Art of Ones and Zeros
@maxxhendriks.com
High-contrast, 1-bit photography. Only black, only white. Always bold, always beautiful.
LGBTQ safe zone - Accepting all, doubting everything.
https://artofonesandzeros.com
LGBTQ safe zone - Accepting all, doubting everything.
https://artofonesandzeros.com
Unspoken
Light clings to her form, revealing just enough to become a question. The lifted fabric, the pause—it feels like a breath between thoughts, intimate but uncertain. Reflection blurs behind her, a ghost of what remains unseen.
Light clings to her form, revealing just enough to become a question. The lifted fabric, the pause—it feels like a breath between thoughts, intimate but uncertain. Reflection blurs behind her, a ghost of what remains unseen.
Unspoken
Light clings to her form, revealing just enough to become a question. The lifted fabric, the pause—it feels like a breath between thoughts, intimate but uncertain. Reflection blurs behind her, a ghost of what remains unseen.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 25, 2025 at 1:03 AM
Unspoken
Light clings to her form, revealing just enough to become a question. The lifted fabric, the pause—it feels like a breath between thoughts, intimate but uncertain. Reflection blurs behind her, a ghost of what remains unseen.
Light clings to her form, revealing just enough to become a question. The lifted fabric, the pause—it feels like a breath between thoughts, intimate but uncertain. Reflection blurs behind her, a ghost of what remains unseen.
Edge of a Whisper
Light grazes the skin like a memory returning—soft, electric, uncertain. The curve becomes landscape, an intimate horizon between presence and disappearance. Shadows breathe where words would be.
Light grazes the skin like a memory returning—soft, electric, uncertain. The curve becomes landscape, an intimate horizon between presence and disappearance. Shadows breathe where words would be.
Edge of a Whisper
Light grazes the skin like a memory returning—soft, electric, uncertain. The curve becomes landscape, an intimate horizon between presence and disappearance. Shadows breathe where words would be.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 24, 2025 at 12:25 PM
Edge of a Whisper
Light grazes the skin like a memory returning—soft, electric, uncertain. The curve becomes landscape, an intimate horizon between presence and disappearance. Shadows breathe where words would be.
Light grazes the skin like a memory returning—soft, electric, uncertain. The curve becomes landscape, an intimate horizon between presence and disappearance. Shadows breathe where words would be.
The Soft Collapse
Light folds over her like memory, catching every curve between breath and surrender. The gaze does not plead—it remembers, steady and untamed, as if born from shadow itself. Stillness trembles, beautiful in its exhaustion.
Light folds over her like memory, catching every curve between breath and surrender. The gaze does not plead—it remembers, steady and untamed, as if born from shadow itself. Stillness trembles, beautiful in its exhaustion.
The Soft Collapse
Light folds over her like memory, catching every curve between breath and surrender. The gaze does not plead—it remembers, steady and untamed, as if born from shadow itself. Stillness trembles, beautiful in its exhaustion.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 24, 2025 at 12:25 PM
The Soft Collapse
Light folds over her like memory, catching every curve between breath and surrender. The gaze does not plead—it remembers, steady and untamed, as if born from shadow itself. Stillness trembles, beautiful in its exhaustion.
Light folds over her like memory, catching every curve between breath and surrender. The gaze does not plead—it remembers, steady and untamed, as if born from shadow itself. Stillness trembles, beautiful in its exhaustion.
Laced Light
Soft lace meets the weight of her gaze—delicate, but far from fragile. The light doesn’t just touch her; it obeys her, tracing beauty that owns its power.
Soft lace meets the weight of her gaze—delicate, but far from fragile. The light doesn’t just touch her; it obeys her, tracing beauty that owns its power.
Laced Light
Soft lace meets the weight of her gaze—delicate, but far from fragile. The light doesn’t just touch her; it obeys her, tracing beauty that owns its power.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 24, 2025 at 1:19 AM
Laced Light
Soft lace meets the weight of her gaze—delicate, but far from fragile. The light doesn’t just touch her; it obeys her, tracing beauty that owns its power.
Soft lace meets the weight of her gaze—delicate, but far from fragile. The light doesn’t just touch her; it obeys her, tracing beauty that owns its power.
Echo
Two bodies, one rhythm. Light traces them as if sculpted from the same breath—tenderness and strength folded together. Skin becomes language, and beauty becomes communion.
Two bodies, one rhythm. Light traces them as if sculpted from the same breath—tenderness and strength folded together. Skin becomes language, and beauty becomes communion.
