When people first learn that I specialize in black and white nude photography, they often assume it’s a stylistic statement. A creative flair. Maybe an attempt to be dramatic or artsy. And sure, I love the timelessness and honesty of monochrome imagery, but the real reason runs quite a bit deeper.

I’m colourblind.

It’s funny how often that surprises people, as if the art we make must always spring from some intentional “aesthetic choice.” But for me, working without colour isn’t about removing something, it’s about letting me actually see.

Black and white is where the world becomes clear, defined, comfortable. It’s where I understand light, shadow, form, and depth without questioning whether I’m interpreting the scene “correctly.” It’s the closest thing to visual certainty I know.

Before a camera ever made its way into my hands, I drew. I painted. I spent hours hunched over paper with pencil or pen, shading slowly, getting lost in contour and contrast. Monochrome was my native language long before I knew it was one.

I didn’t choose it, it chose me, or perhaps I just grew into it. Looking back, it all makes sense. I never gravitated toward color because color was never clear. But shadow and shape? The quiet conversation between highlight and darkness? I could understand that.

Bodies tell stories without words. They’re raw, unfiltered, unapologetically human. When colour is removed, what remains is pure form, texture, curve, intention, vulnerability, power. It strips away distraction, performance, identity, and costume.

It’s not about sexuality.
Not about shock value.
Not about provocation.

It’s about truth.

In black and white, the body stops being something we look at and becomes something we look into. We see the person, not just their appearance, but their presence.

For me, black and white is not some romantic creative pose. It’s the world I’ve always seen most clearly. A place where my perception meets expression without distortion or doubt. The nude form, in that world, becomes a study not of color or glamour, but of being human.

So no, it isn’t what most people first think.
I don’t shoot black and white to be dramatic. I shoot black and white because there, the image feels honest.
And I don’t shoot nudes to reveal skin, I shoot nudes to reveal truth.

Black and white is where I live.
Nude photography is how I speak.
Together, they let me tell stories in the language I understand best.