Three framed photographs displayed on a gallery wall. The left photo shows three people in minimal clothing in a gray room. The center photo is of a man in a blue suit sitting behind a person, with a wooden background. The right photo depicts a person lying on a bed in a sunlit room, with their legs crossed and holding a phone.

GAY

DISABLED

PHOTOGRAPHER 

A man with blue eyes, a beard, and light brown hair, has a visible scar on his forehead and tattoos on his neck, wearing a light-colored shirt.

ABOUT

Robert Andy Coombs is a disabled gay photographer whose work unapologetically centers queer desire, bodily autonomy, and the politics of care. From staged seductions to intimate self-portraits, Coombs explores what it means to be seen—on his terms. A Yale MFA and USA Fellow, his work has been exhibited at the Getty, and he’s not here to make you comfortable.

Learn more

Let's Collab!

Modeling

If you’re down to be seen — really seen — let’s shoot. I work with people who aren’t afraid to show off, get intimate, and trust my vision. You bring the energy. I’ll bring the camera.

Commissions

Want something custom? I take on select portrait and conceptual commissions. If you have a vision (or want mine), let’s talk.

Prints & Licensing

Limited edition prints are available — including Polaroids and large-scale metallic works. Inquire for pricing, availability, or licensing info.

Exhibitions, Press & Speaking

Booking a show, feature, or talk? I collaborate with institutions, editors, and curators who value bold, unapologetic work. Hit me up with details.

Everything Else

Got another idea? Slide into my inbox. Just be clear — and bring something real.

