Providence Perfume Co Ivy Tower: fragrance review

"Wow, this smells like…I've never smells anything like this" or "This doesn't smell like Dolce & Gabban's Light Blue. What do you have that smells like what I usually wear?"are a couple of the whispered comments of customers at the brick & mortar store of Providence Perfume Co, at Providence, RI 02903. I have recently written on the Aesthetic Principle which, like the pleasure principle, should, I believe, lead our choices on fragrances in an increasingly rationed world. And thus I find it pertinent that my review of Ivy Tower should follow it. Here is a green floral that is beautiful, delicate, different and missing the "herbal" component of some all naturals, which to echo its perfumer "doesn't smell like Light Blue and I'm OK with that."

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Green fragrances are a difficult bunch to render in all natural essences, mainly because the green-smelling materials fall into two groups which each possesses one stumbling block: the natural elements, such as galbanum resin, are either very hard to dose in a composition of all naturals without overpowering the blend (Chanel No.19 and Jacomo Silences are not  perfumes for wussies!) or else are so subtle that they vanish quickly, such as the cucumber-tea note of mimosa blossom.; the more convincing synthetic materials such as cis-3 hexenol with its cut-grass feeling, Ligustral (snapped leaves) and Lilial with its green lily of the valley aura are of course off grounds for a natural perfumer.

Chanel No.19 Poudre tried to reconcile the green monster with the emerald-hued polished nails with the grassy rolling waif in gauzy whites and it presents a modern "temperate" effort that is valiant, if a bit tamed, for the lovers of the original Chanel icon that inspired it. I don't recall many other contemporary fragrances in the delicate greens genre that truly made it (A Scent by Issey Miyake though quite good never met with the success it deserved, Bvlgari's Omnia Green Jade is sorta too tame for its own good), excluding the niche scene for obvious reasons.

So Charna Ethier exhibits skill in rendering a rustic rained upon scene from somewhere north; like a secluded private garden in York, in North Yorkshire, I had once visited, all rainy soaked paths and ivy climbing on stone-walls retaining the rain drops and reflecting them like giant water bubbles that make your bones chill a bit even in the dead of summer. The fragrance of Ivy Tower like those bubbles takes on shades of green, blue, and gentle lilac, depending on where it hits on a warm, blood-pulsing vein and hovers there for a while in the confluence of watery sprites and drowning Ophelias. Eventually it takes on a more customary jasmine, lilies and woodsy notes path, but the journey up to there is dreamy enough to make a heart melt a bit.

Ivy Tower  (green) is part of a new collection of natural perfume oils by all naturals perfumer Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co, whose Samarinda has been reviewed on these pages before. The rest of the collection includes Rose 802 (pink), Orange Blossom Honey (orange), Summer Yuzu(yellow), Sweet Jasmine Brown (blue) and Violet Beauregarde (violet). The oils are color coded, which is supremely practical when sampling. The choice of an oil format (admittedly not one of my strong suits as I usually like the abundance effect that an alcohol based format allows) stems from the customer base: people blending essences at Providence's popular perfume bar, citing a desire for portability and longevity. 

The given notes for Ivy Tower by Providence Perfume Co are: jonquil, mimosa, geranium, jasmine, narcissus, blue tansy, lily, sandalwood. Info and purchase at www.providenceperfume.com

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer for reviewing purposes. 

The Aesthetic Principle

When you use a synthetic raw material,” said [Thierry] Wasser, [perfumer at Guerlain] “if you know what you're doing you never, but absolutely never use it as a 'substitute' for some natural product. The synthetic is there to be itself—which by the way is something no natural material can be. People need to understand that we design our scents to be specific works.” […]“A work of scent is utterly unnatural,” said Wasser. “Samsara has nothing to do with ‘natural.’ Nature never would or could put it together, but it’s difficult for those people obsessed with ‘natural’—whatever that means—to understand that these synthetics smell like these synthetics and that we use them because they smell like these synthetics."

Vanitas series by Guido Mocafico, 2007 via parenthetically blog

The above comes (brought to my attention by Smedley, an online friend) from a snippet author Chandler Burr included in his reveal of the S02E05 Untitled Series, a project that asks people to smell perfume "blind", i.e. shed of any extraneous marketing or preconceived notions.

The problem is that the movement for "green" living specifically in regard to perfume, championing "less chemicals in our products", relies by its own nature (pun intended) on panic, herd mentality and pseudoscience. A similar streak runs through the anti-vaccination zealots or in people who believe rice crackers and an apple are more nutrient-rich & healthier than a plate of eggs & bacon. Just because something has been vilified in the press or "everyone says so" isn't enough proof to stand scientific scrutiny. But there you go: The hysterics on "green", "vegan", "organic" and "healthier" rely on the gullibility of people who aren't scientists and typically get intensely bored by scientific data or who are convinced Big Pharma is hiding beyond everything. No wonder few among them end up scrutinizing the facts, thus allowing "green marketing"* to get conflated with pseudo-science perpetuating inaccuracies online and in the press.

