The dining-room table is a bulky piece of furniture which dominates because of its size and place.

It is somehow a "fascist", unyielding, intransigent piece of furniture with a predetermined use in function and time.

As a child, I enjoyed hiding under it and playing or eating beneath its sheltering volume.

The table thus grew into a refuge for toy cars, roasted chestnuts, orange peels, stuffed animals and later on a hiding-place for cigarettes and condoms.

It is this secret life of the table that I wanted to bring out, making it an active participant in every event.

The tabletop thus became transparent, affording a view of the space beneath, which may house memories or kindle creation and expression.

One mode for such expression is sand, a transient material which may become a Japanese garden, an Arabic motif, castles, houses and seas, traced words we never spoke, or outlines of forms we loved which continue to beckon to us from beneath the glass.

It may fill with autumn colors or spring flowers for a theme dinner or as a different way of showing our care and love for those close to us.

But more than anything to reawaken the joy of playing and creation we felt as children.