Reconnecting Through Creativity

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.

tattoos and cold brew coffee cups.

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.

A VOICE FOR THE AGES

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.

The growing memorial at Bob Uecker’s statue outside of American Family Field, home of the Milwaukee Brewers

Bob Uecker’s statue outside of American Family Field, home of the Milwaukee Brewers. Someone draped a Brewers flag around his neck.

A family embraces under the Bob Uecker statue

A family embraces under the Bob Uecker statue

A family embraces under the Bob Uecker statue

Cans of Miller Lite were left in memorial as a gift to Ueck at his statue outside American Family Field. Uecker made a national name for himself with lines like “I must be in the front row” from Miller Lite advertisements.

A mourner leaves a hand written note for Bob Uecker at his statue.

A fan lays red rosed at the Bob Uecker statue outside of American Family Field, home the Milwaukee Brewers.