The table

The love of the table comes from a long time ago and, year after year, in the summer, this passion is revived with the reunion and the ceremonial meals we celebrate there. Like a silent witness, it collects and absorbs everything that has been said, shared and even silenced around it, noting the passage of time in our lives.

This past summer, the relationship has been more material. The crepe tablecloths from my mother's centennial trousseau have been the support for printing all this wood residue across the rubbing with graphite. This rubbing against the table, has poured all my energy into my body to discover its infinite paths in its pure nakedness. In a total communion between memory and body, my shoulders have melted to bring to light everything that it meticulously guards.