takes a lot of trust and openness, especially with surreal concepts like ours.
How do you get into the mindset to create? Are there things you do to stay confident and present in front of the camera?
WC: I know that the photographer has an idea in their head. Whether it is a basic concept or a specific vision. I see myself as more of an extension of that vision. It isn’t about me or what I want the images to come out looking like. I think that keeps me in the mindset to create. I am not worried about the way I look on the outside as that has been determined by someone else. My job is to try and bring to light something that someone else has envisioned. I have to work with what I am given as well as the photographer to get to that final image they are looking for.
AA: What’s next for you?
What are your plans with modeling—any exciting campaigns, projects, or new directions you’re wanting to explore?
WC: I am currently working on getting signed with another agency in New York right now. I had originally been signed to a sports and fitness division, but after a little bit I realized that it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t going anywhere and I couldn’t justify staying. I have been talking with some other agencies and am looking forward to working and having many more experiences modeling for all sorts of projects and hopefully campaigns.
AA: Finally, let’s end with some fun: if we were to shoot again, what’s the wildest idea you think we could try?
Would it involve even bigger suits, weirder textures, or something totally unexpected? Let’s brainstorm!
WC: I think trying to get pants big enough for me to fully fit in would be amazing. I tried unsuccessfully to fit in the pants during our first shoot and I think if I pull a bit harder and the pants are a bit bigger I could definitely make it work. Adding in some other textures like a scale pattern or leather might be a good contrast to the wildness of the ghillie suit. I am definitely ready for whatever we come up with and excited to create more images with you in the future. Wherever the shoot takes us is the perfect place to be.
Adrian Jimenez: Fatherhood, Fashion, and Future Plans
Anthony Amadeo chats with Adrian Jimenez about life as a dad, Vogue memories, and staying creative.
AA: Let’s take it back to our first shoot…
It was an absolute blizzard in New York City. I honestly didn’t think you’d make it, and not only did you show up, but you were five minutes early—after traveling all the way from Philly. What was going through your head on that journey? What made you commit to showing up that day?
AJ: Haha! Yeah man, I remember that. An iconic day in Brooklyn, definitely a memorable first impression. To be fair I was staying in the east village at the time with a friend and only had to take the L train over, but I knew with the non stop snow I would have to give myself some extra time. I was still pretty new on the scene and extremely appreciative of any opportunity, plus I had seen your work and really liked your style. I really love extremely weather events like that, I think there’s an energy to it, and once I finally made it to your spot it was well worth hiking in the snow.
AA: Over the years, we’ve shot so many times and have created hundreds of images together.
You’ve always been one of the easiest models I’ve ever worked with—there’s a natural trust that makes everything feel effortless. From your side, what has made our shoots special or memorable for you?
AJ: First of all, thanks man, you’re an easy photographer to work with too and I think it all comes from being comfortable taking chances, not being afraid to look stupid, and for me it was trusting your creative process. I remember seeing cool images on your profile, and once we started shooting it was almost like you were documenting a conversation. The spaces we’ve shot in have also helped because the artistic and chaotic energy of your decoration style helps to set a tone.
AA: One of the highlights of your journey was being featured in Vogue Italia.
That’s such a moment! Can you talk about how that opportunity came about, what the experience was like, and what it felt like to see yourself in such an iconic publication?
AJ: Vogue Italia may have been the very first time I went through a casting and got booked. It set an expectation in my mind that really hasn’t been reached again hahah! I remember casting with Luigi and Iango and just telling myself it was normal and I deserved to be there and being fully ready to commit to their artistic vision. The shoot itself was amazing because first of all, we were at a beautiful property and there were also a bunch of other models there. Mica was the main model they were shooting but I remember hanging out and vibing with the other models, trying to listen to their stories of being on sets and finding out as much as I could about the industry. One thing I remember vividly is everyone was getting styled with Louis Vuitton, not fully clothed but elements here and there, until they got to me and were like, yeah he’s fine how he is. So my shots in the publication, even though I’m styled in Louis Vuitton, are really just but naked draped on a beautiful girl.
AA: I know you’ve got a lot happening lately—especially becoming a new dad.
First of all, congrats! How has fatherhood been treating you? How are you balancing creative work, life, and being a dad? And what keeps you motivated these days?
AJ: Thank you! I’m blessed to have a beautiful son and in these short few months the situation keeps changing and evolving. One way I’ve been describing it is that even with how wildly inconvenient it is to bring a new baby in to this world, it is still easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Coincidentally as soon as he was born I started getting booked more than ever before. It’s heartbreaking leaving my wife and baby whenever I get booked out of town and the first time I had to leave I cried in the Uber on the way to the airport, but its all part of the hustle and at this point in our lives the best thing I can do for my family is to provide so that my wife can stay home with the baby.
