Cimabue by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz (Parfums des Beaux Arts): fragrance review

From the effulgent Byzantine mosaics of Ravenna as seen in the warm light of noon to the incadescent Scrovegni Chapel frescoes by Giotto in Padua during the cool silence of a winter afternoon, Italian art is infused with the resplendent light of the South which never fails to draw a beatific expression out of me. That golden light has been captured in a fragrance called Cimabue by independent niche perfumer Dawn Spencer Hurwitz. Cenni di Pepo (Giovanni) Cimabue (c. 1240 — c. 1302) was the artist to bridge the opulence of Byzantium with the insight, knowledge and brilliance of the Renaissance and counted Giotto among his students. Cimabue, the fragrance, is characterised by Dawn as "my Saffron note étude" but it provides a porthole into her greater agilité in various techniques. It's no coincidence that Dawn began her career as a painter progressing to work at Boston's famed ESSENSE Perfumery and imbuing her perfumes with fine art principles (texture, color, line, light, shape, and expression) in her own line, Parfums des Beaux Arts, LLC.

Cimabue (pronounced chim-a-boo-way, according to Dawn) had first come to my attention through a perfume enthusiast and online friend who sent me a sample some time ago. I recall I was favourably impressed and left it at that. But now that the Saffron Series has caught up with me, what better time to revisit and explore the intricasies that weave throughout its composition?
Cimabue materialized out of love: the love of a perfumer to her clients. When a lover of Safran Troublant sent a request to Dawn to make something comparable, Dawn set out to create Cimabue. Yet Cimabue is not a rip off Safran Troublant, but rather a spicier, richer, enigmatic interpretation that spans the spectrum from honeyed floral to bittersweet spicy to luscious oriental much like the colours of those frescoes take on different shades depending on the light cast.

Cimabue begins on complex citrus , immediately flanked by unctuous saffron with the feel of aromatized olive oil for a creamy, starchy Carnaroli risotto. Although there are flowers' essences in the composition, none emerges prominently, instead undulating into layers that are folded in the spice mix. The smell of clove, cardamom and nutmeg slither when Cimabue takes on the skin, then the sandalwood, vanilla and sweet powder combine in a classic milky gourmand drydown that accounts for a very warm and pleasantly sweet ambience with average lasting power.
Cimabue should please spice lovers as well as gourmand lovers and will bring a little warmth in the depths of winter.

Dawn Spencer Hurwitz Cimabue notes:
Top: Bergamot, bitter orange, cardamom, clementine, Italian neroli, lemon, nutmeg
Middle: carnation absolute, cinnamon bark, clove bud, Egyptian Rose geranium, Grandiflorum jasmine, honey beeswax, Moroccan rose absolute, Mysore sandalwood, Saffron absolute, Tuberose absolute
Bottom: Ciste absolute, East Indian sandalwood, labdanum, oppopanax, Siam benzoin, Tahitian vanilla, Tamil Nadu sandalwood, vanilla absolute.

Cimabue is part of the more upscale collection Parfums des Beaux Arts (limited editions) and is available in various sizes: 0 .25 oz Eau de Parfum travel spray will set you back $27 while a limited edition flacon of extrait de parfum runs for $135 while a body butter and a foaming creame compliment the experience. Samples and sampler packs are also available on the DSH website.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: the Saffron Series

Painting of Madonna enthroned with the child, St Francis, St.Domenico and two Angels by Cimabue displayed in Galleria Uffici Florence courtesy of Christus Rex

Insolence Eau de Parfum by Guerlain: fragrance review and comparison

If the description "Godzilla floral" doesn't scare the horses, perhaps the addendum "Guerlain decided this thing should not even try to be classy and has embraced it as the most deliciously vulgar perfume on the market today" could. But before making hasty assumptions that the above words of Luca Turin are meant derogatorily (they're not), wait for it: Insolence in Eau de Parfum, much like the previous Eau de Toilette incarnation, is seriously good and reminiscent of the Guerlain lineage in all its violets glory. Even if it's wearing a lilac dress illuminated in neon, it doesn't brush shoulders with the highlighter pens of Gaultier's latest, Ma Dame. Which is a good thing.

Guerlain would want us to think it's "created for an eccentric and chic woman, who thrives for perfection". Insolence Eau de Parfum is certainly eccentric if eccentricity can be defined in etymological terms: έκκεντρος from which it derives means "out of center" in Greek. Insolence Eau de Parfum therefore arrives as a skewed, even more intense, intoxicating brew in a purple-coloured twin of the Serge Mansau dishes-in-the-kitchen-sink bottle for the Eau de Toilette, itself no shy violet! Maurice Roucel has been working on violets intently lately, masterminding the earthy intrigue of the unisex Dans tes Bras for Frédéric Malle, full of salicylates and Cashmeran to give diffusion and emollience to what would have been the harsh nail-polish remover and hairspray accord that he first used in the Eau de Toilette version of Insolence.
Violets, often married with roses, as in the embulient romantic Paris by Yves Saint Laurent, have provided the intriguing conspirator in perfumes of variable constituents and antithetical moods over the years: the feminine playfulness in tutus in Malle's Lipstick Rose and Drôle de Rose for L'artisan Parfumeur, the magical realism element in Alice in Wonderland by Konstantin Mihov's Parfums d'Imperfiction, or the astrigent leather and tweeds of Balmain's Jolie Madame. And in the case of the Guerlain house violets have been a sine qua non: from the brief inclusion in the cassie and heliotropin wonder Après L'Ondée to the delectable pastilles resting on amber in Guet Apens/Attrape Coeur and Vol de Nuit Évasion all the way to their makeup product Météorites; in turn lending its star-struck name to a violet-infused potion of limited edition that mimics that softly powdery feel of their pastel-coloured spheres of delight. When Insolence Eau de Toilette first came on the market a few years ago it had elements of the above and L'Heure Bleue (or Farnésiana?) as well, making me pronounce it the first step in the right direction for the Guerlain mainstream line in a long time.

