jim sinicki 2/3/25 jim sinicki 2/3/25

Mittenfest 2025: A Winter Street Photography Adventure in Milwaukee

Winter in the Midwest isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s freezing—like, truly, bone-chillingly cold. But if you think that stops Milwaukee from throwing a party, you’ve got another thing coming. Here, we don’t just endure winter—we embrace it. And Mittenfest? That’s Milwaukee’s way of celebrating the season with live music, craft beer, and a whole lot of frozen fingers.

Picture this: snow-covered streets, the hum of electric guitars filling the icy air, steam rising from cups of local brews, and a crowd decked out in colorful mittens and scarves, undeterred by the freezing temperatures. This is Mittenfest, a festival that feels like pure, unfiltered Milwaukee energy. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it’s unapologetically ours.

The festival takes over the streets as the temperature begins to dip, the crowd swells, bundled-up strangers turning into fast friends over shared pints and favorite bands. It’s the kind of event that reminds you why you love this city—why winter, despite its brutal grip, has a charm all its own.

For a street photographer, Mittenfest is pure gold. It’s not about staged shots or perfect lighting—it’s about capturing energy, movement, and the kind of candid moments that tell a real story. The clinking of glasses, the laughter between friends, the way everyone’s breath smokes in the air—these are the details that bring a festival to life.

Moving through the crowd with my camera, I find myself drawn to the little things. A pair of mittens gripping a frosty pint. A kid dancing near the stage, lost in the music. The way the string lights reflect off the icy pavement, creating a glow that makes the entire scene feel almost cinematic. Each frame is a snapshot of Milwaukee in its element—unfazed by the cold, fully in the moment.

Let’s be honest—Mittenfest isn’t about comfort. It’s about community. It’s about standing in the cold with hundreds of other people, all choosing to be here, all reveling in the absurdity of an outdoor winter festival. And somehow, that shared experience makes it all the more fun.

At one point, I find myself huddled near a heater, trying to bring my frozen fingers back to life. The cold is relentless, but the festival energy is even stronger. People cheer as a band wraps up their set, warming themselves with music, movement, and maybe just a little more beer.

What I love most about events like Mittenfest is the way they bring people together. It doesn’t matter if you’re here for the music, the beer, or just because you didn’t want to stay inside all weekend—when you step into the festival, you become part of the energy. And as a photographer, I get to freeze that energy in time, capturing the essence of what makes Milwaukee special.

As my time winds down, I take a moment to flip through the shots on my camera. The glow over the festival, the wide shots of the crowd swaying to the music, the close-ups of raw, joyful expressions—it’s all there. It’s the kind of imagery that tells a story, that transports you right back to the moment, even years down the line.

Mittenfest isn’t just about surviving winter—it’s about celebrating it. It’s about proving, once again, that Milwaukeeans don’t just endure the cold—we turn it into an experience worth remembering. We take whatever season we’re given and make it ours.

So if you’ve never been to Mittenfest, put it on your list. And if you have a favorite winter event, let’s swap stories. Because when it comes down to it, the cold is just an excuse to come together, to create, to celebrate. And for me? It’s a chance to capture it all, one frozen frame at a time.

*a man enjoying a beer at Mittenfest in Milwaukee, WI*

*two legged creatures weren’t the only ones enjoying Mittenfest 2025. Plenty of dogs found their way into the annual fest.*

*Kwik Trip Cowboy at Mittenfest in Milwaukee, WI*

*One of the few times the beer lines weren’t crossing the street at Mittenfest.*

*Leather jackets and cold beer at Mittenfest in Milwaukee, WI*

*Shontrail performing live at Mittenfest*

*The style at Mittenfest was wide ranging*

*A little medical procedure wasn’t going to stop this dog’s good time.*

There may not have been snow or mountains at this year’s Mittenfest, but the villian from every 80s ski movie showed up

jim sinicki 1/27/25 jim sinicki 1/27/25

Reconnecting Through Creativity

A day of photography at The Chicago Art Institute

There’s something magical about reconnecting with old friends. Life gets busy—jobs, family, projects—and before you know it, months, sometimes years, have gone by. But this past week, I finally got to break that cycle and meet up with two of my favorite people, Raymond and Quincy, for a day of photography, art, and hanging out in Chicago.

