Chapter 149: The Community Photograph

Chapter 149: The Community Photograph

The photograph was taken on a Saturday in March. Not planned—organic. The specific, community-generated, the-moment-produced-itself spontaneity that Bloom’s significant moments always exhibited. The photograph was taken because the people were there. All of them. At the same time. In the same room. The first time in twelve years that—all of them—were present simultaneously.

The coincidence of the full attendance was—the Saturday cupping. The March cupping. The cupping where: Gihun was present (7:30 extended to the cupping, the seventy-three-year-old’s first Saturday cupping, the cortado customer joining the cupping community because “the cortado is the prelude; the cupping is—the symphony”). Mrs. Kim was present (the novelist, the 625-and-counting reader). The professor was present (the fifty-first Moleskine open). The chairman was present (the twelfth seat, the Fellow Stagg in the bag). Park Jieun was present (the national champion, the monthly visitor). Yuna was present (from Steep, Ikseon-dong). Serin was present (the afternoon barista, today’s cupping instructor). Sangwoo was present (the ceramicist, six new cups for the cupping table). Junghwan was present (from Pangyo, the chalkboard line restored, the independent cafe thriving). Minhee was present (the pastry chef, the “impossibly patient” croissant maker). Woojin was present (the retired teacher, sixty-six now). Jiwoo was present (with Yerin on her lap, the ten-month-old contributing through—presence). Minhyuk was present (the second Saturday, the newcomer becoming regular). Hajin’s parents were present (the mother with jjigae—naturally; the father assessing the grinder’s alignment—naturally). Sooyeon was present (the 3:00 seat, occupied early for the cupping). Hana was present (seven, the morning-observation practitioner, the water cupper). Dohyun was present (four, the “좋아” philosopher).

Taemin was present. From Jeju. In person. The first in-person visit in eight months. The twenty-six-year-old barista who had flown from Jeju that morning—the Jeju-to-Gimpo flight, the one-hour transit—because “the Saturday cupping is the thing. The thing that the distance cannot replace. The video is the translation. The presence is—the original.”

Twenty-three people. In the forty-square-meter cafe. Plus the twelve-seat academy (divider removed). Fifty-two square meters containing twenty-three people. The density producing—the warmth. The physical warmth of twenty-three bodies in a small space and the emotional warmth of twenty-three people who had shared the practice for various durations (twelve years, eleven years, nine years, seven years, four years, two years, ten months) and who were now—together. In the same room. At the same time.

“Everyone is here,” Sooyeon said. Looking at the room. The twenty-three people. The room that had held—at most—twenty people before (the tenth anniversary cupping). Twenty-three being the new maximum. The room at its fullest. The practice at its most populated.

“Everyone is here.”

“Everyone. For the first time. All of them. In one room.”

“We should—” Jiwoo began. The operational instinct. The operational partner who saw the unprecedented full attendance and who recognized—the opportunity. “We should take a photograph.”

“A photograph.”

“A photograph. Of everyone. In the room. The room that has never contained everyone. The photograph that says: this happened. These twenty-three people were—here. Together. At the same time. In the same room.”

“The photograph that documents the impossible.”

“The impossible being: all of them, at the same time. The schedules aligning. The distances closing. The Jeju flight arriving. The Bucheon drive completing. The Ikseon-dong bus reaching. The Pangyo subway connecting. All of the transportation producing—the convergence. The convergence that says: the community is real. The community exists. The community can be—photographed.”

The photograph was arranged. Not posed—arranged. The distinction being: posed photographs placed people in positions they would not naturally occupy. Arranged photographs placed people in positions they would naturally occupy. The arrangement being: the cupping table.

The cupping table—the long table that the Saturday cuppings used, the table with the twelve seats that expanded to twenty-three by adding chairs from the cafe. Twenty-three seats. Twenty-three people. The cupping table holding—the community. The same table that held the cups holding—the people.

The arrangement: Gihun in the first seat (the honor seat, the twelve-year customer). Mrs. Kim in the second. The professor in the third. Hajin’s parents beside each other (the mother’s hand on the father’s arm, the sixty-six-year-old’s natural arrangement). The chairman in the twelfth seat (always the twelfth). Sooyeon beside Hajin. Hana between Sooyeon and the chairman (the granddaughter between the parents and the grandfather). Dohyun on Hajin’s lap. Yerin on Jiwoo’s lap. Taemin beside Serin (the teacher beside the successor). The graduates—Yuna, Junghwan, Sangwoo, Minhee, Woojin—in their natural positions. Park Jieun at the end (the national champion, the visitor, the friend). Minhyuk beside Jiwoo.

