A true adventurer, Leonardo is often somewhere just out of reach. Perhaps that is part of the point. The stories he captures are not meant to be easily accessed, but to be sought, experienced, and felt. Still, through a hybrid interview, distance became a different kind of proximity.
Leonardo, you started your career in corporate innovation, operating within structured systems, before moving toward more experimental paths. Today, you work independently, capturing the adventure of life as a filmmaker, explorer, and photographer. Your work moves between extremes, from the thin air of Everest to the depths of the ocean. You document people and the planet in ways that invite reflection, inspiring positive change while holding on to something increasingly rare, the essence of being human. From award winning films to some of the most demanding climbs on Earth, to initiating expeditions that exist somewhere between ambition and imagination.
Which raises a question that sits at the center of your journey. What drives you to pursue such extremes?
People often assume I’m chasing extremes, but I don’t see it that way. I’m not interested in extremes for the sake of adrenaline, vanity, or proving that I’m capable of something. The environments I explore are all within the realm of nature. And nature is where we belong. We are not separate from it—we are part of it. In that sense, these places are not extreme or unnatural. They are actually deeply natural. What feels unnatural to me is the way many of us live today. We spend most of our lives indoors, sitting in front of screens, disconnected from the rhythms that shaped us as human beings. Then, to escape this reality, we look at even smaller screens. Our eyes were not created to spend our lives looking at displays. They were created to explore horizons, to observe the infinity around us. As a photographer, I know that no lens can truly replicate the extraordinary way the human eye experiences the world. So what brings me to explore these environments is a form of self-awareness: understanding who I am, what my essence is, and how deeply connected I am with nature. Exploration is not an escape from life. It is a way to reconnect with it.
Your current work focuses heavily on storytelling. What are the stories you feel most compelled to tell?
I believe storytelling is one of the most powerful forces that has shaped humanity. Long before we had nations, institutions, or even writing, we had stories. Stories helped us understand the world, create communities, transmit knowledge, and inspire people to act. They have moved humanity from tribes to civilizations, sometimes creating extraordinary things, and sometimes leading us toward destruction. Many cultures understood this power deeply. Storytellers had a privileged role in society because they were the guardians of memory and meaning. In the Arab world there is the Hakawati, and among the Tuareg culture there is the Imusaw—figures whose role was to preserve knowledge through storytelling. The stories I feel compelled to tell are the ones that leave a mark on me before I even begin creating them. It usually starts with a feeling, an intuition, a spark that says: there is something meaningful here.
I believe every human being carries an entire universe within them. If someone is authentic and truthful to their own life story, there is almost always something worth exploring. The stories I chase are connected to truth, resilience, hope, and the inner fire that guides human beings through this incredible journey called life. I am attracted to stories of people who choose creation over destruction, who preserve dignity in difficult circumstances, and who show what is possible within humanity. The best stories are the ones that leave you asking: “And then what happened?” As long as a story creates that curiosity and sense of wonder, it deserves to be told.
The best stories are the ones that leave you asking: “And then what happened?” As long as a story creates that curiosity and sense of wonder, it deserves to be told.
What are the topics that you think the world needs to better understand?
I think the world needs to better understand the difference between information and knowledge. Today we are surrounded by stories, opinions, and endless information. We often mistake this for understanding. But information is something we receive. Knowledge is something we acquire through experience. Real understanding comes from direct engagement with the world—walking through it, meeting people, embracing uncertainty, allowing reality to challenge our assumptions. The world reveals itself to those who are willing to walk through it. Every meaningful expedition has taught me that reality is always more complex, more beautiful, and more human than the stories we create from a distance. This is why my stories always begin with adventure. Adventure means embracing the unknown. It means accepting that you do not have all the answers and being willing to discover them. The stories I want to tell are the ones that inspire people not only to consume stories but to experience the world themselves.
It is fair to say you are drawn to extreme challenges. You have been in some of the harshest environments on Earth. What drives you to go there?