Three Friends, Three Cities, One Mission

Here’s the setup: Quincy lives just outside of Chicago, Raymond drove up from Indianapolis, and I made the trip down from Milwaukee. Three cities, three different lives, but one shared love for photography and creating. It’s rare when you can get everyone on the same page, so the fact that we all carved out a day to make this happen? That was special.

For me, it was extra meaningful because I hadn’t seen Quincy in over a year. You know how it is—life happens. Work, commitments, schedules. But the moment we met up, it felt like no time had passed. That’s the thing about good friends: even when life gets in the way, you can pick up right where you left off.

The Chicago Art Institute: A Photographer’s Dream

Now, I’ve been to Chicago plenty of times, but somehow, I’ve never made it to The Chicago Art Institute. Let me tell you, that place is an absolute treasure trove.

Walking through the galleries, I couldn’t help but geek out over the sheer amount of history and creativity surrounding us. Seeing paintings by legends like Picasso and Rembrandt in person? That’s a whole different experience. You can’t fully appreciate the detail, the texture, or the scale of these works until you’re standing right in front of them.

And the sculptures—wow. Some of these pieces are thousands of years old. The craftsmanship, the stories they tell, the worlds they represent... It was like stepping into another time and place. Every corner of that museum felt like a new opportunity to be inspired.

Cameras, Conversations, and Connection

What made the day even better was sharing it with Raymond and Quincy. Between exploring the museum and grabbing coffee, we talked about everything—photography, life, creative struggles, and what we’ve been up to lately.

And of course, we couldn’t resist pulling out our cameras. While the museum itself has rules about photography in certain areas, just walking around the city afterward was a photographer’s playground. The mix of architecture, winter light, and people going about their day gave us endless opportunities to shoot.

But honestly, the photography was just a bonus. The real win was reconnecting. It reminded me why I fell in love with creating in the first place: it’s not just about the work; it’s about the people you share it with.

Takeaways From the Day

If there’s one thing I learned from this trip, it’s this: make time for the people who matter. Life will always be busy. There will always be reasons to postpone or reschedule. But when you finally make it happen? It’s worth every mile, every minute, every ounce of effort.

Spending the day at The Chicago Art Institute with Raymond and Quincy wasn’t just about photography or art. It was about connection. It was about being inspired—by the creativity of the past, the energy of the city, and the friendships that make all of this worthwhile.

So, here’s my challenge to you: reach out to an old friend this week. Plan something. It doesn’t have to be a grand adventure—grab coffee, go for a walk, or meet at a museum. Just make it happen.

And if you haven’t been to The Chicago Art Institute yet, add it to your list. You won’t regret it.

Until next time, keep creating, keep connecting, and keep finding the beauty in the everyday.

*This is a shot of Quincy hanging out as people walked past him at the main entrance of the Chicago Art Institute. I used a long exposure to capture the movement of the scene.*

*Raymond and Quincy during one of the many conversations we all shared through out the day.*

*a couple taking in “The Red Armchair” a piece by Pablo Picasso*

*silhouette of a couple over looking Millenium Park in Chicago*

*Rayflection. Raymond setting his film camera to take an image of a piece of art behind the glass.*

*Raymond taking a photo of Jesus on the cross.*

*one of the bucket drummers outside of the Art institute.*

jim sinicki 1/19/25 jim sinicki 1/19/25

A VOICE FOR THE AGES

Milwaukee says goodbye

As a lifelong Milwaukee Brewers fan, the news of Bob Uecker’s passing felt like the sky had turned gray, even if the sun was shining. Bob Uecker wasn’t just the voice of the Brewers—he was the soul of baseball, a living monument to the game’s quirks, its humor, its heartbreak, and its undying joy. For over fifty years, he made us laugh, made us think, and made us love the game just a little more every time he graced the airwaves.