[*I had a discussion over cocktails with the president of local L'Oreal branch a few years back. He told me "Green is big now, so we promote green". It's L'Oreal, folks!]

It's tempting and easy on the ear to romanticize about "the aromatherapeutic effects of lavender" in your fabric softener and have watchdogs decide whether that should be so or not. In reality, the product you add in your machine's rinse cycle already doesn't contain one drop of real lavender oil. The mere name is a misnomer: lavender "this" and lavender "that" is usually no lavender at all, but a blend of vanilla and musks. That's because this is what people respond well to, according to an old study, its findings based on focus groups, conducted by a huge household cleaning products company. Even Guerlain's iconic Jicky is smart to buttress its own lavender with musk and civet.

Natural (a term that is incredibly difficult to define, since everything is man-treated in some form or other if to be used) is considered better because grown among urbanites sick & tired by the emptiness of a sterilized  existence it implies a "holier than thou" stance of being both informed (wrong, as we have proved) and considerate (wrong again, because relying on faulty proof and twisted medical terms). This desire "to avoid unnecessary chemicals" has greatly harmed the artistic merit and the solid reputation of the all naturals movement.

Perfumers dabbling in all naturals have been quick to sense that and you won't catch the indie & artisanal crowd that I frequently feature on my pages making bogus claims that their wares are better because they're "healthier" or "safer". Instead they propound their artistic integrity operating on a cottage industry level and their independence relying on no one's external funding and not answering to any board of directors. (To bring an analogy: now that Le Labo has been bought off by the Estee Lauder Group how much of their personal touch can survive? Little, judging by the Jo  Malone fragrance brand). More importantly they make their stance that they appreciate natural essences (and natural isolates in some cases, a very welcome addition in my personal opinion) as an aesthetic choice and a bond with perfume's history. 

Neither are niche or luxury perfumes necessarily better (the inherent snobbism of which justifies the high prices asked, making niche & luxury the only sector to show growth in the industry) because they use "better" materials or "more naturals" in their formula.

Don't try to guess via the price. Price is a marketing choice, it's positioning that doesn't directly reflect the formula's cost.

Don't try to guess via the color of the juice either. Fragrances are invariably dyed and the dark, grapes-worthy purple color of your Serge Lutens perfume (Sarrasins?) might not come due to the ingredients, much like the lilac in Vera Wang Princess doesn't either.

Certain luxurious niche perfumes do not contain one iota of frankincense or myrrh, even though they are indeed labeled as "incense", or they don't include even one drop of real rose absolute despite the marketing or the name. This does not diminish them, they are what they are, they connote rather than denote, and perfumery is indeed a game of connotation, of semiotics, of illusion via allusion. "Art is a lie that makes us realize truth", in the words of Pablo Picasso.

Things do not necessarily have to prove themselves in a politically charged or a strictly eco-conscious context when it comes to fragrance in order to capture our attention and ultimately our hearts. They merely ask to be considered on their own aesthetic merits; to be judged by the aesthetic principle. Which is another way to say "the pleasure principle", or jouissance, to use a Lacanian term. And sadly, this is what has been depreciated in our contemporary culture.

Aftelier Perfume Palimpsest: fragrance review

I recall a particularly tough professor back in my University days demanded such hard-to-crack questions that one way to bypass embarrassment and speech impediments during the ordeal of the oral examination was to begin by defining what a thing wasn't supposed to be, the latter part of the definition implied to be known to both partners in the discussion at least.  Example: "Kintsugi has absolutely no relation to ikebana."  [ed.note all right, all right, apart from both being Japanese concepts, I mean].  This kind of "definition by negation" is sometimes useful to the fragrance writer because perfume descriptions are so very hard to do justice to in the first place. Palimpsest is one such case, not only because it has an indefinable quality of pure exquisiteness, but also because it is perfumer Mandy Aftel's very best.

Zil Hoque; Oil, 2009, "Palimpsest I"  via (recalling the horse in Salvador Dali's Tempation of St.Anthony) 

I can begin by saying that Aftelier Palimpsest is nothing like you'd expect an all naturals perfume to smell like; although I'm fond of the raw energy of some all naturals, there is a certain medicinal or vegetal quality that sometimes comes a bit too forcefully at first, which is probably the reason there is so much hesitation among perfume enthusiasts regarding this branch of perfumery art. One of the reasons for avoiding that might be that Mandy is using natural isolates for the first time in such a context, such as gamma dodecalactone (peachy, apricot-y) and phenylacetic acid (a honeyed note). They play out beautifully.
Another thing that I could negate is the official definition of a "fruity floral". Yes, the ripe peachiness is not unknown among fruity floral perfumes, but it's as far removed from the typical Barbie wannabe on the Sephora counter as could possibly be. With a name like Palimpsest I suppose one would expect it to deviate far and wide!

