My friendship with Adé Hogue was mostly from a distance; the kind of friendship where we could go weeks without talking, but also pick up right where we left off. He was always Broderick to me and one of the few people I’ve allowed to call me Liz.
When we moved away to different cities, we started to send each other snail mail. The last text I have from him was his address.
We only lived in the same city for a few years, but somehow managed to find ways to keep meeting each other in different places and parts of the world.
Three months ago, after years of saying I would come visit him in Chicago, I purchased a ticket and finally fulfilled my promise. Monday, August 2nd was the last day we spent together. It was a sunny (but not too hot) summer day, perfect for a patio lunch under striped umbrellas. Not surprisingly we ate fried chicken. He even let me have the last hushpuppy.
8/2/21 Parson’s Chicken, Chicago, IL
That day Adé gave me a tour of West Chicago and some hip neighborhoods near his new apartment. I enjoyed exploring and meandering without any set destination the same way we did when he came to visit me in Luxembourg. I appreciated that he would frequently stop to take photos just as much if not more than me; capturing as many details as possible.
That’s what made him a brilliant designer. I knew it when we first met in Pete Hurdle’s Digital Media class at UNCC. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing and Adé did. I strategically sat next to him and asked him a million questions.
I have proudly followed his career from working with design firms in Chicago to being his own boss and navigating freelance as a young, talented black man in a predominately white industry. (You can watch one of his creative sessions with Adobe Creative Cloud here). He generously shared his experiences openly and honestly, with endless encouragement, patience and lots of laughter.
From cross-country pen pals to creative barters (logos for artwork), impromptu kayaking adventures, traveling in Europe, professional advice or encouraging personal projects (including this blog)— we kept in touch over the last eleven years. Most of the things we did together were last minute, or only somewhat planned. Collaborating spontaneously in my studio late at night was one of those times which I will be forever grateful for.
The day I left Chicago, I was lucky enough to fly home in a plane wrapped in letters Adé designed.
There are no words to describe how much I miss my friend.
He would also laugh at how many times it took me to get this shot right.
(Edit 1/4/22)
Ok, so I do have some words. They came to me after flying back to Chicago for Adé’s memorial, meeting his many friends and family and taking flowers to his ghost bike.
It’s in the details.
In words - their placement: where they show up in a sentence.
Words that carry histories; the voices of others.
Their shape
Their curves
In elegant script
Standing
Slanting
Not too close, not too far apart
Leaning in, whispering softly
Touching
Words felt in the body
In goosebumps
With awe and laughter
In the corners of a smile
And also a deep, heavy sigh
A sharp pain
The tear building in my eye
Words said below the surface
Words said with eyes
With hands
With the dance of your feet
The pace of your walk like a sentence skipping across the street of your lined page.
Ocean Vuong wrote: the saddest thing in the world is a comma forced to be a period.
You will never be a period.
You vibrate in exclamation points.
Your laughter still echoes.
I hear you chuckle as I try to figure out how to wear a summer floral dress in November in Chicago.
I hear you tell me how much you love sunflowers while we are standing in a stranger’s garden
Now I am asking strangers where I can find a sunflower in November in your Windy City
The skies are blue, the sun gold
I look down at the sticker that presents itself in the shape of a sunflower
Now stuck to the walk sign above a picture of you, above flowers (perky and drooping / real and fake) poking, tied, and clinging to the surface of a spray painted white bike - your ghost bike
I watch people jay walk through the intersection. And they continue to walk on to the park
That should be you
Yet, your words walk
Your words continue
They walk alongside me. And more people than I can count
They show up in the colors of a sunset, wrapping around us
They are edgeless, borderless
Words you step into willfully
Creating space - expanding out past what our eyes can physically see
Words with room to imagine
Words that slow you down
That stop and sit next to you
Words that expand and collapse time
Spiraled in a circle, coiled slowly with my fingertips
Released, their tension relaxes and out falls a paper rose
In honor of the rose you loved
A rose that grew from concrete.
Adé, I will always love you.
Edit 9/9/22: The Adé Hogue Foundation has been created to honor and continue Adé’s legacy. The foundation is dedicated to supporting the BIPOC community, underprivileged youth, and supporting Adé’s passions such as cycling and running as well as the educational pursuits for creatives.
A Memorial Scholarship Award has been created in his name. The Broderick Adé Hogue Memorial Scholarship Award will be given to UNC Charlotte students, majoring in Graphic Design or Studio Art, with a demonstrated commitment to promoting opportunities for Black, Indigenous, or People of Color. You can make donations here.