Traversing Pride I don’t always feel like I fit in at Pride, so I photograph it instead. Moving through the crowd in my chair, I’m both inside and outside of it. People brush past me, thinking I’m just trying to get through. They
Traversing Pride I don’t always feel like I fit in at Pride, so I photograph it instead. Moving through the crowd in my chair, I’m both inside and outside of it. People brush past me, thinking I’m just trying to get through. They don’t realize I’m watching—studying how queerness moves, how bodies take up space, how joy spills into sweat and sunlight. My series Traversing Pride is how I participate. I photograph from my perspective—low, real, unfiltered. I look for others like me: people with disabilities, people who aren’t centered in the fantasy of Pride but still show up. I photograph them, the glint of sweat on their skin, the men who let me capture their bulges or butts, the laughter, the vulnerability, the way light hits flesh. It’s raw, it’s honest, it’s ours. These aren’t just snapshots of celebration; they’re queer history and disabled history. No one else is photographing Pride from this angle—literally and metaphorically. My work shows what’s unseen: what it’s like to be a gay disabled man navigating crowds that cheer for inclusion but rarely include me. Someday I want to travel with this project—to Folsom, Sydney Mardi Gras, São Paulo, Berlin, Madrid—everywhere queerness floods the streets. Because Pride doesn’t look the same from where I sit, and the world deserves to see it through my lens. I f these images move you, share them. Help them travel until I can. Or visit my website and explore the street photography that doesn’t always get seen. #TraversingPride #QueerLens #DisabilityVisibility #PrideIsProtest #QueerLiberation
SHARE! SHARE! PLEASE SHARE! My work can hang in museums and be printed in books, but online it’s treated like a crime. Today I found out my account has been shadowbanned again. Ten posts flagged for “sexually explicit content.” No
SHARE! SHARE! PLEASE SHARE! My work can hang in museums and be printed in books, but online it’s treated like a crime. Today I found out my account has been shadowbanned again. Ten posts flagged for “sexually explicit content.” No warnings. No context. Just silence. If I want to reach new people, I have to delete my own art. I’ve already lost two accounts before this one. Rebuilding over and over is exhausting. I put my whole heart into every post — the images, the words, the accessibility — only to have it erased because my body or my subjects don’t fit the algorithm’s idea of what’s acceptable. It’s not about being explicit. It’s about being different. Queer. Disabled. Real. That combination seems to scare the system. Instagram loves to say it’s a place for creators, but only if the work is clean, marketable, and safe for brands. The second you make something honest, it disappears. The algorithm rewards trends, not truth. So here’s what I’m asking: go through my posts. Find something that moves you. Share it. Send it to a friend. Post it on your Story. Or go to my website and share the work that speaks to you most. Because right now, sharing is resistance. After this month, I don’t know if I’ll stay on Instagram. Maybe it’s time to step away and focus on the art itself — the part that can’t be shadowbanned. But for now, help me make sure it reaches the people it’s meant to reach. #Shadowban #ArtCensorship #QueerArtist #DisabledArtist #RobertAndyCoombs #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerHistoryMonth #QueerPhotography #CripArt #DisabilityVisibility #QueerLens #ArtIsWork #PhotographyIsLabor #QueerCommunity #InclusiveCreatives #ContemporaryPhotography #SupportDisabledArtists #QueerArtMatters #ShareTheWork
I didn’t just come out once. The first time was in 2007, my sophomore year of college. I was dating a girl, hiding from myself, and taking a class about concept development. My professor pushed me harder than anyone ever had—she saw pote
I didn’t just come out once. The first time was in 2007, my sophomore year of college. I was dating a girl, hiding from myself, and taking a class about concept development. My professor pushed me harder than anyone ever had—she saw potential I wasn’t living up to. After a critique that cracked something open in me, I walked home crying the whole way, finally realizing I couldn’t live a lie anymore. I called my mom, shaking, and told her I was gay. She said she loved me and just wanted me to be happy. That weekend I went to my first gay bar, danced, made out with a stranger, and felt what freedom actually was: messy, sweaty, alive. The second time, I didn’t have a choice. I became disabled. But society made me feel like I needed to “come out” all over again—this time as someone they couldn’t imagine being sexual, confident, or powerful. Some men called me names, others sent disgusted messages online. But I kept showing up. Because visibility isn’t just pride—it’s survival. My art became the next chapter of coming out. Every photograph is a reminder that I am still here: gay, disabled, and unashamed. I make work that forces people to look again, to confront what they’ve been taught to turn away from. #NationalComingOutDay #QueerHistoryMonth #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #GayDisabled #QueerArtist #DisabledArtist #RobertAndyCoombs #DisabilityAndSexuality #CripArt #QueerLens #DisabilityVisibility #QueerPhotography #AuthenticArt #ArtIsWork #PhotographyIsLabor #QueerCommunity #InclusiveCreatives #ContemporaryPhotography
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce Weber, David LaChapelle, Mario Testino, Ryan McGinley, Erwin Olaf—and so many others. They all started by photographing men sensually, sometimes provocatively, and then turned that gaze into campaigns for the world’s biggest fashion houses. Their eroticism became their aesthetic signature. Their commercial work still carried the same intimacy, style, and humanity that made their personal work powerful. That’s the tradition I belong to. My work may center queer bodies and desire, but I’m also an editorial and commercial photographer. I know how to style, direct, light, and deliver an image that feels alive. I know how to make people look like themselves—just more cinematic. When I shoot for myself, I’m exploring intimacy, touch, and vulnerability. When I shoot for clients, I’m translating those same instincts into storytelling, branding, and atmosphere. Sensuality doesn’t have to disappear to be professional. I can photograph campaigns, fashion stories, lifestyle portraits, celebrity work, or healthcare ads—whatever it is, it’s going to look beautiful, intentional, and full of life. Share your favorite! #EditorialPhotography #CommercialPhotographer #FashionPhotography #QueerArtist #DisabledArtist #RobertAndyCoomb #MaleErotica #QueerPhotography #ArtIsWork #ContemporaryPhotography #InclusiveCreatives #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerHistoryMonth #QueerVisibility #CripArt
