My Journal
AA: Jamil, it was such a pleasure photographing you during your visit to NYC!
Your profile is incredible to photograph, and you brought such a strong energy to the shoot. How was the experience for you, especially being part of the giant denim jeans series?
Tomorrow, the echoes of my steps will fade from these cobblestone streets, yet today, the city still pulses beneath my feet. Paris, you are a manuscript written in the ink of infinite encounters, a palimpsest of creativity and chaos. How to encapsulate this whirlwind? Let us dive into the looking glass, reflect backwards, upside down, inside out.
Read MoreFebruary 3rd unfurls beneath the Parisian skyline—a prelude to departure. In the quiet predawn, I delve into the chaos of creation, sifting through a month's accumulation of Paris. My temporary atelier is strewn with the ephemera of inspiration: receipts and stickers, torn art from ancient walls, cards and crumpled papers, the fragile skeletons of pastries devoured, wine corks with tales steeped in tannins.
Read MoreIn the dwindling days of this Parisian saga, each moment distills into a cryptic concoction, a question posed in the language of creation. What tales do these streets whisper into the vials of my forthcoming fragrances? Each essence a chapter, every note a narrative—10 fragrances, 10 stories, 10 invitations to delve deeper into the world of Amadeo Amadeo.
look at the tags of this journal entry
Yes, the answer is always yes. Can the essence of Paris be captured in a bottle? Yes. Can a scent translate the texture of rain on cobblestones or the rustle of leaves along the Seine? Yes. Are these concoctions reflections of past journeys or premonitions of tales yet untold? Yes.
The Codex awaits its next chapter, a collection poised on the brink of becoming. What will these next 10 fragrances hold? Stories from days draped in history, or visions of futures yet to unfold? Are they echoes of events never occurred, figments of Paris dreamed in the depth of night?
Yes, they are all this and more—fragments of fabric torn from the reality of Parisian days and nights, stitched together with the thread of imagination. They are invitations to wander, to wonder, to inhale deeply the essence of a city that never truly reveals itself all at once.
Consider this an invitation, a prompt whispered across the ocean, across the web of connectivity that binds us: Yes. Dive into the surreal, embrace the narrative sewn from this month of artistic fervor. Yes, join me in the final act of this Parisian play of fragrances and feelings.
And for those who have journeyed with me, watched the days unfold and the collages grow, there is something more. A hidden easter egg lies within the tapestry of these posts—can you find it? Recall a detail, a hidden moment captured in these entries, and reach out. Email me at studio@anthony-amadeo.com with your discovery, and receive an exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpse of the collage creation, a video diary of the unseen process that will soon breathe life into new artistic realms.
So, pause for a moment, reflect on what has been shared, and ponder what lies ahead. What stories will the next 10 fragrances tell? What secrets do they hold, ready to be unraveled by those daring enough to ask, to listen, to inhale?
Yes, the end of this Paris journey is near, but the adventure, the creation, the revelation—this is only just beginning.
Remember the photographs of round door knobs, the talks of circles and roundabouts, and even the shape of the easter egg itself—all hinting at our hidden word. If you've followed along and spotted these clues, let me know the magic word: (check the image caption above)
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 MoreEphemeral Whispers of the Seine
Mirror echoes in chiaroscuro skies, juxtapose, collide, cradle— A day never lived, a night never slept. Croissant moon phases flipping through fabric swatches, each thread a lifeline to yesterday’s espresso dream.
Read MoreDraw, O coward! No, sir, panic is a basic in a prison.
Rip, cut, collect. Art, a star. Collages, so elegant. A canal, plan, a NASA lad. Did I as I said I’d do? O, stone, be not so.
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Schiaparelli Couture
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.
Today unfurls like a scroll, inked with tasks yet written in the frenzied script of a mind ablaze. I am the eye of a creative storm, each gust a gale of ideas swirling, threatening to overtake my capacity to channel them into the tangible. Work, work, work—the mantra pulses in my veins, a rhythm beating against the ticking clock.
Read MoreThe dawn unfurled with a rare generosity today—the sun, a long-absent friend, decided to grace Paris with its radiant presence. As the light spilled through my window, I was at my workstation, espresso at my side, fingers dancing over images needing the breath of life through retouching. But the sun’s embrace was too compelling, whispering promises of inspiration through the golden warmth.
Read MoreToday dawned prematurely, at 5:30 a.m., with the restless energy of creation pulsing through the pre-dawn silence. Espresso in hand, steaming like the city's cobblestone under morning mist, I dove into a sea of images awaiting transformation—edits, collages, an alchemy of artistry.
Read MoreAwakened at the witching hour—4:30 a.m., the city still cloaked in its nocturnal shroud. Sleep's remnants cling like cobwebs, but the allure of the undone propels me from bed to workstation. The glow of the screen, my sole companion, as I bend light and shadow to my will until dawn.
Read MoreThis morning dawned like an open canvas—espresso steam twirling into the early air, mingling with the anticipation of creative communion. The ritual shower left my thoughts clearer, my senses sharper, ready to dance with the day's demands. As the clock nudged closer to eleven, I descended to greet Martin, my co-conspirator for today's visual symphony. With a quick dash for an Americano—my fuel—I primed us for the unfolding artistry.
Read MoreDawn unfurled with the usual urgency; my retouching station beckoned. Prints lay scattered like leaves, each one a prelude to destruction and rebirth through collage. Ripping, tearing, reassembling—today was a day for creating chaos that begets beauty.
Read MoreAwoke with the dawn, a puzzle waiting to be solved. First, Lasse—our red locks a clue to the camaraderie and creativity that would unfold. Click, flash, a mystery captured in each frame. What tales do these images whisper?
Read MoreDawn 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 MoreToday’s exploration was internal, a reflective mapping of patterns and themes that surfaced from the flurry of the past days. Seated at my digital desk, I traced the lines of repetition in my Parisian journey, drafting an inventory not of goods, but of experiences and echoes.
Read MoreDawn unfurled slowly as I embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. The city was hushed, streets emptied of their usual clamor, offering a rare solitude. With only my footsteps as company, I wandered, the echo of each step a soft conversation with the cobblestones.
Read MoreMorning spilled over with the hum of retouching, each click a chisel sculpting the digital stone of the past week's captures. A parade of faces and fragments scrolled across my screen, whispers of shutter snaps echoing in the pixels. I shaped the contours of memory, distilling moments into icons for future collages.
Read MoreWoke enveloped by a dawn of enthusiasm—espresso in one hand, retouching tool in the other. Nia arrived, her energy radiating like a beacon through the calm of my studio. Click, flash, laughter—our session was a whirlwind of creativity and conversation, a dance of light and shadow capturing her vibrant essence. As she left, I plunged into edits, the digital canvas morphing under my hands, each pixel a note in an unfolding symphony.
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