I have spent time in some of the harshest environments on Earth, whether through personal expeditions, documentary projects, or assignments. But what draws me there is not the extreme itself. It is what those environments reveal about being a human. In those places, all the noise is removed. You are completely immersed in the present moment. There is no time to create endless scenarios in your mind because you are fully engaged with what is happening. You are acting, adapting, responding. And in those moments, something very interesting happens: you stop thinking and you start feeling. I believe that you cannot truly think and feel at the same time. Thinking is an activity of the mind. It creates interpretations, projections, memories, fears, and expectations. It is something fabricated by the brain, often connected to a past that no longer exists or a future that has not arrived. Feeling is different. Feeling is real because you can locate it in your body. When you are cold, you do not think about the cold—you feel your hands becoming numb, you feel the wind on your face. When you experience joy, fear, excitement, or sadness, you can feel where it exists inside you. I choose to focus on what is real. These environments bring me back to that state of awareness. They remove the constant dialogue in my head and reconnect me with nature, my body, and the present moment. I do not go to extreme places because they are extreme. I go there because they bring clarity. They remind me of what is essential.
How do you prepare for expeditions of that scale, both physically and mentally?
The preparation depends on the nature of the expedition. Every environment requires different physical training, technical skills, and preparation. But there is one element that is always the same: the inner work. In extreme environments, you cannot predict everything that will happen. The unexpected is part of the journey. Because you cannot prepare for something you do not know, the most important preparation is developing the ability to respond. There is a big difference between a reaction and a response. A reaction comes from fear, instinct, and conditioning. A response comes from awareness. In extreme situations, this difference can be critical. I train my mind through meditation and breath work because the mind needs to be still and capable of dealing with uncertainty. The physical preparation is also important, but I do not focus only on building muscle. I focus on efficiency and connection. The body is one integrated system. True power comes from awareness, balance, coordination, and allowing the whole body to work together. Whether it is placing an ice axe into the ice or pressing the shutter of my camera, the principle is the same: complete presence and connection with the moment.
It seems there are fewer mountains you have not climbed than those you have. When did your love for climbing begin?
First of all, I would challenge the premise a little. There are many mountains I have not climbed, and many more that I dream of exploring. I also do not necessarily consider myself an alpinist. I have enormous respect for that word and for the people who truly represent it—legends like Bonatti, Messner, Daniele Nardi, and many others. I have climbed mountains, including some in alpine style, but the mountain is never only about climbing. What attracts me is what the mountain represents: its beauty, its history, its culture, or simply a curiosity that becomes a project. My first major high-altitude mountain was Aconcagua in 2018. At that time, I had no real experience with altitude. During that expedition, I experienced one of the most intense storms of my life. What I discovered was a feeling that is difficult to explain. In those environments, you become incredibly aware of your own smallness. You feel vulnerable. You feel exposed. You realize how little control you actually have. And paradoxically, that is exactly when you feel most alive. Maybe there is a philosophical dimension to climbing—the idea of approaching something greater than ourselves. But for me, it is less about reaching the summit and more about the transformation that happens while loving toward it.
What have the mountains taught you, not as an explorer, but as a person?
The mountains have taught me many things, but perhaps the greatest lesson is that they are not changing you—they are revealing you. Every time I go into the mountains, I become more aware. The mountain remains the same, but I am constantly changing through the experience. The mountains create a feeling of being completely exposed. You feel naked, vulnerable, alone. They remove the layers we build around ourselves: ego, image, expectations, and conditioning. The mountain has no interest in who you pretend to be. It reveals you exactly as you are. And what you find on top of the mountain is what you always carried with you. People ask me: “What if you die on this mountain?” My answer is that I die all the time. Every time I go through these experiences, a part of me is left behind—the fears, the limitations, the old versions of myself that no longer serve me. And what comes back is something lighter. The mountains are an exercise in undoing. The deepest lesson I received on Everest was the realization that beneath all our differences, what connects humanity is a shared experience of vulnerability, suffering, and loneliness. If we understood that truth, perhaps we would feel more connected to each other and to the world we are part of.
You were involved with Human Material Loop and tested one of the first applications. What made you decide to take that level of risk for a new material and technology?
I had the privilege of being involved in the early days of Human Material Loop, a mission to rethink one of the most impactful industries on the planet: textiles. The idea was to transform waste into a high-performance material using keratin, the protein found in human hair. I joined initially to help structure the startup and communicate the value of the idea through storytelling and positioning. Then we had a conversation with one of the world’s leading outdoor companies. Their response was interesting: they loved the idea, but wool was not their biggest problem. So instead of trying to sell our solution, I asked a different question: what is your biggest challenge? They explained that insulation materials were the real issue. They needed performance, sustainability, and reliability. That conversation changed everything. Innovation is not about pushing your solution into the world. It is about listening deeply enough to understand the real problem. I then had a crazy idea: I was preparing to climb Aconcagua, so I said, if this material really works, let’s test it in the harshest conditions possible. Instead of a down jacket, I wanted to climb wearing a jacket insulated with human hair. It was a risk, but Zsofia believed in the idea and created a prototype. I tested it on Aconcagua at -40 celsius, on the super technical climb on Alpamayo to test its breathability, and during a winter bivaque in Iceland at -25 celsius, even on Everest. And it worked. What makes me proud is not only the material itself, but what it represents: the possibility of creating products that perform better while reducing our impact on the planet.
