Painting with Light: The Cinematic Vision of Leo Sfeir

From the first moment Leo Sfeir pressed record on a battered DV camcorder in their childhood bedroom, they sensed that light and shadow could sing. Today, as an award-winning cinematographer and lighting designer whose credits span indie festivals to prime-time television, Sfeir continues to compose in that luminous language—painting with beams, sculpting with silhouette, and illuminating the hidden heartbeats of every story they touch.

Growing up in France, Leo discovered early on that art could be refuge. “Drawing and small video experiments were ways to escape the world,” they recall. But it was a summer in Los Angeles—an English-plus-filmmaking camp after freshman year—that cracked their universe wide open. For three weeks, they lived inside a short film: scripting, shooting, lighting, editing. “I was astonished at how much fun I had,” Sfeir says. That immersion revealed cinematography not merely as a technical craft, but as a richly expressive language—one they have been fluent in ever since.

Back in France, a chance set visit with director-producers confirmed the spark: Sfeir “got hooked” on the alchemy of image-making. Under the mentorship of cinematography professor Marianne Tardieu, they learned to treat light as paint, framing as composition, and every lens choice as a brushstroke on the emotional canvas of a scene.

For Sfeir, cinematography is never a solo act. “My role is to support the director,” they explain. Some filmmakers arrive with meticulous shot lists; others hand over the reins entirely. In each case, Sfeir begins with deep listening—poring over storyboards, gathering reference stills, but also simply spending time with the director, off-camera, to understand their emotional truth. “That personal connection,” they say, “allows me to translate feeling into light and movement.”

On an indie drama, it might mean coaxing a raw vulnerability from natural light; on a high-energy music video for the likes of Avril Lavigne or Big Sean, it means choreographing neon strobes and shadow play to match the beat’s adrenaline. No matter the scale, Sfeir treats every project as a unique emotional landscape—one they traverse with technical rigor and intuitive heart.

Sfeir is equally at home with celluloid’s tactile discipline and digital’s boundless possibilities. Film demands ceremony: measured takes, disciplined on-set behavior, and a reverence for each roll of stock. Digital invites experimentation—wireless camera moves, exotic frame rates, on-the-fly color shifts.

For their UCLA thesis, Sfeir fused these worlds, crafting a workflow that makes digital imagery convincingly “filmic” at a fraction of the cost. The impetus? A director’s dream to shoot 16 mm on a shoestring budget. When the price tag proved prohibitive, Sfeir engineered a digital workaround that fooled industry professionals—demonstrating that creative resourcefulness can triumph over financial constraints.

Six years in France’s lean-budget film scene taught Sfeir to improvise—to find cinematic solutions when resources ran thin. “You learn to focus on what matters and think outside the box,” they reflect. In Los Angeles, where budgets can swell into seven figures, that same mindset allows Sfeir to remain nimble—unfazed by sudden script changes or technical curveballs. Whether wrangling giant Arri Alexa rigs or sculpting a moody tableau with a single LED panel, they bring a European ethos of experimentation and economy to every American set.

As a non-binary trans filmmaker, Sfeir has navigated both personal transition and industry inertia. “Inclusivity isn’t great,” they admit. Early in their career they presented as a woman; now, cis-passing privilege sometimes leads colleagues to assume they are cis male. Rather than shrink, Sfeir leans into visibility—insisting on diverse below-the-line crews and mentoring trans peers.

Their short film Autoandrophile, shot with an all-trans cast and nearly all-queer crew, stands as a manifesto of representation. On that set, Sfeir witnessed a creative alchemy born of shared experience—an atmosphere at once joyous and revolutionary. “Opening doors for people who thought this industry wasn’t possible for them—that feeling is indescribable,” they say.

From Brat TV spots to The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, Sfeir has lit stages seen by millions. Yet they insist that every job—no matter how commercial—demands the same intensity. “I give 100% on every project,” they affirm. Whether crafting a high-gloss fashion spot for FILA or a gritty short destined for Austin Film Festival, they treat each frame as an opportunity to elevate narrative through light.

Their recent music-video collaborations with Travis Barker and Little Caesars Pizza commercials for SmartFit exemplify this ethos: big-budget freedom married to artisanal attention. Even when budgets tighten, Sfeir leverages ingenuity—turning budgetary limits into creative prompts rather than obstacles.

Recognition—from Nikon Film Festival nods in Paris to Best Cinematography awards in Los Angeles—fuels Sfeir’s resolve. Each accolade is a reminder that their decade-long pursuit of craft resonates beyond the viewfinder. Yet they remain restless. A short they shot, Slut in Training, is making waves on the festival circuit—from Austin to Chicago—proving that bold storytelling finds its audience, regardless of format.

Looking ahead, Sfeir is deepening partnerships with Vincent House Production and Project 54, and eyeing two feature-length narratives centered on trans experiences. Dream collaborators? They name Elliott Page and Billie Eilish—artists whose boundary-shattering authenticity mirrors Sfeir’s own.

Leo Sfeir’s journey—from a wide-eyed kid tinkering with DV cams to a trans-visible force in cinematography—reveals the transformative power of persistence, empathy, and a painter’s love for light. Their current projects, whether a live-action musical sequence or a queered coming-of-age feature, all bear the same hallmark: technical daring wedded to emotional truth.

In Sfeir’s world, every frame is a promise—that beneath the glare of studio lights or the flicker of 16 mm, we glimpse our shared humanity. And in an industry hungry for new visions, their work stands as both mirror and beacon: proof that when diverse voices guide the lens, cinema becomes more than spectacle—it becomes soul.