Sometime before my mother died, my guy made this weird pink table out of left over thin cedar planking and transparent acrylic. The table he made is square, almost 3×3 feet and is weird as heck. It’s been sitting in my living room since she died. There’s no where to take the darn thing or way to get rid of it.
My guy is a carpenter, very obsessive and visual. He’s the God of detailing, would happily own more garages of vehicles with perfect finishes than Jay Leno. This table makes absolutely no sense and has no reason for existing at all. Why did he make it and what does it mean? No clue. He doesn’t seem to know.
All the parts of the table which are wood are painted a bright, shocking pink. The top of the table, which is 2 layers of acrylic, is transparent. The four legs are hollow and each has a cheap glass rose set into the bottom of the leg. We bought them at Twice as Nice for %1.99 each. They are actually kind of cool, despite their humble origins. Understandably, two of the roses are broken after the table was moved several times. I have spent years wanting to open up the legs and repair them.
Even stranger, he used black construction caulking to seal the edges of the acrylic to the wood. The caulking is a real messy looking contrast to the perfect geometric form of the table. It’s like a giant decided to outline the table with a gooey black crayon. The table is heavy, awkward to move. One of the legs is loose and doesn’t set right if I move the table even a short distance.
Sometimes it seems to me the table is made to symbolize light coming through the roses, a huge symbol for the heart, and for the third eye as well, and bringing it down to earth. The table is too concrete to ignore, too large and blaring and here to think of as a mistake.
I know I’m going to fix those roses. I’m going to find a way to open the darn thing and glue the snapped rose stems back together. It is, after all, living in my house, and I have this feeling it will change something significant, if just my inner need to do it.I simply have to. Like my guy, the mystery of the table continues to engage me.