Memory of the Table
Carrie Mae Weems may be responsible for my all-time favorite photography series: Kitchen Table Series. It is a body of work I dream of one day collecting in its entirety. The particular image I am examining today is untitled, but unforgettable in my heart. It depicts a woman seated at the kitchen table while having her hair done.
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Through stark black-and-white imagery, Weems distills a universal experience into something sensual. Looking at it, I can feel the gel slicking strands of hair into submission. I can smell the cigarette burning between the central figure’s fingers. I can taste the drink waiting in the glasses set across the table. I can feel the heat radiating off the woman holding the brush, her presence pressing against the other’s scalp. I can even hear the faint hum of music likely sound-tracking the utterly ordinary ritual of preparing one’s appearance.
The series was originally completed in 1990 and printed in 2003. Weems staged and photographed these fictionalized moments, stepping into the lead role herself.
This series resonates deeply with me because I, too, grew up in a village of family where the kitchen table was our nucleus. It was where we played cards, shared meals, endured heartbreaks or setbacks, vented frustrations, studied, expressed affection, and made ourselves presentable for the week ahead. It was the stage of our lives, a place where intimacy and routine intertwined.
I chose this specific image because it speaks to me most personally. I was once that young girl seated at a table while my hair was combed; half-listening to conversations, half-dreaming, wholly wrapped in the ordinary intimacy of care. Weems captures this memory, not just for herself, but for all of us who know the kitchen table as more than furniture. It is a witness, a confidant, and sometimes, the heart of a home.