Now 7 months in to it, the situation is changing where I feel like I can pop up to the city to start shooting again. I’d like to start building my portfolio out, and developing myself creatively in the modeling world again.
AA: Scent can transport us to moments and memories—just like a photograph.
If your life or creative journey had a scent, what do you imagine it would smell like? Are there any specific smells tied to moments that you’ll always carry with you?
AJ: Oh wow, yeah absolutely, that here are a few scents that put me right back in to a moment. If I had to accept a scent for my creative journey I think it would predominantly be something outdoorsy, maybe a little woody like pine or charcoal from a fire, I think there would be an element of something refined like leather that would encapsulate the energy of the city, and maybe something like a jasmine or a touch of something floral to tie in the elements of complete vulnerability that comes with doing something so public and creative.
If I ever walk in to the One Hotel in Brooklyn I’m reminded of the shoot I was a part of there. Certain brands of moisturizers and hair products bring me back to moments on sets. Parliment lites remind me of Christmas thanks to my aunt and uncles.
AA: You always seem to be up to something new...
What are you up to right now? Are you working on anything exciting that we should know about—projects, creative pursuits, or life changes?
AJ: Recently in my professional career I’ve been lucky to have a mother agent that has placed me in some great markets. I love going to LA so I’ll probably be looking to spend some time out there to see if I can get anything cooking. Even before that I’ll probably be shooting some new portfolio images, but this last year has been so great and unpredictable and it makes me feel like as long I keep taking care of my health and maintain the relationships I’ve built, that opportunities should keep presenting themselves.
BONUS!
Did you know there’s now a puzzle featuring Adrian Jimenez? Yes, you read that right—a stunning and seriously challenging puzzle of one of our most striking images together. Perfect for hours of entertainment, frustration, and eventual triumph. Think you’ve got what it takes to piece together the artistry? It’s available for purchase now—don’t miss out on this one-of-a-kind keepsake!
• 520 pcs puzzle size: 15.74″ × 19.74″ (40 × 50.1 cm)
• Digitally printed
• Semi-gloss finish
• Can be used as wall decor
Warning: Choking hazard—small parts. Not for children under 3 years.
Important: This product is available in US only. If your shipping address is outside this region, please choose a different product.
AA: To wrap things up…
Where can everyone keep up with you? Anything you want to share or pitch that’s coming up next?
AJ: Right now I just have my Instagram page running @adrianwjmnz I haven’t posted to my grid in ages but you can follow along the day to day in the stories. I’ve been doing general contracting work in and around Philly and I like to post artistic vignettes and little still life’s of the day to day work from the beautiful old homes I’m based in. Every once in a while I’ll get booked for a modeling job and in my manic attempt to cope with leaving my family for a few days I’ll usually tap in to a pretty fun and interactive part of my brain. If you’re really obsessed and want to see what I do while rehabbing properties we do actually have a YouTube channel @greenbuildingnetwork where the crew and I provide lightly comedic infotainment on building and renovations! But other than that hopefully I’ll have some new work coming soon!
Reflections in B&W
Anthony Amadeo's Best Portraits of 2024
Anthony Amadeo's Best Portraits of 2024
What a year it has been. Reflecting on the past 12 months, it feels like I’ve lived in a whirlwind of portraits. This year, I poured myself into refining the style of imagery I create. Each session felt like stepping into a new conversation, allowing the art to unfold naturally. My process has always leaned heavily on spontaneity—letting the moments emerge, rather than meticulously constructing them. Inspired by the rules of Dadaism, I approached my work with the belief that art can create itself when you’re open to the moment. The result? Images that capture the essence of human interaction in their most raw, unfiltered forms.
This year’s journey wasn’t without its challenges. While I embraced spontaneity, I also sought balance. How could I bring a sense of order to the chaos? How could I create stories in my images that feel genuine and honest while placing my subjects in abstract or surreal situations? It’s a juxtaposition I’ve chased: raw emotion within striking, offbeat visuals—a tension between connection and intrigue. Much of my work remained in my signature black-and-white style, a choice that has become synonymous with my creative voice.
People often ask me, “Why is all your work black and white?” My answer? It’s not just a choice; it’s a feeling. I learned black and white from Nick Dekker, a master darkroom printer who once assisted Ansel Adams. Nick was my teacher at Brooks Institute and my favorite mentor. I vividly recall him telling me, “I’m going to keep failing you, but it’s only so you can learn. I know you have the talent, and I don’t want you to cruise through this.” That lesson stuck. Nick’s encouragement to push beyond the surface taught me to truly see the image within an image.
For me, black and white distills a photograph to its essence. When I convert a color image to monochrome, it’s as if the unnecessary information falls away, leaving bold contrasts, shapes, and graphic elements. It’s where the photograph becomes an image—a piece of art.
As I look back on this year, I’ve selected 15 favorite images that represent the essence of 2024. Each one tells its own story.