The camera was—Hajin’s phone. Not a professional camera. The phone that the barista used for—everything. The phone placed on the counter (the sealed counter, the ring-marked counter, the museum counter), propped against a Sangwoo cup, the timer set, the barista running to his seat.

The timer: ten seconds. Not thirty-two (the bloom’s duration). Ten. The photograph’s bloom—shorter. The ten seconds of waiting for the shutter. The ten seconds of twenty-three people looking at a phone propped against a ceramic cup on a sealed counter in a forty-square-meter room above a nail salon.

The ten seconds produced—the silence. Not planned. Not requested. The silence that the waiting produced. Twenty-three people waiting for a camera to click and producing—the bloom silence. The same silence that the competition produced. The same silence that the Copenhagen keynote produced. The contagious silence. The silence of shared attention.

The shutter clicked. The photograph taken. The twenty-three people captured in the photograph—the digital record of the moment when everyone was here. The record that said: this community existed. These people shared the practice. These people were—together.

The photograph showed: twenty-three people at a cupping table. The cupping cups in front of them. The chalkboard visible in the background—ten lines, the manifesto readable in the photograph because the phone’s camera was high-resolution enough to capture the chalk on the board. The sealed counter visible. The V60s visible. The Probat visible in the corner. The entire cafe—the entire twelve-year, ten-line, forty-square-meter, above-the-nail-salon cafe—captured in one photograph.

“The photograph is—the cafe,” Mrs. Kim said. After the photograph was taken. After the cupping resumed. After the twenty-three people returned to the tasting. “The photograph is not the people. The photograph is—the cafe. The cafe is—the people. The people are—the cafe.”

“The people are the cafe.”

“The people are the cafe. The forty square meters are—the space. The people are—the cafe. The cafe exists because the people exist. The people coming to the counter produces—the cafe. Without the people, the forty square meters are—a room. With the people, the forty square meters are—Bloom.”

“The people make the room Bloom.”

“The people make the room Bloom. The same way the attention makes the coffee coffee. Without the attention, the coffee is—a beverage. With the attention, the coffee is—the practice. Without the people, the room is—a room. With the people, the room is—Bloom.”

“Bloom is the people.”

“Bloom has always been the people. The chalkboard says ‘same seat, same coffee, same everything.’ The ‘everything’ being—the people. The people who sit in the seats and drink the coffee and produce the everything. The ‘everything’ that the chalkboard declares is—the community. The community that the photograph captured.”

The photograph was shared. Not on social media (Bloom did not have social media). Printed. By Sangwoo—the ceramicist who also made prints, the artisan whose practice extended to every surface. The print framed. The frame placed on the wall—beside the chalkboard, above the counter, in the position where the Sooyeon-and-rooftop photograph had hung for twelve years. The two photographs now side by side: the original photograph (Sooyeon on the rooftop, the first year, the beginning) and the community photograph (twenty-three people at the cupping table, the twelfth year, the—now).

“The two photographs,” Sooyeon said. At 3:00. The Wrong Order. Looking at the wall. The two photographs. “The first photograph: one woman. On a rooftop. With a coffee cup. The second photograph: twenty-three people. At a cupping table. With cupping cups. The progression being—”

“One to twenty-three.”

“One to twenty-three. In twelve years. The wrong order producing—twenty-three people. The mistake producing—the community. The accidental cafe visit producing—the photograph on the wall.”

“The photographs are—the proof.”

“The proof that the daily produces. The proof that the ordinary Tuesday produces. The proof that the ‘same everything’ produces—the different. The one becoming the twenty-three. The rooftop becoming the cupping table. The woman becoming—the community.”

“The community.”

“Twenty-three people. Who were strangers. Who became regulars. Who became community. Who became—family. Through the cup. Through the counter. Through the daily. Through twelve years of the same everything that produced—the different everything.”

“Same everything. Different everything.”

“Both. Always both.”

The photograph on the wall. The twenty-three people. The twelve years. The ten lines. The forty square meters. The practice that needed nothing except the practice. The community that needed nothing except—the counter. The counter where the cups were made and the truths were spoken and the people became—the cafe.

Same everything.

Including the photograph.

Including the twenty-three.

Including the wall that now held—the beginning and the now. The one and the twenty-three. The proof.

Every day.

Like this.

Always.