Let’s talk about that voice for a second. It wasn’t the smooth, honeyed tone of your classic play-by-play announcer. No, Uecker’s voice was like a well-worn glove—full of character, laced with imperfections, and imbued with the kind of authenticity you can’t fake. When he called a Brewers game, it felt like you were sitting on the porch with your best friend, cracking open a cold one and reliving the glory days. Whether the team was down by ten or pulling off a ninth-inning rally, Uecker had a way of making it all feel magical—like you were part of something bigger than the game itself.

He wasn’t just a broadcaster; he was a storyteller. Some of his best tales had nothing to do with the score. Who else could turn a mundane foul ball into a side-splitting anecdote about his own Major League career, self-deprecating to the core? That’s the thing about Bob Uecker: he was in on the joke, and he wanted you to be, too. He’d make fun of himself, his mediocre batting average, his time as a backup catcher, but somehow, he made you feel like you were the lucky one to hear it.

For Brewers fans, Uecker was more than a broadcaster; he was family. He bridged generations, connecting grandfathers who saw County Stadium’s first pitch to grandkids cheering at American Family Field. His words painted the seasons of our lives—the crack of the bat in spring, the grind of midsummer doubleheaders, and the bittersweet autumns when hope clashed with heartbreak.

On Friday, January 17, 2025, I found myself at the statue of Bob Uecker outside American Family Field, paying my respects to the man who meant so much to all of us. The air was heavy with shared grief but also filled with an undeniable sense of community. As I stood there, camera in hand, I met people whose stories mirrored my own—fans who grew up with Ueck’s voice as the soundtrack to their summers.

One family, in particular, stood out. They embraced each other through tears, their love for one another interwoven with their love for the man who had brought so much joy into their lives. In that moment, I knew these photos weren’t just for me; they were for them, for us, for everyone who found connection through Uecker’s words and wit. Sharing those photos felt like the right thing to do—a small gesture in the spirit of the man who dedicated his life to bringing people together through the love of baseball. It was a reminder that Ueck wasn’t just a voice; he was a bridge, uniting us in laughter, hope, and shared memories.

He gave us moments, didn’t he? “Get up! Get up! Get outta here! Gone!”—a phrase that could turn even the most routine home run into a call for celebration. And then there were his pauses, those perfectly timed silences where the crowd’s roar filled the gap, reminding us that baseball isn’t just a game of numbers but a symphony of moments.

It’s hard to explain to someone outside Milwaukee just what Bob Uecker meant to this city. He was our ambassador, our comedian, our poet laureate of the diamond. When the Brewers struggled—and let’s face it, they’ve struggled plenty—Uecker gave us something to hold onto. He turned even the leanest seasons into a reason to tune in. Listening to him talk about bratwurst races or his love for fishing felt like therapy for the soul.

His impact stretched far beyond the ballpark, too. Through appearances on late-night shows, Miller Lite commercials, and his unforgettable role in Major League, he introduced the world to his signature wit. But no matter how big he got, he always came back to us, to Milwaukee, to the Brewers. He didn’t just represent the team; he was the team, a cornerstone of what it meant to be a fan.

Now, he’s gone, and there’s an empty seat in the booth. It’s hard to imagine a Brewers game without his voice guiding us through it. For a city that’s always prided itself on grit, on loyalty, on finding joy in the small things, losing Bob Uecker feels like losing a piece of ourselves.

But if there’s one thing Uecker taught us, it’s this: baseball, like life, is about finding beauty in the imperfections. It’s about laughter in the face of failure, about showing up even when the odds are stacked against you. And though his voice has gone silent, his stories, his humor, and his heart live on in all of us who tuned in, game after game.

So here’s to Bob Uecker, the man who taught us to love baseball—and life—a little more. May we carry his spirit forward, one pitch at a time.