Echo
Two bodies, one rhythm. Light traces them as if sculpted from the same breath—tenderness and strength folded together. Skin becomes language, and beauty becomes communion.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 24, 2025 at 1:19 AM
Echo
Two bodies, one rhythm. Light traces them as if sculpted from the same breath—tenderness and strength folded together. Skin becomes language, and beauty becomes communion.
Two bodies, one rhythm. Light traces them as if sculpted from the same breath—tenderness and strength folded together. Skin becomes language, and beauty becomes communion.
Exit Light
She turns just before the darkness swallows her, the corridor stretching behind like memory. The light ahead isn’t escape—it’s invitation.
She turns just before the darkness swallows her, the corridor stretching behind like memory. The light ahead isn’t escape—it’s invitation.
Exit Light
She turns just before the darkness swallows her, the corridor stretching behind like memory. The light ahead isn’t escape—it’s invitation.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 23, 2025 at 2:41 AM
Exit Light
She turns just before the darkness swallows her, the corridor stretching behind like memory. The light ahead isn’t escape—it’s invitation.
She turns just before the darkness swallows her, the corridor stretching behind like memory. The light ahead isn’t escape—it’s invitation.
Drift
A quiet sprawl of denim and thought. The light hits soft, catching what’s unspoken—comfort, exhaustion, maybe the space between both.
A quiet sprawl of denim and thought. The light hits soft, catching what’s unspoken—comfort, exhaustion, maybe the space between both.
Drift
A quiet sprawl of denim and thought. The light hits soft, catching what’s unspoken—comfort, exhaustion, maybe the space between both.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 22, 2025 at 12:01 PM
Drift
A quiet sprawl of denim and thought. The light hits soft, catching what’s unspoken—comfort, exhaustion, maybe the space between both.
A quiet sprawl of denim and thought. The light hits soft, catching what’s unspoken—comfort, exhaustion, maybe the space between both.
Slip
The frame catches her mid-thought—somewhere between control and surrender. Light cuts through, reshaping her into contrast, into motion that feels like remembering.
The frame catches her mid-thought—somewhere between control and surrender. Light cuts through, reshaping her into contrast, into motion that feels like remembering.
Slip
The frame catches her mid-thought—somewhere between control and surrender. Light cuts through, reshaping her into contrast, into motion that feels like remembering.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 22, 2025 at 1:01 AM
Slip
The frame catches her mid-thought—somewhere between control and surrender. Light cuts through, reshaping her into contrast, into motion that feels like remembering.
The frame catches her mid-thought—somewhere between control and surrender. Light cuts through, reshaping her into contrast, into motion that feels like remembering.
Hold
Light carves strength into her skin, each line alive with intention. The gesture isn’t shy—it’s control, tension, the edge of motion before release. A moment caught between impulse and power.
Light carves strength into her skin, each line alive with intention. The gesture isn’t shy—it’s control, tension, the edge of motion before release. A moment caught between impulse and power.
Hold
Light carves strength into her skin, each line alive with intention. The gesture isn’t shy—it’s control, tension, the edge of motion before release. A moment caught between impulse and power.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 21, 2025 at 12:50 PM
Hold
Light carves strength into her skin, each line alive with intention. The gesture isn’t shy—it’s control, tension, the edge of motion before release. A moment caught between impulse and power.
Light carves strength into her skin, each line alive with intention. The gesture isn’t shy—it’s control, tension, the edge of motion before release. A moment caught between impulse and power.
Between Dreams
The light spills across the bed like memory, half tender, half ghost. She drifts between waking and forgetting, wrapped in the hush that lingers after words fade.
The light spills across the bed like memory, half tender, half ghost. She drifts between waking and forgetting, wrapped in the hush that lingers after words fade.
Between Dreams
The light spills across the bed like memory, half tender, half ghost. She drifts between waking and forgetting, wrapped in the hush that lingers after words fade.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 21, 2025 at 1:02 AM
Between Dreams
The light spills across the bed like memory, half tender, half ghost. She drifts between waking and forgetting, wrapped in the hush that lingers after words fade.
The light spills across the bed like memory, half tender, half ghost. She drifts between waking and forgetting, wrapped in the hush that lingers after words fade.
Lace and Silence
Light spills across the net of shadow, wrapping the moment in quiet surrender. The gaze drifts inward, lost somewhere between dream and memory. Every line, every fold of darkness, hums with stillness. Desire here is not loud—it breathes softly, like truth.