Palimpsest is a word I first came by when I was 15 and reading The Name of the Rose, the famous novel by Umberto Eco, "a palimpsest" as the author  introduced it. The cunning of the narrative technique relied on making the narrator retell a story that is based on an even earlier narration, lifted from an older manuscript and with extensive quotations from other books often in their turn referencing even older books. As Eco maintains throughout his opus in an intertextual turn of mind "books talk about other books" which is true enough in my, lesser than his, experience. All the tales are being woven into a "palimpsest", the old parchment scroll that bears writing over former writing that had been carefully scratched off to make room for new but is still vaguely visible beneath. In a similar manner perfumes talk about other perfumes and intertextuality in scent is a wonderful dialogue that I had occupied myself with breaking down a bit in the past.

via

Aftelier Palimpsest is one such perfume, taking inspirations from several points of departure and offering something new and coherent, recapitulating the history of perfumery, a given since it sprang from the research Aftel did for her book "Fragrant" out this October (you can order it on discount on this link), but being contemporary all the same! Midnight in the Garden of Eden; honeyed streams of lush florals (jasmine grandiflorum) with a sensuous and mysterious Lilith undercurrent of what I perceive as ambergris (a refined animalic perfume note), speak of a layered tapestry where one is hard pressed to see where one golden thread ends and another, in a slightly different hue, begins.

As Gaia, The Non Blonde, notes in her excellent review on the origins of the inspiration for Palimpsest:

"The gum of the Australian firetree (also known as Christmas tree), or by its official name, Nuytsia floribunda, is sweet and eaten raw by the ingenious people of Western Australia. It's not a common ingredient in perfumery (the only other one I know of was the limited edition Fire Tree by Australian brand Nomad Two Worlds, and I had a hard time warming up to its rawness). I never smelled the firetree as a raw ingredient, so it's hard for me to tell how much of what I smell in Palimpsest comes from it and what is pure imagination. But fantasy is a big part of the perfume joy, isn't it?"

My palette of raw materials, though rather extensive, is similarly limited in regards to this particular essence, so any opinion I might proffer on the adherence to the natural facets of the material would be illusory and misleading. Mandy herself mentions that firetree has rose and lilac facets with a milky undertone that the longer it develops the more it reveals smoky, oud-like, leathery tones. Talk about a multi-tasker! "It possesses an unearthly beauty which, ironically, arises from the soil", says fragrance connoisseur and fairy godmother to indies Ida Meister.
What I can say with certainty myself is that the golden incandescence of Aftelier Palimpsest has to be experienced first hand and quickly at that.

Aftelier Palimpsest comes as an eau de parfum (full bottle costs $170) and an extrait de parfum (same price). Samples of either retail at $6, while a mini of the pure parfum will set you back $50 on aftelier.com.

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial directly by the perfumer for reviewing purposes. 

Ayala Moriel Parfums Musk Malabi: fragrance review

Originally released to coincide with the spring equinox and Nowruz (the Persian New Year), the intoxicating floral confection Musk Malabi by Ayala Moriel is unabashedly feminine, subtly exotic and hopelessly romantic, evoking for the wearer a sensory experience not unlike a passionate love affair. Musk Malabi was inspired by and named after a traditional Middle Eastern dessert, malabi—a milk-based pudding or custard, thickened with rice flour, which israelikitchen.com describes as "You'll taste rose-flavored sweetness and a light, creamy texture that keeps you dipping your spoon back in till the Malabi's all gone". (Actually the artisan perfumer has a recipe for Malabi on her blog!).

via pinterest

The scent of Moriel's Musk Malabi is a rich, milky-smelling, lactonic musk with a lightly coolish top note, sweetly petering out to rosewater and orange flower water. The result is a succulent and sensual confection that can only be enjoyed in the context of one loving sheer, plush, sensuous scents meant to be shared between lovers; spoonful by spoonful, preferably as the final courting phase before other things happen or as an intimate refueling of energy… Although this description might tend to stigmatize a musk fragrance as being a tad too intimate for comfort (if you know what I mean), there is no such danger with Musk Malabi, because the succulence outweighs the usual funky scent of "musk". The fusion of vegetal sourced musk-smelling materials is an intricate but rewarding experience for the perfumer who ends up with a mix that alternates between warm and cool and complements perfectly with the milkier (like sandalwood inflected rose) and fluffier notes (imagine a downy soft note of orris and vanilla, even though I'm not sure orris is included in the official set of notes)

Having grown up in Israel, the sights, sounds, and smells of the Mediterranean have always been a source of inspiration for Canadian based indie perfumer Ayala Moriel. "What has always captured my imagination about malabi is its soft, evocative-sounding name, and its unique fragrant combination of rosewater and neroli water," explains Ayala. "Rose and orange blossom are such noble flowers yet oh so different."

