The Art of coffee
February 2021
I love the smell of coffee. Sometimes when I drive into Bristol on a warm summer’s day and am forced to wait at the traffic lights at the end of the M32 I am actually quite delighted. Sometimes if the conditions are right you are blessed with the wafting aroma emitting from Brian Wogan’s coffee factory pouring out into the air. I love these rare moments to sit back and really take in that smell, to really focus in on it because after all, there is nothing else to do. I love that smell of fresh coffee, yet I have never enjoyed its sharp, bitter taste.
Being an avid tea drinker, much to the dismay of my dentist, I have always found the rituals and processes involved around coffee to be something of a mystery to me. I have also found serious coffee connoisseurs such as my beloved Aunt Penny to be extremely fussy and dare I say it, even snobby when it comes to what constitutes as a good coffee. They will simply refuse to drink what they deem to be bad coffee. Tea has always seemed so much simpler to me, you just add the tea leaves (if like me you prefer loose leaf) and hot water and voila- you have tea.
Even the names of all the different types of coffee have left me staggered in bewilderment, what on earth, for example, is a flat white? Why is it flat? What indeed is an Americano, and how is that any different from a Cappuccino or a Latte? Isn’t that all just basically coffee with different amounts of milk added to it- why the need for fancy names? And speaking of adding milk, has anyone ever tried making coffee with soya milk- what an astoundingly difficult task if you don’t want to end up with a cup full of disgusting floating soya fragments, which of course, I do not.
Then you have complex looking coffee machines, plunger thingys and those ones that you put on the hob. You have fresh beans that you then have to go to the trouble to grind yourself, ground beans, coffee that comes in those environmentally unsound little sachets. It almost feels like one needs to complete some sort of training course in order to be able to master the astonishing array of equipment, processes and types of coffee there are available.
.
So right about now you may be wondering why am I writing about coffee on a blog that is supposed to be about art? (Also, quite possibly, that I am an idiot for my complete and utter ignorance, you may be right.) So I will explain.
I can remember when I was about perhaps 6 years old my parents, who were still together at that time, went to Bath and they returned with two coffee cups. I was told that I had brought the large one for my Dad, and he had brought the small one for me. My Dad uses his every day without fail, it is his very special coffee cup and no one else ever uses it. Even the sound of the cup clinking against the saucer reminds me of him. My own little cup, until very recently remained untouched and safely tucked away in a kitchen cupboard. It was a few years ago when my Dad, now 92 years old, accidently dropped his beloved cup and it smashed beyond repair on the unforgiving flagstone floor. He was clearly very upset at this, though pretended not to be, and I immediately offered to replace it from the same shop in Bath. I had no idea that I was offering to replace a coffee cup and saucer by the make of Apilco that was to set me back nearly £40, for one cup and saucer. My Dad has always had expensive tastes.
Recently in lockdown I have been struggling with fatigue and so for one of the few times in my life I have felt the need to turn to coffee to wake me up. My Dad has also recently offered me my little cup and so I have begun to learn how to make coffee – from one of the above mentioned mysterious devices that goes on the hob. I have been surprised to learn that I have begun to enjoy this new morning ritual of making coffee. I welcome that smell into my home, though I have in truth not really started to enjoy the taste yet. Perhaps that will come in time.
The ritual has become important to me for two reasons. Firstly, it reminds me of my Dad, even though he is thankfully still with us, his age has been a constant source of anguish throughout my life and especially so during this time. Secondly, it has created space in my mornings to return briefly to my beloved sketchbook. I have always loved sketchbooks, yet I feel that my fascination with sketchbooks may need to be covered in a later post.
Throughout this pandemic I had not really been using it much, which I had felt a little sad about, as I wanted to drive straight into my painting. I have found though that a quick warm up drawing works wonders for focusing my mind and preparing me for a day at the easel. This is where the coffee comes in again, for I have been painting with it in my sketchbook and loving the effects. It acts like a beautiful sepia watercolour, and has such a lovely rich yet delicate hue that I find very satisfying. In a strange way the coffee has become as much a part of the ritual as the drawing itself, and for now it is a ritual that I am very keen to stick to.
