Welcome to my world rendered in absolutes—pure black and white, nothing in between. Each photo is crafted in 1-bit black and white where shadow and light battle for space, and emotion finds clarity in contrast. Stripped of color and grays, these works reveal raw presence, surreal quiet, and stories whispered through form. Here, the binary becomes deeply human.
Reach out on Instagram if you’d like to “collaborate”. It’s easier than you think. ~ Maxx
She rose from shadow like a challenge—fierce, surreal, and untamed. Every angle exaggerated, every detail sharpened, a symbol stitched in latex and resolve.
This came from a night of whispers and rebellion, where darkness dressed up as light and dared you to look twice.
Model: Eloisa
This was shaped in quiet reverence, where curves meet light like poetry on skin. The softness of form, the tension of shadow—it speaks without words and touches without hands.
She is beauty unfiltered, body as sculpture, soul as shimmer. A single breath caught between stillness and spark.
Two faces, one form—joined by silence and severed by awareness. She holds herself not in restraint, but in sacred protection. What is buried deep now ascends, cloaked in shadows and divinity.
Her beauty is not surface—it is mythic, powerful, transcendent. A woman made of veils and vision, eyes closed to the world, yet open to everything within.
She turns away not out of shame, but power—claiming space with her presence alone. The chair waits, but she stands, unyielding. Every inch of her speaks rebellion and grace, a quiet defiance against expectation.
Her body is a sculpture in light, raw and unapologetic. There’s elegance in her stance, confidence in her skin. She doesn’t need to face the world to be seen.
She stands still, but her thoughts are in motion—quiet storms behind serene eyes. The light grazes her like a whisper, revealing not just beauty but a resilience carved deep within. There’s grace in her silence, and in her profile, the power of a woman who has lived, learned, and remained soft.
Her beauty isn’t loud—it’s dignified. Shadow and lace meet at her edges, where strength and tenderness blur. She is poetry held in posture, elegance shaped by experience.
She wears midnight like silk—eyes sharp, lips laced with secrets. There’s a storm behind that gaze, quiet but dangerous, seductive and unshakable. She doesn’t ask for attention; she commands it with a glance that cuts through shadow and illusion.
Her beauty is bold, unapologetic, and spellbinding. A goddess of contrast, wrapped in lace and mystery, she’s not here to be understood—only revered. She is the night’s desire in human form.
Model: Eloisa
Poised between motion and myth, she glides like smoke through silence. A whisper of tulle trails behind her, caught mid-step in a dance that never ends. Her hat hides her eyes but reveals intention—calm, fierce, and full of rhythm.
Her body curves like a question, each limb a brushstroke against emptiness. She isn’t moving through space, but through feeling—light as memory, dark as desire. The stillness pulses with energy just beyond the frame.
Beneath the arched light, the silhouette rises in quiet defiance. There’s grace in the curve, in the surrender, in the stillness between breath and becoming.
Two shadows dressed in symmetry, stitched in silence. Their braids fall like parallel lines—tidy, disciplined, and strange in their mirroring. Something unspoken hums between them.
Cradled in her own embrace, she becomes the shape of solitude. The window behind her hums with pale quiet, while her shadow sinks into the floor like a secret.
She leans into the void like a goddess sculpted from starlight, her silhouette both soft and indomitable. The light wraps her in silence, while her pose speaks of longing, strength, and sacred solitude.
The light kissed her collarbone like a whisper from yesterday. Every line told a story she never spoke, held just beneath skin.
There’s a pause between breath and burn, where memory flickers like ash. In that moment, she found herself—half shadow, half sigh.
Stillness tastes like smoke.
Morning poured in like truth she wasn’t ready to see. She covered her eyes, but not her thoughts—those bloomed in silence like the flowers behind her.
She moved like time unraveling—grace spilling into herself, again and again. Each shadow a memory, each pose a fleeting vow not to vanish.
