At two o'clock on the dot, I opened the door marked by Ferry's logo and stepped into his studio. I hadn't ever been inside-no clue what I'd expected-but it wasn't the cold, sterile feeling I got. But the photography that hung from every inch of free space-primarily suspended overhead-erased the desolation and replaced it with warmth. The nameless people erupted with emotion from behind still frames. Some were filled with heartache, others laughter. As with everything Ferry touched, he illuminated and captured the spirit of the occasion-somber or celebratory. He immortalized the beauty in life.
I turned toward the approaching footsteps, expecting Ferry, yet finding one of his many assistants.
"Mr. Thames. Mr. Koops is this way."
I followed several steps behind the man leading the way.
