A body crouches low, masked by a woven disc—anonymous, raw, and ritualistic. The form speaks in silence, stripped of identity, caught in a moment of still surrender.
Art of Ones and Zeros
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
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Turned away and unreachable, the form holds tension—intimate yet distant. It whispers of solitude wrapped in desire. A quiet rebellion, suspended in silence.
Model: Nyaro
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She sat still, somewhere between fury and fragility. The leather held her secrets like armor, soft beneath the storm.
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The last bloom of summer held too long, in a space too narrow for growing. Still, she offers it.
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Hands cradle fruit like a vow—ripe, still warm with breath. The neckline draws the eye upward, but the gift is below, waiting.
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One leg armored in black, the other left bare. A quiet clash of control and vulnerability. Hands hang with languid resolve, caught between control and surrender. The image holds stillness, but the energy beneath it churns with unspoken intention.
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A moment held between exposure and retreat. Knees to ground, arms locked tight, not in fear—but memory.
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Captured mid-step, the elegance is all tension—grace suspended in a stiletto. She moves like punctuation in silence.
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The train was either arriving or vanishing. She stood there, unclaimed by motion, framed by a silence that came before sound.
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She stood still, yet drifted. A shimmer of thought peeled away, leaving her to face what would not leave.
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The window swelled with a blinding hush as her form stepped into memory. One last glance—not backward, but through.
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Caught in the hush of a private moment, she leans inward, hand to cheek, the brim of her hat casting a shadow that shields expression and invites interpretation. Every gesture folds inward, hinting at reflection or quiet sorrow, suspended in a space where stillness says more than movement ever could.
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A breath held longer than usual. The body curves toward memory, tension, release—caught in the space between restraint and surrender.
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The posture came first—arms searching for something to hold that wasn’t already leaving. Light settled where warmth used to be.
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She stands at the edge of morning, not quite ready to let the dark go. The necklace catches a whisper of sun, like memory refusing to fade.
