Hi, I’m Rob!
Photographer. Autistic ADHD’r. Twenty-six year partner to a beautiful soul. Parent to a neurodivergent kiddo almost as tall as me. Dog dad of two. I live for my partner’s laughter and my kiddo’s hugs; have a deep reverence for the ephemeral; desperately miss living in Hong Kong; and could easily make a habit of eating more tteokbokki than is healthy for me.
I’ve worked with young children for 25 years, starting in St. Louis at a children’s shelter; then, as an early childhood educator in the PNW. I’d later become an ESL teacher. I’d teach abroad. First in South Korea. Then in Hong Kong. Until very recently, I homeschooled my AuDHD kiddo.
I’ve been told that I’m a quiet, calm presence who smiles more than I talk. And it’s true. I have expressive language challenges that sometimes show up as long pauses while talking. And when it comes to speaking while photographing, let’s just say I’m a classic “can’t walk and chew gum at the same time” kinda guy. But I feel that this particular characteristic is an advantage as it reduces my influence in an environment, placing you and yours right where y’all need to be during your session: at the center of your story.
After years of working with kiddos, why pivot to family photography?
Life entails letting go. Kiddos outgrow cuddles. Friends exit our orbits. Loved ones? They pass. Some too soon. And now that I’m 52, I’m painfully aware that memory goes the way of hair. It recedes. When it goes, it’s like losing something twice. I might know that something worth remembering happened, but not recall the details of that something. The second loss is particularly devastating for such a nostalgic soul. I photograph families because my kiddo is entering adulthood, loved ones have passed, and I understand in ways that I previously hadn’t that the years are far too few, time spent with the people we love is far too short, and memories fade with age. I photograph families because helping them remember something of their story feels like a beautiful act of service.
Why is my approach rooted in the documentary tradition?
Memory lives in the quiet, often overlooked details of everyday life. Be they seemingly ordinary gestures, preferred fidgets, or how the morning light filtering through a window falls on your kiddo’s forever unmanageable but, ultimately, endearing cowlick. I photograph the details of family life as a photojournalist would to preserve memory. But more than that, I document the details of family life to preserve the emotions associated with memory. When family members pass a framed collection of photographs in their living room, I want them to experience more than a memory. I want them to feel the moment.