Light spills across the net of shadow, wrapping the moment in quiet surrender. The gaze drifts inward, lost somewhere between dream and memory. Every line, every fold of darkness, hums with stillness. Desire here is not loud—it breathes softly, like truth.
Lace and Silence
Light spills across the net of shadow, wrapping the moment in quiet surrender. The gaze drifts inward, lost somewhere between dream and memory. Every line, every fold of darkness, hums with stillness. Desire here is not loud—it breathes softly, like truth.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 20, 2025 at 12:29 PM
Lace and Silence
Light spills across the net of shadow, wrapping the moment in quiet surrender. The gaze drifts inward, lost somewhere between dream and memory. Every line, every fold of darkness, hums with stillness. Desire here is not loud—it breathes softly, like truth.
Light spills across the net of shadow, wrapping the moment in quiet surrender. The gaze drifts inward, lost somewhere between dream and memory. Every line, every fold of darkness, hums with stillness. Desire here is not loud—it breathes softly, like truth.
The Glance
Caught between exposure and retreat, she turns—half defiance, half allure. Light drapes her like a question, daring the viewer to look, yet never to see too much.
Caught between exposure and retreat, she turns—half defiance, half allure. Light drapes her like a question, daring the viewer to look, yet never to see too much.
The Glance
Caught between exposure and retreat, she turns—half defiance, half allure. Light drapes her like a question, daring the viewer to look, yet never to see too much.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 20, 2025 at 12:28 PM
The Glance
Caught between exposure and retreat, she turns—half defiance, half allure. Light drapes her like a question, daring the viewer to look, yet never to see too much.
Caught between exposure and retreat, she turns—half defiance, half allure. Light drapes her like a question, daring the viewer to look, yet never to see too much.
Veil of Static
Light filters through a constellation of dots, mapping skin like a secret sky. The fabric divides presence from absence, turning intimacy into abstraction.
Light filters through a constellation of dots, mapping skin like a secret sky. The fabric divides presence from absence, turning intimacy into abstraction.
Veil of Static
Light filters through a constellation of dots, mapping skin like a secret sky. The fabric divides presence from absence, turning intimacy into abstraction.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 20, 2025 at 1:11 AM
Veil of Static
Light filters through a constellation of dots, mapping skin like a secret sky. The fabric divides presence from absence, turning intimacy into abstraction.
Light filters through a constellation of dots, mapping skin like a secret sky. The fabric divides presence from absence, turning intimacy into abstraction.
Waiting at the Table
A quiet patience rests in the air, soft and knowing. Light brushes over fur like a promise that never quite arrives. Even stillness feels alive here—tender, loyal, and infinite.
A quiet patience rests in the air, soft and knowing. Light brushes over fur like a promise that never quite arrives. Even stillness feels alive here—tender, loyal, and infinite.
Waiting at the Table
A quiet patience rests in the air, soft and knowing. Light brushes over fur like a promise that never quite arrives. Even stillness feels alive here—tender, loyal, and infinite.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 20, 2025 at 1:11 AM
Waiting at the Table
A quiet patience rests in the air, soft and knowing. Light brushes over fur like a promise that never quite arrives. Even stillness feels alive here—tender, loyal, and infinite.
A quiet patience rests in the air, soft and knowing. Light brushes over fur like a promise that never quite arrives. Even stillness feels alive here—tender, loyal, and infinite.
Soft Eclipse
Light grazes her skin like a confession—half hidden, half revealed. The edge of her profile dissolves into shadow, where thought and desire blur into one.
Light grazes her skin like a confession—half hidden, half revealed. The edge of her profile dissolves into shadow, where thought and desire blur into one.
Soft Eclipse
Light grazes her skin like a confession—half hidden, half revealed. The edge of her profile dissolves into shadow, where thought and desire blur into one.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 19, 2025 at 12:03 PM
Soft Eclipse
Light grazes her skin like a confession—half hidden, half revealed. The edge of her profile dissolves into shadow, where thought and desire blur into one.
Light grazes her skin like a confession—half hidden, half revealed. The edge of her profile dissolves into shadow, where thought and desire blur into one.
Lace Morning
Light pours through the fabric, soft as a sigh, catching every thread like memory. Her downturned gaze feels tender, almost shy—a moment of warmth folded into quiet grace.
Light pours through the fabric, soft as a sigh, catching every thread like memory. Her downturned gaze feels tender, almost shy—a moment of warmth folded into quiet grace.