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce Weber, David LaChapelle, Mario Testino, Ryan McGinley, Erwin Olaf—and so many others. They all started by photographing men sensually, sometimes provocatively, and then turned that gaze into campaigns for the world’s biggest fashion houses. Their eroticism became their aesthetic signature. Their commercial work still carried the same intimacy, style, and humanity that made their personal work powerful. That’s the tradition I belong to. My work may center queer bodies and desire, but I’m also an editorial and commercial photographer. I know how to style, direct, light, and deliver an image that feels alive. I know how to make people look like themselves—just more cinematic. When I shoot for myself, I’m exploring intimacy, touch, and vulnerability. When I shoot for clients, I’m translating those same instincts into storytelling, branding, and atmosphere. Sensuality doesn’t have to disappear to be professional. I can photograph campaigns, fashion stories, lifestyle portraits, celebrity work, or healthcare ads—whatever it is, it’s going to look beautiful, intentional, and full of life. Share your favorite! #EditorialPhotography #CommercialPhotographer #FashionPhotography #QueerArtist #DisabledArtist #RobertAndyCoomb #MaleErotica #QueerPhotography #ArtIsWork #ContemporaryPhotography #InclusiveCreatives #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerHistoryMonth #QueerVisibility #CripArt
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce
Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce Weber, David LaChapelle, Mario Testino, Ryan McGinley, Erwin Olaf—and so many others. They all started by photographing men sensually, sometimes provocatively, and then turned that gaze into campaigns for the world’s biggest fashion houses. Their eroticism became their aesthetic signature. Their commercial work still carried the same intimacy, style, and humanity that made their personal work powerful. That’s the tradition I belong to. My work may center queer bodies and desire, but I’m also an editorial and commercial photographer. I know how to style, direct, light, and deliver an image that feels alive. I know how to make people look like themselves—just more cinematic. When I shoot for myself, I’m exploring intimacy, touch, and vulnerability. When I shoot for clients, I’m translating those same instincts into storytelling, branding, and atmosphere. Sensuality doesn’t have to disappear to be professional. I can photograph campaigns, fashion stories, lifestyle portraits, celebrity work, or healthcare ads—whatever it is, it’s going to look beautiful, intentional, and full of life. Share your favorite! #EditorialPhotography #CommercialPhotographer #FashionPhotography #QueerArtist #DisabledArtist #RobertAndyCoomb #MaleErotica #QueerPhotography #ArtIsWork #ContemporaryPhotography #InclusiveCreatives #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerHistoryMonth #QueerVisibility #CripArt
I became an artist, not an influencer. My work already demands enough of my body and my mind. I shouldn’t have to dance for the algorithm too. Every week someone tells me, “You should be on TikTok.” “You should make reels.&r
I became an artist, not an influencer. My work already demands enough of my body and my mind. I shouldn’t have to dance for the algorithm too. Every week someone tells me, “You should be on TikTok.” “You should make reels.” “You should start a podcast.” But all of that takes time and energy away from what actually matters—making art that has something to say. My job isn’t to entertain; it’s to reveal. The kind of work I make isn’t even allowed on social media. I would have to censor myself, crop out intimacy, silence desire, and sanitize the parts of my life that make people uncomfortable. Every artist is already a brand—but making content for social media apps isn’t part of my brand, nor should it have to be. I didn’t go to art school to become an algorithm. My photographs are meant to breathe in real space—printed large, glowing on metallic paper where skin catches light like a prism. They deserve to be touched by eyes, not scrolled past by thumbs. They deserve to live in museums, books, and homes, not inside a grid that shrinks them to fit a square. Disability Employment Awareness Month should include artists like me—disabled creatives whose labor doesn’t fit inside a timeline or an app. The constant pressure to “perform” online is not accessibility; it’s exploitation disguised as opportunity. Installation view from my solo show "no content warning" @onearchivesusc 📸 @coffeeekang #ArtistNotInfluencer #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerHistoryMonth #ArtIsWork #CripArt #DisabledArtist #QueerArtist #DisabilityCulture #QueerVisibility #AuthenticArt #PhotographyIsLabor #RobertAndyCoombs #CripFag #QueerLens #DisabilityRepresentation #IndependentArtist #FineArtPhotography #AccessibilityInArt #QueerCreatives #NoAlgorithmNeeded
Screaming into the Void. Rejection doesn’t just hurt — it corrodes. Every silence, every “we’ve moved in another direction,” chips away at my confidence until I start to believe the lie the world keeps feeding me: that
Screaming into the Void. Rejection doesn’t just hurt — it corrodes. Every silence, every “we’ve moved in another direction,” chips away at my confidence until I start to believe the lie the world keeps feeding me: that I’m too disabled to be worth hiring, showing, or betting on. That maybe all my degrees, exhibitions, and work don’t matter because people see my chair before they see my talent. It makes me ashamed of myself sometimes — not because I did anything wrong, but because society has trained me to see my disability as failure. That’s what silence does. It teaches you to hate parts of yourself that you can’t change. I know I’m good at what I do. I know I have something to offer. But when the world keeps saying nothing, over and over again, it’s hard not to hear that silence as confirmation. So I chase connection instead — sex, conversation, something that reminds me I still exist. That I can still make someone’s pulse quicken, even if I can’t get a callback. I’m not broken. I’m not too much. I’m just tired of a world that makes disabled people feel ashamed for wanting more than survival. #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #DisabledArtist #QueerArtist #DisabilityJustice #Ableism #Rejection #QueerDisability #ArtWorldPolitics #MentalHealth
