Bob Richardson

Terry Richardson is now synonymous with a highly sexualised, rock and roll style of photography. However back in the 60’s and 70’s someone was doing it harder, better, faster – his father Bob.

Originally a graphic designer in New York City, Bob Richardson did not pick up a camera until age 35.[citation needed] His rise to fashion fame was swift, although not without some battle on his part:

“I wanted to put reality in my photographs. Sex, drugs and rock “n” roll. That’s what was happening. And I was going to help make it happen. Boy they did not want that in America. Some of those editors were still wearing white gloves to couture.”

Richardson developed a reputation for being difficult to work with. He brought his life, which was tumultuous, into his art. He battled with bouts of schizophrenia throughout his life. After making it to the top of the fickle world of fashion, getting paid up to $15,000 for a single image, he succumbed to his illness and ended up homeless on the streets of San Francisco.

An old friend brought him back to New York City to teach in a top photography school and Richardson restarted his career in his sixties, once again working for such magazines as Italian Vogue and British GQ.

Terry Richardson went on to pay homage to his father in his book, Son of Bob, which feature travelogue scenes of an American underbelly, amorous masked and caped crusaders, professional wrestling fans, Harmony Korine, excreta, genitalia, food, and assorted candid portraits. These are party nights and hangover mornings, an extreme display of confrontational horseplay and rude humor.