Over the course of her past two years at 17 South Park St., Marguerite has made her room her very own. On one wall, there's a city skyline. On another, a tutu top below a T-shirt made out of newspaper. On another, an entire Matisse book, page by page. "I tore them out and staplegunned them up because I knew if I left it on my desk, it'd just sit there. At least this way, I got to read it here and there, and I did."
Among the books on the table is a toothy Vivienne Westwood with her ginger clown hair propped up against the wall like a family photo. There's a sanctuary of shoe-shaped candles, a lusty letter from James Joyce to his wife. Above the table are art history index cards with different masterpieces replicated in permanent marker, "My friend Alix LeClair made them. I found them in a neglected pile in some dusty corner at The D's office right after she'd left, and decided to rescue them."
Her favorite thing in the room? "The puppet show." She flips off the overhead light and pulls the Christmas lights out of the outlets. Light coming in from the night outside illuminates a box she's drawn in black crayon on her wall that goes right over a 1980s calendar scarf. Favorite quote? One from "The Little Prince" on the wall beside the door: "It is absurd to look for a well, at random, in the immensity of the desert. But nevertheless we started walking."
