Adam Bird, Photographer

I don’t get to photograph swimming all that much, but when I do it is a challenge that can’t be denied.  Water in the air screws with autofocus, making it difficult to get continually sharp images of the swimmers.  Many pools tend to have nearly antique lighting, yellow to orange with age.  A photographer must also be wary and careful on the pool decking, at a crowded meet, overbalanced with a large telephoto lens it’s easy to fall or drop a camera.

To adapt, I’ve learned how to predict swimmers breath strokes and time my autofocus activation appropriatly, giving me some pretty bad ass shots that I quite like, where I can show people the eyes and expressions on swimmers face as they’re immersed in competition.  Using a Canon 5D Mark2, which is not a common sports camera, gives me clean hi ISO files using a full frame sensor, taking full advantage of the 400mm f/2.8 that allows me to stay away from the water and the crowds to shoot safely.

This just continues to prove that no matter what the situation, given enough time, or enough money (or hopefully both) you can walk away with a compelling image in any situation. [o]

I was photographing a food pantry at a mostly local church (30 minutes drive isn’t far, but it’s certainly not next door either) and I was struck by a few things.  First, the church, Allendale Community Christian, only has 20 members, and every single one of them was volunteering to distribute 5,000 pounds of food to people in the area that were in a particular situation of need.  People helping people. Sweet.

While working this particular assignments, I was also struck by the produce and light.  Call me silly, call me overly artsy, but I thought that it was beautiful, so I made a photograph to share.

Here it is.

Not many people know this, but this is the photograph that pushed me over the edge  into becoming a professional photographer.

I took this picture when I was seventeen years old.  A high school friend, Tino Chippola and myself skipped the last three hours of school, got in his old mustang and drove into the nether regions of Detroit to photograph the abandoned Jefferson street train station, an icon for aspiring photographers, grafitti artists and vagrants.

We wove through the gritty streets of Detroit, decaying even in 1997.  After parking we walked through the weeds and towards the hulking station.  It was the only standing building nearby, no parking lots, everything around it just acres of weeds.  It was classic Detroit- no guards, no signs, no fence, no doors.  As we walked closer and closer, a man or perhaps a boy, maybe our age or maybe older, approached us and wanted to know if we wanted a tour of the station.  I remember every pore screaming danger, do not walk around the abandoned strain station with a stranger who might kill us and take my camera. The stranger said he was a poet.  Tino was all for it, pointing out that the stranger wore a crucifix, and thus must be good people.  Me not being Catholic, I had no argument to the contrary.  So in we went.

The main concourse was covered in a litter of garbage, mostly paper strewn about.  Every window of the hundreds overhead was broken, letting pigeons nest everywhere.  Near the back were stairs that went up the 20-something stories to the roof, and also the basement below.  We were warned, ‘people live in the basement and people die in the basement’ eliminating it’s exploration as an option.

Up we went.  Me, being the pessimist, watched every step, even though only a wrecking ball could damage the reinforced concrete stairs.  Often there was no railing, stolen for scrap, leaving an abyss in the middle of the stairs.  Tino, ever gregarious, chatted with our guide constantly as we stopped on different floors, looking around, taking a picture or two.

Our guide said that the roof was the best part, and it lived up to his word.  From the top of the building we had a panorama of the city below us.  It was the tallest structure for miles around.  As we gaped at the view, I took a quick picture of our guide as he stood watching us.  I knew it was good when I shot it, but until I processed the negative the next day, I didn’t know how good.

This picture pulled me into photojournalism, into portraiture, into making pictures of people.  Our guide never led us astray, kept us from floors that were dangerous and patiently answered every question.  We never paid him any money and none was asked for.  This was my first time experiencing true kindness from a stranger.  In exchange for my trust, I was given a moment to photograph, one of the most personal images I have ever taken.

This photograph represents everything that I was at that time.  A poet, a thinker, a stranger, alone, surrounded, and proud.

My only regret from that day was that I never got his name.

Julian Arizola, veteran of the Grand Rapid Fire Department will be participating in a chili cook-off against the police and ambulance people.  I love assignments where I get to photograph people active in trying to maintain/improve the community.  And, being able to do a photograph in the kitchen of Salvatore’s (one of the big supporters of the cookoff) just makes for a better image and more fun.

I love making a good portrait.