Notions of Care Care is constant. It’s managing every detail of your body through someone else’s hands. Some days it’s easy: music, sarcasm, laughter. Other days, even speaking feels like work. Disabled people don’t get break
Notions of Care Care is constant. It’s managing every detail of your body through someone else’s hands. Some days it’s easy: music, sarcasm, laughter. Other days, even speaking feels like work. Disabled people don’t get breaks. We live like this 24/7 — directing, explaining, apologizing, managing. While caregivers clock out, I stay in the same body that never stops needing. That’s the part no one sees. Able-bodied people care for each other all the time, and society calls that love. But when one person in that relationship is disabled, the world suddenly calls it an imbalance: a giver and a taker. What they miss is the emotional labor that flows the other way — the patience, teaching, gratitude, awareness, and humor we bring every single day. It’s still care. It’s still love. It’s just built differently. Trust is everything. You don’t hand your body to someone and hope it works out — you build that trust slowly through consistency and presence. Words mean nothing; only actions. When it works, it’s beautiful. When it doesn’t, it’s devastating. You learn that care is a relationship, not a transaction. And yes, care can be sexy. When someone helps undress you, wipes the cum off your face, touches you without hesitation — it’s foreplay, it’s tantric. Every gesture carrying heat… Carrying weight. That kind of care blurs tenderness and lust until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Interdependence isn’t weakness. It’s connection. Collaboration. Communication. Consent. This is my life: exhausting, intimate, beautiful, and real. Make care sexy. #DisabilityAwareness #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerArt #DisabilityAndSexuality #CripAesthetic #QueerLens #DisabilityCulture #CareWork #Intimacy #cripfag
Family Privilege Family can make or break you - especially if you’re queer or disabled. Some people lose theirs the moment they come out. Others lose them after an accident. I was lucky - I didn’t lose mine. I grew up in a middle-class
Family Privilege Family can make or break you - especially if you’re queer or disabled. Some people lose theirs the moment they come out. Others lose them after an accident. I was lucky - I didn’t lose mine. I grew up in a middle-class home built on love and teamwork. My parents didn’t have much when they started, but they had good choices and made smart ones, worked hard, and created a beautiful life. They invested that same energy into me -Tae Kwon Do, art, swimming, gymnastics, performing - anything I pursued, they showed up. Coming out at 19 was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I called my mom crying, terrified she’d reject me. When I told her I was gay, she said, “You’ll have to help me learn, but I’ll never stop loving you.” She told me had to tell my dad. I could hear him crying on the phone - and five minutes later my car engine started smoking. He immediately switched into dad-mode, told me to grab a fire extinguisher, and walked me through it. That’s them: unconditional love, paired with practicality and humor. When I broke my neck in 2009, I knew they wouldn’t abandon me - We grew closer. They spent a month with me in the hospital, then moved everything I owned back home. When I was in rehab at, I made them go back to work - but they still drove ten hours every weekend to visit. A year later, when I was ready to return to school, they helped me move to Grand Rapids. My dad handled the heavy lifting; my mom managed my caregivers and logistics. Every move since - New Haven, Miami, Alabama - they’ve done it again. They’ve been my constant foundation. Not everyone has that. But if having a disability is this hard for me - with all my privileges, financial safety nets, and family support - how the hell are other people supposed to live and thrive when they don’t have what I have? #DisabilityEmploymentAwarenessMonth #QueerAndDisabled #DisabledAndProud #FamilyPrivilege #ChosenFamily #DisabilityJustice #QueerArtist #DisabledPhotographer #AccessibilityMatters #RobertAndyCoombs #CripLove #QueerFamily #DisabilityAwareness #LoveIsSupport
Traversing Pride I don’t always feel like I fit in at Pride, so I photograph it instead. Moving through the crowd in my chair, I’m both inside and outside of it. People brush past me, thinking I’m just trying to get through. They SHARE! SHARE! PLEASE SHARE! My work can hang in museums and be printed in books, but online it’s treated like a crime. Today I found out my account has been shadowbanned again. Ten posts flagged for “sexually explicit content.” No I didn’t just come out once. The first time was in 2007, my sophomore year of college. I was dating a girl, hiding from myself, and taking a class about concept development. My professor pushed me harder than anyone ever had—she saw pote Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce Hire me. People love to box artists in. They see male nudity or eroticism in my work and assume that’s all I can do. But some of the most successful commercial photographers built their entire careers from that same foundation. Look at Bruce I became an artist, not an influencer. My work already demands enough of my body and my mind. I shouldn’t have to dance for the algorithm too. Every week someone tells me, “You should be on TikTok.” “You should make reels.&r Screaming into the Void. Rejection doesn’t just hurt — it corrodes. Every silence, every “we’ve moved in another direction,” chips away at my confidence until I start to believe the lie the world keeps feeding me: that Notions of Care Care is constant. It’s managing every detail of your body through someone else’s hands. Some days it’s easy: music, sarcasm, laughter. Other days, even speaking feels like work. Disabled people don’t get break Family Privilege Family can make or break you - especially if you’re queer or disabled. Some people lose theirs the moment they come out. Others lose them after an accident. I was lucky - I didn’t lose mine. I grew up in a middle-class