Last night, my brother Nikko and I slipped into Heirloom at Comstock Ferre just as the evening settled in — around six, that soft hour when daylight is thinning but the room hasn’t fully turned to night.
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Suddenly I was a child again, watching my family make hundreds and hundreds of cookies for special occasions. Every surface of the house covered—tables, counters, chairs—lined with trays cooling before being packed into tins. Cookie tins collected over decades. Tins passed from hand to hand. Picked up by family. Dropped off at gatherings. Always meant to be shared.
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Collection 1, Chiddu ca tinemu, has existed long before it had a name—long before it had an image, a look number, or a reason to be introduced. It lived first in memory, in gesture, in domestic spaces that shaped the way glamour was understood before it was ever worn.
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Today I photographed Doug, and the shoot unfolded exactly how you hope these days unfold—focused, fluid, and generous.
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Julian Barbarino - An artist in the portrait studio of Anthony Amadeo
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Before the year ends, I like to take inventory — not in a business way, but in a what actually moved through my handsway. What I touched. What touched me back. What stayed. What didn’t.
This year, I made a lot. Some of it quietly. Some of it in public. Some of it only for myself.
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This year, I paid more attention to hands than faces.
Hands tell you how long someone has been doing something.
They hold time differently.
They remember things the mind forgets.
These are the hands I kept returning to—the ones that make, that know, that feel, that carry knowledge forward quietly.
Not loud hands.
Practiced hands.
By the end of a year, especially one packed with ideas, projects, scents, sketches, and long conversations with myself, I crave a reset. Something stripped down. Something honest. Something that reminds me why I make images in the first place.
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Every year around this time, I feel like I’m standing in the middle of my own studio floor, surrounded by boxes labeled: Keep, Toss, Transform.
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There’s a strange season that always hits me around the end of the year. It’s a kind of creative molting. Suddenly I want to drain every old file, every half-loved portrait, every forgotten RAW, and move it all into a new home. This year, that home has become my Tumblr—my private museum, my time capsule, my purgatory of past work where everything goes to live again, even if it’s only visible to people who bother to log in.
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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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The 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.
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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.
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The 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 MoreTHE AMADEO INCIDENT
Or, The Artist Who Came to Earth With a Camera and a Nose for Memory
by a former employee of the U.S. Bureau of Olfactory Surveillance
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For our third shoot together, Mason Williams returns to the frame—this time suspended in a moment that feels part sculpture, part dream. The now-iconic giant denim makes its reappearance, floating like a relic of fashion surrealism. Hung in air, clipped like a cutout, it becomes a real-life collage, part Venus de Milo, part downtown atelier. Mason’s form echoes the soft shadows of marble statues I sketched while wandering the Louvre.
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Photocopies of Vincent Paladino by Anthony Amadeo
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The photocopies of some of the archives of Anthony Amadeo.
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Grammy Rodriguez photographed by Anthony Amadeo
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Petar Cvijanovic in a strikingly graphic display of white briefs paired with oversized denim, worn upside-down. His arms slip through the legs of the jeans, creating a visual puzzle: are they legs or arms? Is the image flipped, or are we? The ambiguity of form and function, highlighted by Petar's dynamic poses, challenges the viewer's perception at every glance.
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