Lace Morning
Light pours through the fabric, soft as a sigh, catching every thread like memory. Her downturned gaze feels tender, almost shy—a moment of warmth folded into quiet grace.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 19, 2025 at 1:56 AM
Lace Morning
Light pours through the fabric, soft as a sigh, catching every thread like memory. Her downturned gaze feels tender, almost shy—a moment of warmth folded into quiet grace.
Light pours through the fabric, soft as a sigh, catching every thread like memory. Her downturned gaze feels tender, almost shy—a moment of warmth folded into quiet grace.
Contour of Silence
The body bends into abstraction, its motion distilled into a single breath. Light drapes across the curve like thought over memory—subtle, deliberate, infinite. What’s unseen hums louder than form.
The body bends into abstraction, its motion distilled into a single breath. Light drapes across the curve like thought over memory—subtle, deliberate, infinite. What’s unseen hums louder than form.
Contour of Silence
The body bends into abstraction, its motion distilled into a single breath. Light drapes across the curve like thought over memory—subtle, deliberate, infinite. What’s unseen hums louder than form.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 18, 2025 at 12:05 PM
Contour of Silence
The body bends into abstraction, its motion distilled into a single breath. Light drapes across the curve like thought over memory—subtle, deliberate, infinite. What’s unseen hums louder than form.
The body bends into abstraction, its motion distilled into a single breath. Light drapes across the curve like thought over memory—subtle, deliberate, infinite. What’s unseen hums louder than form.
Heat and Light
Morning spills across the room, wrapping her in quiet fire. The lines of her body echo the rhythm of the space—domestic, intimate, alive. Between shadow and shine, she becomes both ritual and rebellion.
Morning spills across the room, wrapping her in quiet fire. The lines of her body echo the rhythm of the space—domestic, intimate, alive. Between shadow and shine, she becomes both ritual and rebellion.
Heat and Light
Morning spills across the room, wrapping her in quiet fire. The lines of her body echo the rhythm of the space—domestic, intimate, alive. Between shadow and shine, she becomes both ritual and rebellion.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 18, 2025 at 12:00 PM
Heat and Light
Morning spills across the room, wrapping her in quiet fire. The lines of her body echo the rhythm of the space—domestic, intimate, alive. Between shadow and shine, she becomes both ritual and rebellion.
Morning spills across the room, wrapping her in quiet fire. The lines of her body echo the rhythm of the space—domestic, intimate, alive. Between shadow and shine, she becomes both ritual and rebellion.
The Light Between Moments
She stands on the edge of reflection, caught in the slow grace of becoming. The gesture feels unhurried, almost sacred—an offering to the morning, to herself. Shadows hold her softly, refusing to let go.
She stands on the edge of reflection, caught in the slow grace of becoming. The gesture feels unhurried, almost sacred—an offering to the morning, to herself. Shadows hold her softly, refusing to let go.
The Light Between Moments
She stands on the edge of reflection, caught in the slow grace of becoming. The gesture feels unhurried, almost sacred—an offering to the morning, to herself. Shadows hold her softly, refusing to let go.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 18, 2025 at 1:07 AM
The Light Between Moments
She stands on the edge of reflection, caught in the slow grace of becoming. The gesture feels unhurried, almost sacred—an offering to the morning, to herself. Shadows hold her softly, refusing to let go.
She stands on the edge of reflection, caught in the slow grace of becoming. The gesture feels unhurried, almost sacred—an offering to the morning, to herself. Shadows hold her softly, refusing to let go.
Night Window
She stands in half-light, the city behind her whispering its quiet pulse. Fabric clings like memory, soft against the solitude. The moment feels paused—intimate, unfinished, beautiful in its restraint.
She stands in half-light, the city behind her whispering its quiet pulse. Fabric clings like memory, soft against the solitude. The moment feels paused—intimate, unfinished, beautiful in its restraint.
Night Window
She stands in half-light, the city behind her whispering its quiet pulse. Fabric clings like memory, soft against the solitude. The moment feels paused—intimate, unfinished, beautiful in its restraint.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 18, 2025 at 1:07 AM
Night Window
She stands in half-light, the city behind her whispering its quiet pulse. Fabric clings like memory, soft against the solitude. The moment feels paused—intimate, unfinished, beautiful in its restraint.
She stands in half-light, the city behind her whispering its quiet pulse. Fabric clings like memory, soft against the solitude. The moment feels paused—intimate, unfinished, beautiful in its restraint.