Tunisian neroli and Turkish rose meet with musk in the heart of Musk Malabi, creating an unusual and mesmerizing triad. This botanical musk, designed to smell as close as possible to deer musk, brings an effortless fluidity to this magnetic fragrance, playing the role of Cupid in the fragrance and drawing the lovers (rose and neroli) together. There is also cardamom, coriander and blood orange on top.
As with all Ayala Moriel perfumes, Musk Malabi is all-natural and free of animal cruelty, created entirely of botanical essences. The top and heart notes of this sensual fragrance rest on a silky bed of atlas cedarwood, botanical musk and Tahitian vanilla.

Good deed bonus in purchasing: Ayala Moriel Parfums is donating 10% of sales to aid Syrian refugees.

Musk Malabi is available in eau de parfum 4 ml ($49) and 15 ml ($119) bottles on the official website of Ayala Moriel Parfums and the Vancouver Giving Gifts & Company.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scented Musketeers: musk fragrances reviews

Providence Perfume Samarinda: fragrance review

Samarinda was an unexpected surprise in my mailbox replete with an eco-benefit (more on which below) and it was a pleasant one which prompted this review. Independent perfumers come with the benefit of being able to both experiment with no concern of focus groups and with the passion that comes with doing what you believe you should do instead of what you know you should do in order to sell well. Not that artisanal perfumers are beyond the scope of a true business, if they have leaped off the amateur description concocting elixirs in their back kitchen, but you know what I mean; wouldn't you rather have someone disregard trends, likability stakes, IFRA restrictions and focus on what seems "like a good idea, let's try it out and see"? Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co. is one such.

Ethier is a botanical perfumer, working with natural essences and what I believe are extractions from materials not common in mainstream (and even niche) perfumery, such as choya nakh, a roasted seashell  essence which is truly unique and which I personally find captivating thanks to its evocation of the animalic marine world. Samarinda is using this essence, alongside many others which initially seem incongruous (the above mentioned choya nakh side by side with Sumatran coffee alongside jasmine rice, oakwood, leather, rum ether and flowers), but the blend is quite astonishingly tempered and uplifting. The cardamom note on top is so fitting to coffee that it transports me instantly to a warm morning sipping a demitasse in a middle-eastern setting. But there's further along the map that this perfume can take us…

The sweetish floriental has a delectable boozy (richly rum-like for armchair travelers on the high seas seeking pearls in oysters down the depths of the Indian Ocean) and a lightly smoky vibe which engulfs you with none of the intensely floral  -and then magically dissipating- pong of some all natural perfumes. Maybe the choice to do an orientalized take on Indonesia, as Samarinda aimed to do, is a wise choice olfactory-speaking, or maybe Ethier came up with just the right balance in her palette; the result is that Samarinda is a joy to wear on skin from the lightly spicy, juicy opening with its vanillic underpinning right down to the  smoky-warm woods of the drydown. It's certainly smelling better than actual Indonesia with its yeasty trail in the air.

And what's the eco-benefit? 5% of all sales of Samarinda will be donated to the World Wildlife Fund to promote the protection efforts in Borneo and Sumatra, home of hundreds of endangered rhinos, tigers, elephants and orangutans and thousands of identified and as yet unidentified plants.

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial by the perfumer directly. 

Hiram Green Moon Bloom: fragrance review

Hiram Green is no newcomer to perfume, though his site would suggest otherwise, touting Moon Bloom as their "debut fragrance". Simply, this is a new outfit for someone involved in the field for long through Scent Systems, who has relocated and conducts a new brand stationed at The Netherlands using all natural ingredients. Now under his own name, he embarked on a new adventure which, by the sniffs of Moon Bloom, smells promising.

via landscapeandgarden.wordpress.com

Moon Bloom is a lush and elegant tuberose themed eau de parfum. Tuberose is a tropical night blooming flower. Often referred to as ‘the mistress of the night’, tuberose is an admired theme in perfumery because of its soft and creamy but also powerful and narcotic aroma. It's enough to know that in Victorian times maidens were prohibited from smelling the rather waxy, small white flowers lest they experience a spontaneous orgasm; such was the reputation of this heady flower! The name does bring to mind the Victorian Moon Gardens, gardens in which night-blossoming white flowers were planted so that the sun-wary ladies could protect their alabaster complexions from the ravages of the sun in the absence of SPF 50+. (Of course the term "ravages of the sun" is all relative, speaking of the latitudes and longitudes that constituted the Victorian territories, but you get my meaning. Besides is it me, or does the silvery sheen of the moon seem very conductive to secret affairs leading to orgasmic heights despite the precautions placed by the wiser elders?).

