I walked into Ashton Worthington’s studio alongside a tiny girl who spoke little English. I ran across her in the hallway, and when we walked in I was mistaken for a hand model. (Obviously nobody got a look at my calloused mitts with scars from motorcycle repair). It was a casting for an HP ad, with potential hires lining up. The studio was gigantic. Two walls of windows and ceilings that kept on going, made my shutter finger itch just thinking of what light is capable of doing in that space. It was pristine, and seriously professional.