Pinkie Ranckey shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Pinkie, we’re thrilled to have you with us today. Before we jump into your intro and the heart of the interview, let’s start with a bit of an ice breaker: What is a normal day like for you right now?
Work is my passion. It’s not something I clock into—it’s something I wake up to. Most mornings, I rise with an image already forming in my mind: a frame I want to shoot, a melody I want to write, a wedding scene playing out like a film I haven’t made yet… That sense of purpose pulls me out of bed faster than any alarm clock ever could.
First things first—I light a candle, play something gentle, and sip on warm tea while checking the day’s agenda. My studio life is a delicate blend of structure and flow. I run my own wedding and photography company, 628STUDIO, so my day is often divided between creative direction, client connection, and hands-on creation.
If I’m not shooting that day, I’m deep in prep mode. That means building out mood boards, styling flat lays, sourcing textiles, writing ceremony timelines, or scouting light patterns at a venue. I love this part—the dreaming, the designing, the invisible brushstrokes behind every final image.
When I am photographing, it’s an all-senses-on experience. I don’t just take photos—I choreograph emotions. Whether I’m shooting an elopement on the cliffs of California, or curating a couture bridal editorial in downtown Las Vegas, I work with light the way a composer works with notes. I direct with feeling, gently guiding my clients to move like themselves. There’s a quiet intimacy in my process—I want the photos to breathe, to speak long after the moment has passed.
Post-shoots are sacred (and the even more time consuming part then the photographing itself). I handpick every image. I edit with care. I believe in quality over quantity, soul over speed. My editing studio is filled with inspiration—botanical specimens, music sheets, ceramic palettes, and books on cinema. I often have a candle burning and classical music or ambient beats in the background, depending on the mood I want to bring out in the visuals.
Then there’s the planning side. I wear many hats—photographer, planner, designer, producer. I meet with couples to understand their stories, their quirks, their favorite films or colors or memories. I design weddings and photo experiences that feel like them, never just a Pinterest board copy. I also manage a small team, and nurturing them is part of the creative rhythm too.
Sometimes, when things are quieter, I write music or work on a new short film or story idea. But even then—it’s all connected. The visuals I shoot, the songs I write, the weddings I plan—they’re all part of one creative voice.
So yes—my “normal” day? It’s filled with movement, meaning, and making. Every day I get to do this work, I feel grateful. Because creating beauty—not just for the sake of aesthetics, but for memory, love, and connection—that’s what I live for.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m a multidisciplinary artist, photographer, wedding planner, and creative director based in the San Francisco Bay Area. I’m the founder of 628STUDIO, a boutique creative house where we turn real love stories into cinematic experiences through photography, design, and full-service planning.
What makes our work unique is that everything we do is deeply personal and intentionally artful. I approach weddings the way a filmmaker approaches a story—every detail, from the florals to the lighting, is curated to reflect emotion, atmosphere, and memory. Our clients often tell us that their wedding didn’t just look beautiful—it felt like them.
I come from a background in visual arts, music, and storytelling, and I bring all those languages into my process. Whether it’s composing a gallery of images, designing an event, or producing a styled shoot, I’m always chasing authenticity, soul, and beauty with a sense of wonder. At the heart of it all, I’m driven by connection. Helping people see themselves through my work—and feel seen—is what keeps me inspired every day.
Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. Who taught you the most about work?
Without a doubt—my mom, Grace Zhao.
She’s an entrepreneur and a published writer, but more than that, she’s the embodiment of creative discipline. Growing up, I watched her build things from scratch—ideas, businesses, books, dreams. She never waited for permission or the “right time.” She just started, and kept going, with grace, grit, and this quiet but unwavering belief in what she was doing.
She taught me that work isn’t just about survival or success—it’s about expression. It’s about building something that reflects your values and your soul. Watching her write at night, lead meetings during the day, and still show up for her family with warmth and curiosity—it shaped everything about how I approach my own creative life.
She also taught me to not be afraid of working hard for something meaningful. That perfection isn’t the goal. Progress and integrity are. Even when no one’s watching.
There’s a saying she once told me that still lives in my bones: “Your work is your legacy, but your attitude is your signature.” I think about that every time I pick up a camera or sit down with a client. Her influence is in every frame I shoot, every event I plan, every late night I spend editing or dreaming or writing.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me how to stay.
To stay when the work isn’t glamorous, when the bookings are slow, when the edits won’t land, when the vision is blurred by fear or fatigue. Success celebrates you, but suffering tests you. And in that quiet, often lonely space—I met myself.
It taught me resilience, yes—but not the loud kind. The kind that whispers: “keep going.” The kind that still shows up to the studio, even when your heart is broken. That sits at the desk when no one is watching. That makes beauty anyway, because it’s who you are.
Success can feel like applause. But suffering feels like silence. And that silence taught me how to listen—to myself, to others, to the work itself.
I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. Is the public version of you the real you?
Yes, only part of me.
The public version of me is the one who shows up with intention. She’s composed, creative, clear-eyed. She runs a business, leads a team, curates beauty, and captures joy. She’s a reflection of who I am—but not the whole story.
What people see—on Instagram, at weddings, through my work—it’s real. I’m not playing a role. But like any artist, there’s so much that lives beneath the surface. The quiet versions of me. The exhausted me. The deeply sensitive me who stays up editing until 3 a.m. because she wants every image to feel right. The me who sometimes doubts herself, cries in the car, journals things no one will ever read, writes songs I may never release.
There’s also the me who simply wants to be—without documenting or delivering. Just a daughter, a dreamer, a woman who notices how the light falls on the floor and lets it be enough.
I think the public version of me is like a window. It’s transparent. It lets light in. But behind that window is a whole house—full of rooms, seasons, stories, and shadows that are just as real.
Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. If you knew you had 10 years left, what would you stop doing immediately?
I’d stop shrinking myself to make others comfortable.
I’d stop second-guessing my voice, my worth, or whether something is “too much” or “not enough.”
I’d stop saying yes to things that don’t light me up just because I feel obligated, or because I’m afraid of letting someone down.
I’d stop trying to perfect every detail before letting it exist in the world.
I’d stop waiting for the “right moment” to start the personal projects I’ve tucked into corners for someday.
I’d stop spending time proving myself—instead, I’d pour myself into what I know I was born to do: make art that breathes, hold space for love stories, capture fleeting beauty, and live with awe.
Ten years isn’t forever, but it’s enough. Enough to live slowly. To create from intuition. To write music just for the joy of sound. To walk through a city alone at dusk and feel full without having to share it. To love deeper, not wider.
And maybe most of all—I’d stop living like time is something I can save. I’d spend it. Lavishly. Deliberately. On what truly matters.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.628studio.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/photobypin/, https://www.instagram.com/628.studio/
Image Credits
Illustrating Pictures: Wedding by @628STUDIO in Wente Vineyards