Moon Bloom includes generous amounts of tuberose absolute, jasmine absolute and ylang ylang, but it doesn't clobber you over the head with them all the same, like many hysterical florals do. There are also notes of creamy coconut, leafy greens and hints of tropical spices and resins (plus a hint of vanilla?) which smother the floral notes and produce something that is soft and strangely fresh, like the air of a greenhouse.

The natural perfumery genre isn't devoid of wearable and beautiful specimens; it just takes a superior critical judgment, a steady hand and the aesthetics to forget photo realism and instead try for something that is imaginative and beautiful in its own right. I'm willing to make an exception on that last requirement, because Moon Bloom smells at once life-like and at the same time like it was made with stylish panache and not just slavishly copying Mother Nature. The coconut-lacing of real tuberose and its subtle green-rubbery facets are captured in a polished melange which is both pretty and revealing of the course of the blossom through the fabric of time: from greener to lusher to ripe. Tube-phobes (and I know there are many of you out there, don't hide!) should drop their coyness and indulge. Moon Bloom is a purring kitten, if there ever was one.

Both the 50ml bottle (with classic pump atomiser) and the 5ml travel atomiser are refillable. 5ml retails for 25 euros and 50 mail will run you out of 135 euros on the Hiram Green site (Please note that non EU buyers are exempt from sales tax, so calculate 20% less or so.

Disclosure: I was a sample by the perfumer. 

Roxana Illuminated Perfume Figure 1: Noir : Fragrance Review

The darkness of the night descends on the village, its tall chimneys and church bell tops eclipsed by the long shadows cast by primordial spirits, by wraiths, the flashes of strange illuminations marshaling the nighttime sky like snuffed pyrotechnics. The earth below, seemingly barren, hides in its gut an untrammeled secret, a secret with long tentacles creeping beneath soil and rock.



This Figure 1: Noir, this study on the inherent darkness of patchouli essence and of unusual herbal aromatics has an intoxicating effect, the murmur of perverse sweetness traveling on the wavelength of a morbid longing. What is it that makes these chthonian vibes rebound in one's heart of hearts? What is this calling, this piper who promises a golden lair and the forests echoing with laughter? There are things which we do not speak of. There are emotions we cannot put into a defined shape, marking the outline separating inner from outer world. Similarly, Figure 1: Noir sparked that eternally unfulfilled curiosity, that desire to capture the uncapturable, swirls of low earth rising for the skies, flesh vying to become spirit.

Figure 1: Noir is an intriguing all naturals perfume oddity, deep and resinous with a loamy plume of botanical musk featuring harmonious notes of patchouli, green vetiver, Mysore sandalwood, orris and valerian juxtaposed with the pungent tartness of buchu leaf, black cumin, green cognac and davana. The effect is as intimate and universal as human skin with an unsettling wild animalic shadow.

Available by Roxana Illuminated Perfume at Etsy in both liquid perfume and solid. (Image illustration by Greg Spalenka)

Roxana Illuminated Perfume Hedera Helix: fragrance review & draw

"I have to say that green is the only color I understand. I can really frame it; I know how to work with it. I see other colors, and they feel alien. I cannot give you a rational explanation why."

This is what Alfonso Cuarón, film director and creator of the 1998 intelligently modernised remake of Dickens's Great Expectations has to say on his use of colour. The film is strategically orchestrated in green hues, from Finn's shirt to Estella's DKNY wardrobe to the artwork hanging on the Florida house walls and tiny details on Chris Cooper's rented tuxedo... He could have been channeling Roxana Villa, artisanal all naturals perfumer who excels in her green blends. Imagine how I felt when a green sample was awaiting for me in the mail!

One of the things that always makes a difference with artisanal perfumers is presentation: Beyond the superficial, there's just something adorable about being presented with a nicely put together sample with a handwritten note. With Roxana Villa this gets elevated into an art form. Not only is her whole site and shop gorgeously art directed thanks to her unerring eye and her illustrator husband Greg Spalenka, she takes the time to prepare lovely ribbon-tied little packages with alchemical symbols and wax-stamps embossed with bees...a symbol which has inspired her to even tend her own hives! With an introduction like that, one is braced for the best.

