{"id":102914,"date":"2016-09-21T15:09:36","date_gmt":"2016-09-21T19:09:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=102914"},"modified":"2016-09-21T15:35:40","modified_gmt":"2016-09-21T19:35:40","slug":"flooded-penthouse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/21\/flooded-penthouse\/","title":{"rendered":"Flooded Penthouse"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>The below is excerpted from<\/em>\u00a0Flooded Penthouse,\u00a0<em>a book\u00a0by the painter\u00a0<\/em><em><a href=\"http:\/\/www.margauxogden.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">Margaux Ogden<\/a> and the writer <a href=\"http:\/\/hunterbraithwaite.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">Hunter Braithwaite<\/a>, launched to commemorate Ogden\u2019s new exhibition at Puerto Rico\u2019s Embajada, a gallery <a href=\"http:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2015\/10\/01\/t-magazine\/puerto-rico-art-gallery-embajada.html\" target=\"_blank\">in a former sex-toy shop<\/a>. The show, \u201c<a href=\"http:\/\/www.embajadada.com\/Flooded-Penthouse\" target=\"_blank\">Nothing Had Yet Been Sacrificed<\/a>,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0<em>takes<\/em><em>\u00a0its title from Luc Sante\u2019s line about the young Bob Dylan\u2014\u201cEverything seemed possible then; no options had been used up and nothing had yet been sacrificed.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/floodedpenthouse.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102933\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/floodedpenthouse.jpg\" alt=\"floodedpenthouse\" width=\"600\" height=\"405\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>Much as a relationship grows from a mulch of moments, \u2028these drawings are built up on a ground of notes, numbers, lists. Small bills, pocket change. Doing so causes a slight impropriety to arise, not only because it\u2019s so decidedly un-art (or, depending on how much Rauschenberg you looked at when you were younger, too-art) but because the pocket scraps\u2028 are exhibitionist. Stored in our pants, folded tight against ourselves, they reveal how we pass our days: what we plan to buy, how much we paid for it, how we check off the world.\u00a0<!--more--><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/1.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-102918\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/1.jpg\" width=\"600\" height=\"698\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>The life cycle of a note is either: into the trash with the kitchen refuse or forgotten, thrown into the wash, where the paper breaks down into pulp. But here they are pressed at and scanned, palimpsests of the scheduled and spent.<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/2-1.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-102919\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/2-1.jpeg\" alt=\"2\" width=\"600\" height=\"490\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>Thrown onto a scanner bed. Watercolor paper overlaid with a skim tide of transparent plastic sheets, a gesture coasting on each. Enough DPI to catch the ink in motion as it finally dries, midswirl away from itself. And though this stunning verisimilitude will likely be lost in printing, think of what will be gained when the plastic sheen rests on the pulpy page.<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/3-1.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-102920\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/3-1.jpeg\" width=\"600\" height=\"643\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/4.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102921\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/4.jpeg\" alt=\"4\" width=\"600\" height=\"623\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>More than once we agreed on a perfect composition, only to lose it to the dragging suction of static electricity.<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/5-1.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102922\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/5-1.jpeg\" alt=\"5\" width=\"600\" height=\"797\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>On the train this morning I was reading Maggie Nelson\u2019s <em>Bluets <\/em>as I thought about lists: how things come together, how they contain other worlds. Nelson mentioned Sei Sho\u0304nagon, whose \u201cNotes of the Pillow\u201d is a list of lists. Nelson describes a few, but my mind has already gone back to <em>Sans Soleil<\/em>, a film that makes much of Sho\u0304nagon\u2019s <em>List of Things that Quicken the Heart<\/em>, a film that I once absurdly thought of as mine.<\/p>\n<p>That\u2019s how lists work.\u2028They transfer ownership, so easily.<\/p>\n<p>We watched the movie that Saturday. So beautiful, you wished it was on a loop. A looping list of images, I thought, imagining a relationship that moved in concentricity around moored works of art.<\/p>\n<p>I later wondered if a list can consist of one. Is it, by definition, a collaboration?<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/6-1.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102923\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/6-1.jpeg\" alt=\"6\" width=\"600\" height=\"794\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/7.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102924\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/7.jpg\" alt=\"7\" width=\"600\" height=\"622\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>Barely a word, since the aspirated <em>\u2013ist <\/em>sounds more like someone is opening a window than speaking, <em>list <\/em>comes from the old French <em>liste<\/em>: a border, band, row, group. It also meant a strip of paper. So the list is both formal logic and form itself.<\/p>\n<p>To list (like the boat in that picture above your dresser) is to tilt, lean, especially of a ship, circa 1880. In the 1620s, <em>to list <\/em>meant to lust. Origins of this usage are unknown, though perhaps it comes from an obscure spelling variant of the Middle English <em>listen <\/em>(to please, desire, wish, like).<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/8.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102925\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/8.jpeg\" alt=\"8\" width=\"600\" height=\"735\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/9.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102926\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/9.jpeg\" alt=\"9\" width=\"600\" height=\"837\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/10-1.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102927\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/10-1.jpeg\" alt=\"10\" width=\"600\" height=\"864\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>To lean is to list and to list is to lust. To topple toward. What do you want?<\/p>\n<p>I want to come to terms with the feeling that we were one, and now, once having identified the other, have become two. I want to wade upstream through the tributaries of creative differentiation in search of a pool of deep impulse that will later be defined, by different banks, as painting and writing. I want what I can\u2019t have.<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/11.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102928\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/11.jpeg\" alt=\"11\" width=\"601\" height=\"856\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/12.jpeg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter  wp-image-102929\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/12.jpeg\" alt=\"12\" width=\"602\" height=\"783\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p><em>Margaux Ogden is a Brooklyn-based painter.<\/em><br \/>\u00a0<br \/><em>Hunter Braithwaite lives in Brooklyn. He was the founding editor of <\/em>The Miami Rail<em>. His writing has appeared in <\/em>Art in America<em>, <\/em>Art News<em>, <\/em>Artforum<em>, and <\/em>Bomb<em>, among others.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The below is excerpted from\u00a0Flooded Penthouse,\u00a0a book\u00a0by the painter\u00a0Margaux Ogden and the writer Hunter Braithwaite, launched to commemorate Ogden\u2019s new exhibition at Puerto Rico\u2019s Embajada, a gallery in a former sex-toy shop. The show, \u201cNothing Had Yet Been Sacrificed,\u201d\u00a0takes\u00a0its title from Luc Sante\u2019s line about the young Bob Dylan\u2014\u201cEverything seemed possible then; no options had [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1064,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[35,14258,24667,76,7021,67,21624,11982,24666,21954,15016],"class_list":["post-102914","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture","tag-art","tag-collaboration","tag-fragments","tag-lists","tag-notes","tag-painting","tag-pockets","tag-pulp","tag-scraps","tag-transparency","tag-watercolors"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Flooded Penthouse<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"An excerpt from a book by Hunter Braithwaite and Margaux Ogden.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/09\/21\/flooded-penthouse\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Flooded Penthouse by Margaux Ogden &amp; 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