Memories of the low table: A family's gaze connected by lowness

Memories of the low table | A family's gaze connected by lowness

Introduction: The Scenery of the Chabudai Table

In the Showa era, houses had low tables.

A round wooden stand placed alone on the tatami mat. Its legs are short, and the wood grain on the top gives off a warm feeling. It is by no means luxurious, but its presence was the center of the home and the focus of family time.

The low table was more of a "scenery" than a piece of furniture. Steaming miso soup and freshly cooked rice are placed next to the veranda where the morning light pours in. In the evening, families naturally gather together to talk about the day's events. Or they just spend time together without saying a word.

The lowness of the low table is not simply a physical height. It has the power to align the gaze of the family. Adults, children, and grandparents all face each other at the same level. This may have given birth to a horizontal relationship that transcends hierarchical relationships.

The Philosophy of the Chabudai: Democracy in 20cm Tall

There are no chairs at a low table, so everyone sits on the floor. Some people sit upright, others cross-legged. Small children stack cushions on top of each other to stretch out. Everyone sits on the same ground, around a platform of the same height.

In this "20cm high world," it's easy for voices to reach each other and make eye contact, which encourages natural conversation.

"Do you want a refill?" "Can you get that for me?" "How was school today?"

Such casual exchanges take place over the low table. And not just with words. The hand offering a teacup, the fingertips peeling a mandarin orange, the sound of turning pages of a newspaper... All of these echo together on the low table.

The low table was where the family's life took place. The TV remote, Grandma's knitting, Dad's newspaper, Mom's stew, the children's homework. Everything gathered and intersected. The low table was truly the "crossroads of the family."

Misunderstanding of the table flip

When people hear the word "chabudai," what comes to mind for many is the "chabudai-gaeshi" (flip the table). This is a scene from a Showa-era anime or drama in which a father gets angry and flips the table over. This scene is sometimes spoken of as a symbol of the chabudai.

However, the original purpose of the low table was not to "express anger."

Rather, the low table was a place to "place emotions." Happiness, sadness, and even silence that could not be put into words were all placed quietly on the table. The table sat there quietly, as if waiting for someone to speak.

The family's emotions were expressed above the low table. Some days there was laughter, and other days there was a heavy atmosphere. But no matter what day it was, the low table accepted it all. It was like a "shared vessel" for the family.

Rethinking the WABISUKE Chabudai

In modern life, we rarely see chabudai tables anymore. Dining tables and chairs have become mainstream, and sitting on the floor has been relegated to a more "old" place.

However, we believe that there is still potential in the lowness of the table.

The low height creates a sense of "emptiness" in the space. The ceiling feels higher and the view is wider. It gives the feeling of taking a step back from a life surrounded by furniture and breathing more deeply.

The low height creates a "conversation" through the eyes. By aligning your eyes, your words are easier to convey. You can see the other person's facial expressions clearly. Even silence becomes a comfortable experience.

The low temperature maintains the "temperature" of memories. Conversations, laughter, the smell of steam that took place over the low table... these things permeate the space.

This "philosophy of lowness" is also alive in WABISUKE's vessels and space creation. The height of the vessel's rim, its weight when held in the hand, and its appearance when placed in a space are all designed with the height of the eye in mind.

Even though the chabudai table itself has disappeared, its spirit may still live on in our lives.

Conclusion: Things around the low table

There were many different "sceneries" around the low table.

A winter afternoon with mountains of tangerine peels. The sound of my grandmother quietly knitting. The crunch of my father's newspaper as he spreads it out. The sound of a child writing with a pencil. Sometimes, no one says anything, just steam rising from the teacup.

All of these are memories of the low table.

The low table was not just a piece of furniture. It was a stage for family time, a vessel for emotions, and a device for aligning gazes.

And now, we are passing on those memories to the future, harboring them in our vessels, spaces, words and activities.

The memory of the low table has not disappeared. It continues to live on in us, quietly and surely, in a different form.