Dr Richard Farese, Jr.
Bob Farese Jr. has always lived between identities. Trained as both a physician and a scientist, he’s someone who listens as intently as he investigates. You can sense it when he speaks—quiet, deliberate, with a kind of inward momentum that doesn’t announce itself but builds as he connects ideas.
His laboratory work focuses on lipid metabolism and its role in disease. That phrase might not catch the average ear, but it describes a world of hidden choreography inside our cells. The way fats are synthesized, stored, mobilized, and burned can determine whether we thrive or falter. Bob’s research has helped illuminate this hidden world, especially the biology of energy storage in lipid droplets—organelles once overlooked but now recognized as central to metabolic health and even neurodegeneration. His discoveries have changed how scientists understand fat-related disorders, from liver disease to dementia.
But the story doesn’t begin at the lab bench. He grew up the child of a prominent endocrinologist, moving frequently—but settling in Florida. Science was in the air, but so was music, drawing and painting. In school, he studied chemistry, then medicine. Even then, clinical work wasn’t enough. He wanted to understand the root causes of illness, not just treat symptoms. That curiosity led him to basic research, and eventually, to a life where he’s as comfortable with a pipette as he is with a Leica.
Bob’s scientific path crystallized when he joined forces with his scientific partner, Tobias Walther. The two now co-lead a lab—first at Harvard, now at Sloan Kettering—and are known as a rare scientific duo, leading a lab guided by rigor and collaboration. Their partnership has shaped a lab culture that values openness, creativity, and humor—qualities that continue to attract a steady stream of talented students and postdocs.
Alongside the science, Bob has always made room for the arts. Photography, in particular, is more than a hobby. His images often capture quiet, observational moments—a play of light through a window, a worn hand resting on a table, a curve of architecture that might otherwise go unnoticed. There’s a kind of stillness in his photographs that mirrors the clarity he brings to his research.
He speaks often about balance. Not in a performative way, but with genuine thoughtfulness—the balance between work and life, between ambition and humility, between the urgent pace of science and the slower rhythm of understanding. His home reflects this equilibrium. It is gracious and warm, filled with books and framed prints, personal but not curated. It’s easy to imagine it as a place where conversations run late and the espresso machine gets more use than the television.
On May 4, 2025, he was photographed in that very home. The light was low, almost theatrical, with sharp contrasts that carved out the details of his face. He sat calmly, his hands folded, eyes alert. It was the kind of portrait that reveals more the longer you look.
Bob has a rare gift for moving between worlds—the clinical and the molecular, the technical and the human, the scientific and the artistic. He is not driven by fame or academic gamesmanship. What he seems to care about most is clarity. In thought, in method, in expression. Whether he’s mentoring a student, studying lipid droplets under a microscope, or stopping to photograph the tremendous variation of patterns in water, that search for essence is always present.
At this point in his career, he could coast if he wanted to. But that’s not his nature. There are still puzzles to solve, still connections to make. And in the quiet spaces between experiments and images, he continues to listen for them.
Dr Richard Farese, Jr.
Bob Farese Jr. has always lived between identities. Trained as both a physician and a scientist, he’s someone who listens as intently as he investigates. You can sense it when he speaks—quiet, deliberate, with a kind of inward momentum that doesn’t announce itself but builds as he connects ideas.
His laboratory work focuses on lipid metabolism and its role in disease. That phrase might not catch the average ear, but it describes a world of hidden choreography inside our cells. The way fats are synthesized, stored, mobilized, and burned can determine whether we thrive or falter. Bob’s research has helped illuminate this hidden world, especially the biology of energy storage in lipid droplets—organelles once overlooked but now recognized as central to metabolic health and even neurodegeneration. His discoveries have changed how scientists understand fat-related disorders, from liver disease to dementia.
But the story doesn’t begin at the lab bench. He grew up the child of a prominent endocrinologist, moving frequently—but settling in Florida. Science was in the air, but so was music, drawing and painting. In school, he studied chemistry, then medicine. Even then, clinical work wasn’t enough. He wanted to understand the root causes of illness, not just treat symptoms. That curiosity led him to basic research, and eventually, to a life where he’s as comfortable with a pipette as he is with a Leica.
Bob’s scientific path crystallized when he joined forces with his scientific partner, Tobias Walther. The two now co-lead a lab—first at Harvard, now at Sloan Kettering—and are known as a rare scientific duo, leading a lab guided by rigor and collaboration. Their partnership has shaped a lab culture that values openness, creativity, and humor—qualities that continue to attract a steady stream of talented students and postdocs.
Alongside the science, Bob has always made room for the arts. Photography, in particular, is more than a hobby. His images often capture quiet, observational moments—a play of light through a window, a worn hand resting on a table, a curve of architecture that might otherwise go unnoticed. There’s a kind of stillness in his photographs that mirrors the clarity he brings to his research.
He speaks often about balance. Not in a performative way, but with genuine thoughtfulness—the balance between work and life, between ambition and humility, between the urgent pace of science and the slower rhythm of understanding. His home reflects this equilibrium. It is gracious and warm, filled with books and framed prints, personal but not curated. It’s easy to imagine it as a place where conversations run late and the espresso machine gets more use than the television.
On May 4, 2025, he was photographed in that very home. The light was low, almost theatrical, with sharp contrasts that carved out the details of his face. He sat calmly, his hands folded, eyes alert. It was the kind of portrait that reveals more the longer you look.
Bob has a rare gift for moving between worlds—the clinical and the molecular, the technical and the human, the scientific and the artistic. He is not driven by fame or academic gamesmanship. What he seems to care about most is clarity. In thought, in method, in expression. Whether he’s mentoring a student, studying lipid droplets under a microscope, or stopping to photograph the tremendous variation of patterns in water, that search for essence is always present.
At this point in his career, he could coast if he wanted to. But that’s not his nature. There are still puzzles to solve, still connections to make. And in the quiet spaces between experiments and images, he continues to listen for them.