Indeed Hedera Helix, Latin for English ivy, does not disappoint. A green chypre the way that genre should be, deep, emerald green, graceful, with delicious top accents of citrusy notes (it smells like a mix of pink grapefruit and orange blossoms to me) and crushed leaves (such as rhododendron, violet leaf absolute with its metallic accent and peach leaf absolute, softer and rounder), as well as that classic floral heart (rose-jasmine-pelargonium) which we tend to associate with elegant, classy, old-school perfumes that smell like perfume and not aromatherapy alloys. A warm combination of what smells like oakmoss and honeycomb is underpinning the perfume.

The viscous, inky liquid looks brownish-green in its tiny vial and upon unscrewing sheds a tentacle of climbing greeness in the room, expanding and radiating beautifully. The fragrance of Hedera Helix is nuanced, multi-layered, creating tension and a questioning adventure as each layer peels off and it's fit for "greens" lovers as well as those hankering after proper floral chypres with a grassy-leafy direction. Ivy is one of the sacred trees of the Celtic forest and part of the Tree Ogham which makes it a symbolic choice for the perfumer who dabbles in the apocrypha of the Celtic tradition. Perfect to usher in spring, as it conjures ivy twigs shining bright under the sun's rays while the insides are cool & crisp and home to more mysterious creatures.

It's indeed like a kiss on the water....

Hedera Helix began its life as a special commision in 2007, but it soon took wings and became more widely available. It's too lovely not to be shared among those of us who love greens.

One solid perfume for a lucky reader! Please leave a comment to enter the draw.
Draw remains open till Friday 23rd. 

Samples are available on Roxana's Etsy store.
In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample directly from the perfumer.

Maria Candida Gentile Exultat: fragrance review

Exultat by Italian perfumer Maria Candida Gentile is touching on both the contrast and the accomodating orifices between citrus and sacerdotal frankincense. The latter naturally possesses citrusy facets on top, making the combination register as an increase in tonality for a few minutes, an effect also explored in Etro's Shaal Nur. The ecclesiastical connotation of resinous frankincense (olibanum) couldn't go amiss: The story goes that signora Gentile was inspired by a visit to the church of Saint Lorence in Lucina during the hour of Vespers.

But in Exultat the hesperidic top note soon dissipates to give way to a very detectable and unusual in such a context violet leaf note; silvery, quiet and crepuscular, like linen purified in a wash of ashes and countryside lavender. This technique mollifies the natural smokiness of frankincense, rendering it purer, subtler and very wearable with the soft feel of Grey Flannel. We might have been conditioned to regard frankincense fragrances as reclusive, monastic and intellectualized, but here is proof they can be wordly, human and smiling as well, which is a feat in itself.


Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Exultat:
top: lime, bitter orange, orange and olibanum;
middle: powdery violet and fresh violet leaf;
base: woodsy notes, vetiver and virginia cedar.

photo by Sarah Rose Smiley

Maria Candida Gentile Cinabre: fragrance review

Much like Sophia Loren's is a spicy, fiery beauty that defies mere prettiness in favor of exquisite lines, panoramic vistas and hypnotic eyes, Cinabre by Maria Candide Gentile, a force to reckon with, is the type of Italian fragrance I love to love. There's just no way around it; this is a romantic, sexy rose perfume to turn even rose-dubious hearts fire-engine-red with desire!

Cinabre tricks one into thinking it is a cinnamon amber composition and even though there is the intense spice element present and the warmth of ambery resins indeed, one would be mistaken to view it so. Cinabre is a big, honking spicy rose the size of a house and gorgeous for it! Proper Italian fragrances have a sort of lived-in coziness, sunny and outgoing like their compatriots, appearing from a distance less distingué than an aloof French, but at heart they reveal an intricate, complex structure that can be even superior than their neighbour's.

The initial top note in Cinabre is intensely spicy in a peppery way, short and hot, and soon cooled by the more sophisticated touch of ginger (these are clearly sequential stages, pay attention and watch them deliciously unfold, as signora Gentile weaves them artfully into the plot). The rose is lush, all out, sensuous, a deep red rose that accompanies erotic messages delivered under the cloak of night. This sexy rose blend is no accident: it blends essences of many varieties, Moroccan Splendens, May rose absolute with vanilla and myrrh into an embrace that is strong, but a little dangerous at the same time. The resinous elements bring out an orientalized effect to the rose, eschewing the powdery or pot-pourri associations one might have with the rose flower.

This is a fragrance built italianate style, with corbels at every projecting eave and belvedere to calmly show off exquisite ingredients put to artful use. Bravissima, signora Gentile!

Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Cinabre
top: ginger and pepper
middle: opulent rose accord
base: opoponax, benzoin and vanilla.

pic of Sophia Loren via MaryLou.Cinnamon

Maria Candida Gentile Hanbury: fragrance review

The mouillettes by Maria Candida Gentile have been lying on my desk for several weeks now, aromatizing the air with their delicious mélange, making me nostalgise about the mystical splendor of wintertime Venice. They all speak in mellifluous voices that you really want to follow into the echoing cobblestone alleyways, over the silent canals. Hanbury, arguably the most immediately feminine among the niche line, presented with no sex barriers, exudes the uniques of Calycanthus praecox, one of the few flowers in blossom during winter time in the North of Italy. (Indeed its other name Chimonanthus literally means "winter flower" in Greek)

Honeyed, rich, with an intimacy that is reminiscent of early childhood games discovering one's sensuality, due to mimosa's sweet muskiness, it nevertheless stands a little apart from both other calycanthus fragrances (Santa Maria Novella, Acca Kappa) or cassie ones (Une Fleur de Cassie, Farnesiana). Hanbury is its own thing, a staggering vista of a Mediterranean garden; sweetly citrusy on top, lushly floral and nectarous in the heart, wonderfully understated and elegant in its base.

The name of the fragrance derives from The Hanbury Villa in the northern Italy city of Ventimiglia, which lies by the blue sea that has seen pirates and sailors crossing it for millenia. As if it smiled through it all, its garden grows beautiful mimosas that scatter the landscape with yellow pop-pops of joy at the drawing of each winter into spring. The charming Dorothy Hanbury still gathers the flowers for precious essences production.

Signora Gentile uses a very high ratio of natural essences as a perfumer, no doubt thanks to her Grasse training which coaxes perfumers into appreciating the palette of superb materials produced there. These are vibrant, quality materials which bring on what the human nose can only recognize as richness, opulence, lushness and this is evident in her whole line, from the balmy woody amber of Sideris, to the spicy decadent rose of Cinabre all the way to the light-hearted vagabond heart with leathery nuances of Barry Linton, inspired by Thakeray's character. These fragrances shimmer and present rounded, masterful portraits, as if lighted from within.

The intensely femme blend of Hanbury, poised on mimosa and calycanthus, is taking honeyed facets, with a sprinkling of sweet hesperidic top notes and a tiny caramelic note, softly balsamic, kept in check by the deliriously happy, clean essence of neroli. Hanbury keeps the floral element into a lightly musky sostenuto, which persists for a very long time on the skin; almost as long as a Med garden is in bloom.

Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Hanbury:
top: lime, bitter orange and orange
middle: mimosa and white honey
base: musk and benzoin

M.C.G. besides her fine fragrances sold at her online shop is the creator of some really exclusive and rare fragrances. Among them the Pinede des Princes for princess Caroline of Monaco; the La Posta Vecchia signature fragrance for one of the oldest and most acclaimed hotels in Italy; Satine, a custom blend for the yacht of Tarak Ben Ammar (first president of free Tunisia) and a custom fragrance for the Eco del Mare resort.

pic via hortusitalicus.blogspot.com

JoAnne Bassett Enchant Parfum: a Brave New Scent review

When autumn and winter weather takes its toll, there is a not so perverse pleasure into getting out the lush florals and the green scents from behind the screen and the books, and in pretending it's late spring all over again. In that frame of mind I spent this past weekend re-testing Enchant Parfum by all-naturals artisanal perfumer JoAnne Bassett.

Enchant was part of the Brave New Scents Project of the Natural Perfumers Guild, which we tackled here on Perfume Shrine a while ago. The perfumer claims to have composed this in a sort of epiphany, or rather "the poetry guided me into what to choose" (A.Huxley was the inspiration behind the project), but I think composing a fragrance with such contrasting notes takes more than just random luck. The happy scent of Enchant reminds me of JoAnne's favourite quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “ Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour on others without getting a few drops on yourself. ”. It's no wonder she's residing at Cardiff by the Sea in California. The sunny skies and the lush surroundings around her can't but inspire an embracement of nature, even as she focuses on French-inspired scents with accompanying names recently, like Versailles, Madame Pompadour, Petit Trianon, Marie Antoinette, Josephine, Napoleon and Malmaison...

Enchant is full of zesty aromas, natural lavender with its camphoraceous top note, very lush rose and jasmine on a bed of hypnotic florals. It oscillates between a sweetish, liqueur-like character (thanks to both rose and davana) and woody camphor, which makes it...well, interesting! It's difficult to classify conventionaly, as I smell both herbal/aromatic and floriental elements in it at the same time; it's quite complex, though it's clear we're talking about a unified composition, not a thing that breaks apart on the blotter within minutes (the bane of several artisanal perfumes). Like I said, I get mostly the camphoraceous-spicy scents (basil, lavender, patchouli), the woody murky (lots of vetiver to my nose) and the floral (lots of rose coupling with pink pepper that compliments it, champaca which is sweeter and jasmine which is extra sweet). This collage gives an uplifting effect, optimistic, and I admit that I didn't expect lavender to give me such apositive reaction: usually I find it either too fake (more vanilla than lavender, as in many functional products or "soothing" products) or straight-out medicinal out of the straight essential oils aromatherapy shelf. Here it's neither, hallelujah!
JoAnne talks a lot about how she gave a spiritual twist by choosing the oils and essences that go into it, but I find Enchant Parfum smells good no matter if you're into getting yourself in a pretzel-shape and humming Ommmm as your mantra or not; it just works!

