Cupful Connoisseur

I came across a piece recently—an article tracing tea’s quiet presence in art across centuries by Magda Michalska. It wasn’t loud or showy, just… observant. The kind of writing that lingers like steam from a just-poured cup. As a tea sommelier, I’ve always believed tea lives in the in-between: between words, between people, between stories. This article captured that feeling beautifully. Because here’s the thing: tea doesn’t need attention to matter. It’s not a performance. It doesn’t arrive demanding notice. It slips into a room softly, settles on the table, and stays. Artists have painted it for years—not for drama, but for presence. A held moment. A remembered gesture. A shape in the light. Reading it, I felt like I’d found a reflection of what I see every day—how tea, even in stillness, tells stories. Theo van Rysselberghe – Summer Afternoon (Tea in the Garden) (1901) Neo-Impressionist garden chatter, served pointillist-style Summer Afternoon (Tea in the Garden) , 1901-  Curr...

  Long before café menus became a parade of matchas and oolongs, there lived a man in 8th-century China whose relationship with tea shaped everything we know about it today. His name was Lu Yu (陆羽) — and in the world of tea, he’s nothing short of a legend. Revered as the Sage of Tea (茶圣) , he gave the world its first and most respected tea manual: The Classic of Tea (茶经) . But Lu Yu’s story doesn’t begin in royal gardens or bustling markets. It begins quietly, almost like a tealeaf unfurling. 🍵 A Childhood Rooted in Silence & Stillness Lu Yu was born in 733 AD in Tianmen, Hubei Province , central China. Abandoned at the tender age of three near the Longgai Monastery , he was taken in by a compassionate abbot who would unknowingly set the course for tea history. It was under this monk’s guidance that Lu Yu learned not just how to brew tea — but how to understand it. To see it not as a drink, but as a philosophy. 📜 The Classic of Tea — A Manual, A Map, A Meditation Lu Y...