Innovation is not about pushing your solution into the world. It is about listening deeply enough to understand the real problem.
What does innovation really mean when you are this far from everything familiar, and what kind of innovation does the world actually need now?
There is a lot of discussion about innovation today, but sometimes I feel the word itself has become overused. We often define innovation simply as something new or disruptive. But novelty alone does not create value. Real innovation is something that creates a lasting positive impact. The question is not: “Is this innovative?” The question is: “Who does this innovation truly serve?” The best innovations improve people’s lives and contribute to humanity as a whole. Disruption only has meaning if it creates something better. The world needs innovations that reconnect progress with purpose—solutions that make life healthier, more sustainable, more meaningful, and more balanced. The best innovation is not the one that creates the biggest hype. It is the one that continues creating value long after the excitement has disappeared.
From your experience in extreme conditions, what defines reliable gear?
I always say: there is no such thing as bad conditions. There is only bad gear. Good gear does not remove the challenge, but it allows you to focus on the experience instead of fighting against your equipment. The first rule of gear is simple: it has to do the job. Performance comes before design. The choice should be driven by what something can actually deliver. No single brand does everything perfectly. Every expedition is a combination of different choices based on specific needs. But reliable gear becomes something more than a tool. It becomes a companion. When you spend weeks alone in remote places, your equipment becomes part of your daily life. After a month alone, you can even find yourself talking to your backpack like it is your best friend. That is the relationship you build with something you trust. The best gear is not the gear you notice. It is the gear you can completely trust.
You are currently on Mount Everest. This journey is not only about climbing but also about a larger purpose. Can you tell us about the cause beyond this expedition?
Everest was never a mountain that was on my personal list simply because it is the highest mountain in the world. For me, mountains are never only about altitude. They are about meaning. Before it was called Everest, this mountain had other names. In Tibet it was Chomolungma, the Goddess Mother of the World. In Nepal it is Sagarmatha, the forehead of the sky. These names remind us that this mountain has always had a deep spiritual and cultural meaning. My intention was not simply to stand on the summit. The summit was a place where I had the privilege to deliver a message. That message comes from the children of Gaza and their dreams. We carried a kite made from the Palestinian flag, carrying handwritten dreams of children who dream of becoming doctors, teachers, engineers, and simply having the opportunity to build a future. The message is simple: every dream deserves to rise. Through this expedition, my hope is to bring attention to these children and remind the world that behind every statistic there are human beings with hopes and futures. We cannot change their past, but we can do something for their future. Before any technology, before any achievement, before any expedition, there is something fundamental: being human. And this journey is ultimately about that.
If you had one wish, a single change you could make happen instantly, what would it be?
If I had one wish, it would be for humanity to have a little more self-awareness. A turning point in my own life came when I learned to acknowledge fear. Not to be dominated by it, but to understand it. When we understand our fears, we understand ourselves better. And this allows us to follow our own compass: our moral compass, our values compass, our adventure compass, our love compass. But awareness has to become action. I have always been against performance activism that is disconnected from real action. Change requires responsibility. It requires walking the talk. My wish would be for all of us to remove some of the conditioning we carry and focus more on what connects us rather than what separates us. Our differences are gifts. They add color and beauty to humanity. But beneath those differences there is something universal: we all experience love, fear, hope, suffering, and the desire to live a meaningful life. I would love to see a world that is more conscious of the extraordinary gift of being alive. We are always searching for heaven somewhere else. But perhaps the greatest realization is that we are already here. We are already living this incredible gift called life.
You cannot prepare for something you do not know, the most important preparation is developing the ability to respond.
Leonardo Avezzano is a filmmaker, explorer, and environmental advocate whose award-winning work — including “The Promise,” filmed live on Everest — has earned international acclaim. As an ambassador for INARA, Leonardo raised vital funds for war-wounded children, blending adventure, innovation, and philanthropy into a mission to inspire a more sustainable, compassionate world. He also made history by summiting several peaks in gear filled entirely with ādara®, the renewable material created by Human Material Loop. Read about Leonardo’s work on his website and follow him on Instagram.