Enchant is parfum concentration (36% compound) and it shows in its projection and tenacity. The photo on top depicts a limited edition crystal blown flacon for the parfum; I absolutely adore this photo taken by JoAnne Bassett herself and the presentation (notice those tiny bubbles)!

Notes for Enchant Parfum by JoAnne Bassett:
Rose de Mai absolute – the May Rose, expensive and rare oud or agarwood, sandalwood, exotic and costly osmanthus, sacred champaca and holy basil, yuzu, orange esences, butter co2, musky ambrette seed, davana, pink pepper tree, and high altitude lavender, the green note of galbanum, sensual jasmine auriculatum, copaiba balsam, vanilla tincture, and the dark and rich ruh khus vetiver, and dark patchouli in an organic jojoba oil base.

According to the perfumer, the oils that correspond to the Huxley quote are:

I want God: holy basil, oud, champaca,
I want poetry: osmanthus,
I want danger: vetiver, patchouli,
I want freedom: orange essences, yuzu,
I want goodness: rose, jasmine,
I want sin: ambrette seed
  
For more info, please visit the JoAnne Bassett site. 
You can also visit her blogs: Aromatic Journeys and JoAnne Bassett

Top photo by JoAnne Bassett, used with permission. Bottom photo by Margot Carrera

Hermes by Lord's Jester: fragrance review of a Brave New Scent & giveaway

You might be incredulous to see the moniker referring to Aldous Huxley's novel twisted into a perfume review, but indie perfumer Adam Gottschalk of Lord's Jester participates in a blogathon of indie perfumers which we announced on these pages recently and his scent submission Hermes indeed defies classification.

For Hermes perfume, a vividly green (literally!) perfume, Gottschalk used one of the essences which I have always been fascinated by: green cognac. Produced from the wine precipitate known as "lees", from the plant vitis vinifera, cognac essence is a winey, dry, complex note.
The vividly mossy stain of the fragrance does not bely the scent itself: it's rather mossy and quite animalic all right; musty, tart, very dry and earthy, but with a floral depth opening soon, which allays some of the gloom and animalistic character of Africa stone. (Africa stone/hyraceum for those who don't know it yet is the petrified and rock-like excrement composed of both urine and feces excreted by the Cape Hyrax (Procavia capensis), commonly referred to as the Dassie. The material can be harvested by aroma material producers without harming the animal to render a note that unites some of the facets of castoreum, musk and oud. Quite intense!) Coupling the musty with the more hay-sweetish flouve absolute (rich in coumarin) produces a loaded combo that seems to hit you on the head at first, only to mellow soon after.
Lord Jester's Hermes tricks you into believing it is all about the base notes, but the lighter elements (a very perceptible and very lovely indolic jasmine note, plus citrus essences) are welcome leverage which rounds off the perfume. Too much animal can prove unwearable otherwise!
I have tested the fragrance from a spray vial and feel that it would be better suited to a dabbing from a splash bottle instead, to smoothen the initial blast; the rest of the composition blooms wonderfully without assistance even on a mouillette, usually not the perfect medium for all natural perfumes.

The perfumer used in order from greatest concentration to least these "wild" essences for his fragrance "notes":

for the base:
green cognac
linden blossom absolute in 30% fractionated coconut oil
flouve absolute
ambrette absolute
Africa stone

for the heart:
araucaria
rosa bourbonia
boronia
jasmine auriculatum
jasmine sambac

for the top:
linden blossom essential oil
orange essence
lime essence
tagetes

Pretty rare, huh? Indeed Gottschalk clarifies in a blog post how suddenly two of his chosen essences are becoming rarer and rarer; namely rosa bourbonia and jasmine auriculatum. Harvesting materials which are unavailable to the masses and the Big Boys (big aroma producing companies) however is at the heart of small artisanal perfumers, isn't it? In that regard, you won't be disappointed: There's inherent rarity factor in Hermes and I hope Adam finds a way to procure supply of these two rare aromatics. 
Hermes by Lord's Jester is an 15% concentrated Eau de Parfum and is quite decently lasting for an all naturals perfume.
We have a perfume giveaway for our readers (a 10ml/0.4oz) mini of Hermes, so please post a comment if you want to be eligible!  (NB.Perfumer sends prize directly to winner)

Sample provided by perfumer as part of the project. Photo found via AnyaMcCoy's tweets.