A pause before departure, or perhaps after arrival—nothing confirms either. The wind lifts just enough hem to hint at a secret, never told.
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

A pause before departure, or perhaps after arrival—nothing confirms either. The wind lifts just enough hem to hint at a secret, never told.

There’s a moment just before memory turns to myth—when the texture of desire still lingers on the tongue. This was captured in that hush, where elegance flirts with secrecy.

Shot during the last hush of twilight, this scene captures a bond spoken only in gestures. The sea stood witness as two shadows dissolved into the hush of salt and wind.

Created after a night of rain, this image explores the tension between protection and exposure. The embrace isn’t for warmth but for memory—clinging to something already fading.

Her mouth speaks nothing, but everything unfolds in the hush between shadows. She watches, unseen, unspoken.

A gesture caught between protection and release. She isn’t hiding—she’s holding the storm at arm’s length.

In the stillness, she crackles—part rebellion, part restraint. Her gaze is a whisper you only hear when the world goes quiet.

They sit in mirrored poise, bound by threads unseen—two reflections, one hollow stare. Between them, the doll rests, a quiet keeper of secrets too old to name.

Soft morning spills through the glass, catching her in a stillness between waking and drifting. A wide hat shields the eyes but not the mood—resting where thoughts blur with light.

A hand reaches through morning’s hush, landing on a shoulder heavy with sleep and stories. What lingers isn’t touch but the pause between holding on and letting go.

At the water’s edge, memory gathers like mist. The outlines aren’t ghosts—they’re moments that never quite left, standing in silence behind her.

Morning light slides down her chest like a confession. She shields more than skin—there’s memory in the gesture, a pause before letting go.

She stands where memory lingers, haunted by the echo of who she was. Light splits the room, and maybe her too.

Drawn to the hush of the lake’s edge, this form becomes neither lost nor found. Just a shadow, waiting.

A body folding into the hush of afternoon, where the only sound is the whisper of light against bare skin.