Each portrait in this collection carries a piece of this journey—of chasing balance, finding clarity in spontaneity, and honing a style that feels both intimate and otherworldly. I hope these images resonate with you as they have with me. Here’s to another year of discovery, creation, and connection.
Form and Flow with Brian Bothwell
An exploration of body, shape, and the beauty of trust.
An exploration of body, shape, and the beauty of trust.
Model Brian Bothwell stepped in front of the camera of Anthony Amadeo for the first time today and absolutely delivered. With oversized denim and a body-hugging stocking, this shoot was all about movement, curves, and trust.
Check out more from this shoot soon at IG: @anthonyxamadeo.
Tommy Hart: From Brooklyn Blizzards to CDMX Beats
AA: Let’s talk about the art scene in Mexico City.
How does it compare to Brooklyn? Are there things about the scene in CDMX that excite you in ways Brooklyn didn’t, or is there something you miss about the creative energy back in New York?
TH: It’s always a mix. Nothing will ever be like New York so I’ve really tried to stop comparing New York to anywhere I go. My boyfriend founded an art fair in Mexico City called Material, he exposes me to a lot of cool artists and shows that I wouldn’t normally seek out on my own. As an artist myself and with a friend group of mostly artists from all parts of Latin and South America, I will say the cool thing about being an artist in Mexico City is the life that you can build for yourself with some moderate success. It seems like most of my friends are visual artists, designers, tattoo artists, photographers, hair stylists, musicians, drag queens, you name it…supporting yourself with your art, being able to live modestly in an apartment by yourself and not stress about going out to dinner with your friends once or twice a week really makes for a nice life.
AA: Tommy! From Brooklyn to CDMX—that’s quite a move.
What inspired the shift, and how has life in Mexico City been treating you? What’s the biggest change you’ve noticed since swapping one creative hub for another?
TH: Before I moved to New York in 2016, I had never really been out of the country. I quickly realized how much I was missing out on, so in 2017 I spent 5 weeks traveling around Europe seeing as much as I could. Every year after that, I started manifesting spending some extended amount of time—anywhere from a few months to a few years—in another country, and learning another language. So in 2020, when the opportunity came around to house sit for a friend in Mexico City for a few months, I think I was mentally prepared for a change. It was the last place I visited before the lockdown and was still fresh on my mind, but to be honest I never thought I would still be here four and a half years later. I think a big shift has been letting go of the expectations I had for my life, the way I was so sure I wanted everything to go, and allow things to flow more. My friends tell me I’m way more relaxed now than I used to be.
AA: Let’s talk about the art scene in Mexico City.
How does it compare to Brooklyn? Are there things about the scene in CDMX that excite you in ways Brooklyn didn’t, or is there something you miss about the creative energy back in New York?
TH: It’s always a mix. Nothing will ever be like New York so I’ve really tried to stop comparing New York to anywhere I go. My boyfriend founded an art fair in Mexico City called Material, he exposes me to a lot of cool artists and shows that I wouldn’t normally seek out on my own. As an artist myself and with a friend group of mostly artists from all parts of Latin and South America, I will say the cool thing about being an artist in Mexico City is the life that you can build for yourself with some moderate success. It seems like most of my friends are visual artists, designers, tattoo artists, photographers, hair stylists, musicians, drag queens, you name it…supporting yourself with your art, being able to live modestly in an apartment by yourself and not stress about going out to dinner with your friends once or twice a week really makes for a nice life.
AA: You’ve sat for some wild concepts with me—let’s start with the clowns.
During my clown phase, I painted you as one of my characters. What was that experience like? Did you feel transformed, ridiculous, or maybe a little bit of both?
TH: Honestly with our work I’ve always trusted your vision. Your portrait shooting style is unique in that I very rarely was concerned with what I was doing with my face because you weren’t always even looking into the lens. So we could relax and just have a long chat. For the clown photos, I remember shooting them with you around the time of the camp themed Met Gala which felt appropriate. And I was still chasing an acting career so I definitely felt like a clown a lot of the time.
AA: We’ve had some pretty great moments on our shoots in Brooklyn.
What’s your favorite memory from those days? Is there one moment that stands out as extra weird, hilarious, or just perfectly creative?
TH: You’ve taken some really beautiful shots of me, ones where I was really proud of how my body looked and others that really captured my essence or what I was going through at the time. I used to be super into thongs, and we’ve taken a lot of photos with different pieces from my collection. I remember on one of our earlier shoots I was having problems with my eyes because I was sleeping in my contacts every night (you’re not supposed to do that), and I was constantly tearing up throughout the shoot. All the final shots were really emotional.
AA: You’re DJing in CDMX now, which is amazing.
What’s the vibe like when you’re spinning? Do you have a specific sound or energy you’re going for, and how has being in Mexico City influenced your music?
