Tafel herinneringen

The Time at the Table

It is about everything I try to avoid, about the moments that linger long after the table has been cleared. The table is more than a piece of furniture; it has become a centre, a gathering place for objects, thoughts and conversations. Everything that occupies me comes together here: the food, the games, the tears, the silences, the people. Everything happens at the table.

The table plays a large role in my life. It is the heart of my home, where words arise and silences speak louder than language ever could. It confronts me with life as it is, and with the parts I sometimes prefer not to face. Perhaps that is why it has become so important, something I once took for granted that now feels essential.

While the tablecloth protects the table, it also protects our moments together. The fibre holds what words cannot. Some memories we want to keep close but fear we might forget. Sharing them feels like passing on a story, hoping that if I ever forget, someone else will still remember.

It is about presence and absence, about holding onto what was and what still lingers. Each thread becomes a quiet witness of daily life, of love, of togetherness.

Table Stories 5

I lie still, folded and inconspicuous waiting for a touch. My
fabric is smoothed and my pattern is hidden until light falls
on me at a specific angle. Voices fill the space and overlap.
One person speaks loudly, filling the silence as if afraid
of the void. His hands move large and sure and they grab
me without hesitation. He presses me against his mouth,
wipes his chin and drops me back down. His presence is
inevitable and bright as direct sunlight. Across from him
sits someone who barely speaks and her fingers rest on my
edge, as if holding onto something tangible. She watches
and listens, but without realizing it she disappears into the
background. Her voice is soft. She is there, but not everyone
really sees her. The evening progresses and I am used,
crumpled, laid down and picked up again. Traces of touches
remain in my fibers. They pick me up and fold me between
their fingers. They smooth me down and shake me loose. I
am always there, silent, unobtrusive, but I feel everything.