In the Dark, She Breathes
Light slips like water across the curve of a dream, revealing form without name. Stillness holds its own rhythm—an exhale wrapped in shadow, a whisper carved in contrast.
Light slips like water across the curve of a dream, revealing form without name. Stillness holds its own rhythm—an exhale wrapped in shadow, a whisper carved in contrast.
In the Dark, She Breathes
Light slips like water across the curve of a dream, revealing form without name. Stillness holds its own rhythm—an exhale wrapped in shadow, a whisper carved in contrast.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 17, 2025 at 12:01 PM
In the Dark, She Breathes
Light slips like water across the curve of a dream, revealing form without name. Stillness holds its own rhythm—an exhale wrapped in shadow, a whisper carved in contrast.
Light slips like water across the curve of a dream, revealing form without name. Stillness holds its own rhythm—an exhale wrapped in shadow, a whisper carved in contrast.
Soft Geometry
Light folds over fabric and skin, shaping beauty through restraint. Every curve and crease becomes design—minimal, sensual, deliberate.
Light folds over fabric and skin, shaping beauty through restraint. Every curve and crease becomes design—minimal, sensual, deliberate.
Soft Geometry
Light folds over fabric and skin, shaping beauty through restraint. Every curve and crease becomes design—minimal, sensual, deliberate.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 17, 2025 at 12:01 PM
Soft Geometry
Light folds over fabric and skin, shaping beauty through restraint. Every curve and crease becomes design—minimal, sensual, deliberate.
Light folds over fabric and skin, shaping beauty through restraint. Every curve and crease becomes design—minimal, sensual, deliberate.
The Shape of Motion
Light fractures across skin and air, sculpting chaos into grace. The body rises through shadow, reaching toward something unnamed—half divine, half dream. Each curve hums with quiet electricity.
Light fractures across skin and air, sculpting chaos into grace. The body rises through shadow, reaching toward something unnamed—half divine, half dream. Each curve hums with quiet electricity.
The Shape of Motion
Light fractures across skin and air, sculpting chaos into grace. The body rises through shadow, reaching toward something unnamed—half divine, half dream. Each curve hums with quiet electricity.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 17, 2025 at 1:09 AM
The Shape of Motion
Light fractures across skin and air, sculpting chaos into grace. The body rises through shadow, reaching toward something unnamed—half divine, half dream. Each curve hums with quiet electricity.
Light fractures across skin and air, sculpting chaos into grace. The body rises through shadow, reaching toward something unnamed—half divine, half dream. Each curve hums with quiet electricity.
The Oracle
It leans forward, gaze sharp as prophecy, a creature carved from night itself. Between beak and silence, meaning gathers—unreadable, magnetic. The world behind it blurs, as if unworthy of its knowing. Darkness made divine.
It leans forward, gaze sharp as prophecy, a creature carved from night itself. Between beak and silence, meaning gathers—unreadable, magnetic. The world behind it blurs, as if unworthy of its knowing. Darkness made divine.
The Oracle
It leans forward, gaze sharp as prophecy, a creature carved from night itself. Between beak and silence, meaning gathers—unreadable, magnetic. The world behind it blurs, as if unworthy of its knowing. Darkness made divine.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 16, 2025 at 12:32 PM
The Oracle
It leans forward, gaze sharp as prophecy, a creature carved from night itself. Between beak and silence, meaning gathers—unreadable, magnetic. The world behind it blurs, as if unworthy of its knowing. Darkness made divine.
It leans forward, gaze sharp as prophecy, a creature carved from night itself. Between beak and silence, meaning gathers—unreadable, magnetic. The world behind it blurs, as if unworthy of its knowing. Darkness made divine.
Weightless
She leans into the light, unbothered and infinite, as if gravity has forgotten her name. The darkness behind only sharpens her calm defiance—an elegance born from stillness.
She leans into the light, unbothered and infinite, as if gravity has forgotten her name. The darkness behind only sharpens her calm defiance—an elegance born from stillness.
Weightless
She leans into the light, unbothered and infinite, as if gravity has forgotten her name. The darkness behind only sharpens her calm defiance—an elegance born from stillness.
artofonesandzeros.com
November 16, 2025 at 1:27 AM
Weightless
She leans into the light, unbothered and infinite, as if gravity has forgotten her name. The darkness behind only sharpens her calm defiance—an elegance born from stillness.
She leans into the light, unbothered and infinite, as if gravity has forgotten her name. The darkness behind only sharpens her calm defiance—an elegance born from stillness.