This morning, as I brewed coffee with my French Press, I found myself reflecting on Candido Portinari’s Man Carrying Bag of Coffee. The simplicity of the lines, the focus on the laborer’s form, and the overwhelming presence of the coffee sack make it an unforgettable image. Portinari captures more than just physical labor; he conveys the human cost behind the comfort I enjoy with every cup.
The sketch is striking in its rawness. The contour lines and parallel shading pull my attention to the weight the man carries, both literally and symbolically. His legs, slightly apart, and his bent arm suggest movement—a step forward despite the burden. It’s an image of quiet resilience. The sack dominates the frame, overshadowing the man’s body, as if to emphasize the imbalance between labor and reward. The facelessness of the figure is haunting; it represents not just one person but the countless workers whose efforts remain invisible to coffee drinkers like me.
Coffee begins in fields far from my French Press and favorite cafés. It starts with a seedling, which takes years to mature into a coffee plant. Once the cherries ripen, they’re harvested—often by hand, with workers selecting the fruit one by one to ensure quality. The process is slow and arduous, especially on steep terrain where machinery can’t operate. Portinari’s image is a reminder of this labor, an homage to the unseen hands that make my mornings possible.
After the coffee is harvested, its transformation begins. The cherries are processed, the beans dried and milled, and then comes the magic of roasting. Roasting unlocks coffee’s potential, creating a range of flavors from the floral brightness of light roasts to the smoky depth of dark roasts. Each choice in the process shapes the final cup, making coffee as much a product of craftsmanship as of labor. I once read, “Every cup holds the story of its journey” (World Atlas of Coffee), and I feel that truth every time I pour coffee into my cup.
The French Press is my method of choice, not just because of the full-bodied flavor it produces but because of the ritual itself. There’s something grounding about the process—measuring the coarsely ground beans, pouring the hot water, waiting as the coffee steeps, then pressing the plunger slowly. It’s a quiet, mindful moment that starts my day. The first sip always feels like a small celebration.
Beyond my kitchen, coffee has become a way to connect with others and explore the world. Some of my favorite memories are tied to coffee shops I’ve discovered while traveling. At The Lighthouse Bakery on Dauphin Island, the salty air mixes with the aroma of coffee and pastries, creating a perfect start to a day by the sea. Cafe du Monde in New Orleans offers a different kind of magic, with its chicory coffee and powdered-sugar-coated beignets in the vibrant French Quarter. Then there’s Messenger Coffee in Kansas City, where the third-floor patio offers views as bold as the coffee. Closer to home, I love Joplin Ave Coffee Co where the familiarity of the environment, the memories I've made there with friends, and the comforting atmosphere make every visit feel special.
As I sip my coffee today, I feel gratitude for the labor that goes into each cup. Coffee connects me to the world, not just through the flavor in my mug but through the journey it represents—from the hands that planted and harvested the beans to the baristas who served them in some of my favorite places. Each cup is a bridge, linking me to a history, to the global community. And in these moments of connection—whether sharing coffee with a friend at a local haunt or discovering a café while on vacation—I find something special, something worth savoring.