Jamie Gene's clean, airy DTLA studio invites light both directly from the open sky and reflected from neighboring buildings through several gaping windows. I admire the thoughtful feng shui and resourcefully bold accents: the cinderblocks stacked and staggered as end tables, the buxom red couch breaking up the cold calm of the unit, and the thick, productive silence that swallows the room (aside from the hypnotic buzz of his gun) as another enveloped artist carefully stencils an intricate hand-sized script piece. I walk in only a few minutes before Jamie relieves his appointment for a short break to stand and stretch while he moves towards a window, pensively tapping an electronic cigarette as his eyes lower to survey the street, then upwards in an unfocused gaze as he lazily tugs at a thought that seems stuck in the corner of his mind. I'm immediately and completely stoked as my broody subject, his creative labor, and the natural light all converge as I sample compositions through my lens. We quickly discuss objectives, gear, and life, but soon I'm just to be a fly on the wall. He is impressively lucid for a brand new father; with gratitude, he assures me that his newborn son typically sleeps through the entire night. His appointment then returns and finds her position on the chair. Jamie wriggles his fingers into a fresh set of black latex gloves — a movement that has seen a million reps — while he studies his canvas and chooses the point that he ultimately continues from.