TH: I first fell in love with house music in New York, and I think the city remains my biggest inspiration. My sound has evolved as I’ve become clearer with what I was to accomplish during my sets. I want people to feel sexy and grounded in their bodies, I want them to forge a euphoric connection from the dancefloor to their hearts, and I want to inspire them to lead with an open mind as they move through life. Those intentions guide me as I dig for new music and select records in the moment. I’d say being in Mexico has upped the “energy” level of what I play, but I try to always remain true to these intentions.
AA: Here’s a fun one—if we were to shoot again, what’s the most absurd concept you think I’d come up with?
TH: Would you say yes to being painted entirely in glitter, DJing on a rooftop with 100 balloons, or something even more out there?
I generally stay away from any “music” themes in shoots these days. There’s nothing cringier to me than a studio portrait of a dj wearing their headphones. Otherwise, I’m game.
AA: Finally, where can people find you and your work these days?
Do you have any DJ sets, projects, or collaborations coming up that we should know about?
TH: I’m constantly uploading live sets from my residency nights at [sic] club in Mexico City to my soundcloud. There’s a few party collectives and platforms I have my eye on that I’d like to release mixes for on in 2025. Next year I’ll also start releasing some of my own original productions as well as remixes and edits I’ve been experimenting with.
Threads of Creativity: Vickie Bunn in Conversation
From poetic words to napkin doodles, a journey through inspiration and artistry with Anthony Amadeo.
AA: Vickie! We’ve known each other for 15 years now—how wild is that?
Thinking back to Santa Barbara and LA, we’ve shared so many good times (and maybe even better meals!). What’s a favorite memory you have from our LA days?
VB: Hi my love!!! I miss you dearly and am immensely proud of the artist you’ve evolved into. To reminisce with you and backtrack 15+ years- I’d say I’m often reminded of our echo park, Los Angeles lassens trips, eating + shopping it off on melrose, and last but not least- all those late night Mexican meals we’ve had in silver lake haha.
AA: You’re one of the most creative energy filled person I know, and now you’re raising little creatives of your own.
I’ve seen Ollie on Instagram—he seems like a natural. How do you encourage creativity in your kids? Are they teaching you anything about creativity?
VB: For one- Ollie can’t help himself; he’s got the artist temperament at three years old and his paintings are deep; they are extremely reminiscent of Cy Twombly and Basquiat’s work. He is also into photography so he’s been taking abstract photos of everything and everyone with his new dinosaur camera.
He’s taught me to continue my conceptual work and to find my creative medium within everyday rituals.
AA: Let’s talk about your poetry.
I’d love to see more of it out in the world! What inspires you to write? Do you have a favorite poem you’ve written—or better yet, could you write one for us right now?
VB: Sylvia Plath is my favorite poet; along with Richard Brautigan. Their shared objective may be the fact that it could be ever so slightly dark but always remains conceptual. I know i am reiterating that word but that word means everything to me; i don’t necessarily care about needing my creative medium to be shared with the world; but it organically means life to me to be able to express it and have it tangible on pen and paper. Here is one that means quite a bit to me; written postpartum with my son, Ollie.
AA: You’ve made a new life in Nashville.
How has the creative energy of Nashville inspired or changed you? Is there something about the city that feels like home in a way LA didn’t?
VB: Certainly so. Nashville is a tiny city but the creative energy- specifically around country music is intensely deep. It’s the Mecca of country music and the history ; even just around my neighborhood (Johnny Cash’s former neighborhood)- is incredibly profound. It is still family friendly and truly a great place for young developing brains to thrive in.
AA: Let’s get a little interactive.
I want you and Ollie to each grab a napkin (yes, a literal napkin) and doodle something—whatever comes to mind. Then snap a quick pic and send it over. We’ll include both your doodles in the interview for everyone to see. I bet Ollie’s will steal the show!
A little napkin drawing from Oli, the natural born artist
AA: You’re Korean, and your culture is such a beautiful part of who you are.
How has being Korean influenced your creativity or the way you see the world? Is there a tradition or memory that feels especially meaningful to you, creatively or otherwise?
VB: Being Korean-American has truly shaped so much of my childhood and being the most authentic version of myself. Korean people are extremely intelligent and strong-willed; that has never left me. However, all of my creative influences (art, film, music) are all western. I let it consume me; i feel it and breathe it in- then i let it all go; breathe it out and become a better; nuanced version of myself each passing day.
AA: To wrap it up, where can everyone keep up with you and your work?
Do you have anything creative in the works—poetry, art, or otherwise—that you’d like to share?
VB: To be brutally honest- my children are toddlers and i hardly am able to make time for daily rituals that come with the responsibility of being a wife and mother. On the other hand; i always indeed find a time to be creative; whether it is free-writing, taking photos, and or cooking/baking with my children. There is no excuse in not being able to find creativity within your daily life if you truly are a creative being.