For Insolence Eau de Parfum the composition is resting atop the familiar sweet violets with subtle iris accents and enough of the red fruits tartness of the previous Eau de Toilette to which Roucel allegedly added tuberose, orange blossoms and peppery greens. You would be hard pressed to seperate them however and there is a gourmand quality which according to Albert might hark all the way back to Angel. The initial impression is even sweeter and more powdery on top rather than at the base compared with the Eau de Toilette, linear and without the initial flou and Aqua-Net note of the latter, which I admit I was not opposed myself. Constrasted, the two come off as sisters, but with the younger being more sensual and exhibitionist, the older a little more neurotically appealing and with the powdery progression reversed. Both are fronted by Hillary Swank in the print ads.

Summarising the Eau de Parfum is more approachable if you're into big, loud, sweet florals, quite close to Météorites indeed, with a liquorice flavour woven into the body of the fragrance resulting in a sci-fi rococo. Exceptionally long lasting too, wittily compared to the half life of uranium, therefore judicious use with the spray is highly recommended.
Although it was another fragrance that has been tagged as "a violet hit by a meteorite" recently, Insolence Eau de Parfum gives me the impression it has been circling eccentric orbits around a black-hole-sun since forever.

The sizes and prices for Insolence Eau de Parfum start from 52 Euro for 30 ml, 75 Euro (50 ml) to 105 Euro (100 ml). Available in the US as well by the end of the year.

Guerlain Insolence editions include: Insolence EDT, Insolence EDP, My Insolence.

Pic of Insolence Eau de Parfum advertisement via Fragrantica

Guerlain Gourmand Coquin, Chypre Fatal, Oriental Brulant: fragrance reviews and musings

Like probably half the female population of the affluent West with about 40 minutes to kill on a winter's week evening ~nails filed at advertising breaks~ I used to watch the comedic escapades of four women on the verge of breakdown (which rarely resulted in stylistic mishaps) as they struted their proud frames along the avenues of Manhattan in Sex & the City.
In the last season's finale Carrie, the marginally emancipated singleton with a shoe fixation, abandonds her beloved New York for Paris to follow her Russian "lovah" who happens to be an artist. Eager to explore the mystique of Paris she dreams of drinking dark-roasts and smoking Gitanes where Sartre smoked, read under the trees in Boulevard Saint-Germain and live the life of a woman in love in the city of romanticism. In view of all that, she mysteriously doesn't go after perfumes (what??) or Lucien Pellat Finet but rather chooses to slip and fall on her face in the Dior boutique instead, which begs the question: do the French wax their marbles to a slippery shine? Ruining her shoes stepping into poo and having a young kid stick her tongue out at her are the reality checks of the god of small things. Suffice to say Paris doesn't really prove like she hoped it would be and in a Dorothy-out-of-Oz conclusion she retraces her path back to Mr.Big who "rescues" her and to the Big Apple.

Guerlain is like the emblematic Paris in the mind of a fragrance fanatic: if it's not good there, it can't be good anywhere. Or so we're led to think. And what do they do about that, you ask? Lately they often present us with the glowing facade of shinning marble to let us fall flat on our face on the disillusionment of shattered expectations with no poo note in there to soften the blow.

Their new trio Elixirs Charnels (Carnal Elixirs) in marshmallow shades have appeared on the horizon of exclusive ~aka expensive~ launches that have otherwise sane people salivating with the anticipation of exquisite rare pearls of non pareil spherical shape to realise that for all their pretty veneer they hide a somewhat lackluster core, chipped by nails that will handle them repeatedly. The idea of perfumer Christine Nagel and artistic director Sylvaine Delacourte of women choosing roles according to moods helps intrigue the consumer, subliminally hinting that they might serve variable purposes; which is exactly the good ole' concept of a "fragrance wardrobe". Nevertheless, although they pose as contrasting personae (the playful woman-child, the icy femme fatale of a Hitchcokian thriller or the hyper-hormoned bombshell that bursts at the seams) they more or less offer a similarly tame exposition of feminine pleasantry. Well-made technically and very approachable, they part ways with Guerlain's older classics being resolutely modern and instantly appealing. Are they sexy? Let's not forget Chris Sheldrake's quote: "In our industry, 'bedroom smell' means the sensuality of jasmine, a powdery, musky soft entity - something that makes the wearer comfortable - and with a comfortable smell that pleases. It means not too violet or too rose or too animalic or too mossy." Let's repeat: not too violet or too rose or...etc.

Gourmand Coquin reprises the caramellic tonalities of Spiritueuse Double Vanille with less depth, possibly with a burnt cotton-candy note more than anything else bringing it close to Aquolina's Pink Sugar and L'artisan's Vanilia. Sweet is as sweet does and I predict this fluffy confectionary pastry that has no bitterness of Valhrona chunks, but only milky lappings of ganache (but less than Iris Ganache) will become very popular.

Chypre Fatal is poised in the venerable cloak of chypre bearing the burden of fatality when the most it could do would be to slap you with the peeled skin of a peach. Not exactly in the mould of modern chypres à la Narciso Rodriguez (which Nagel co-authored) ~those are rather woodies with sanitized patcouli notes~ but not a classic chypre either, Chypre Fatal takes fruitiness into the realm of a clean, if unexciting, musky scent that can be effortlessly worn by even the most meak. This kitten purrs rather than hisses.

Oriental Brûlant is the one closer to the orientalia tradition of Guerlain, if only because it contains that ambery powdery Woofer surround that is the trademark of a recognisably erotic fragrance, in which the French house has excelled for so long. It also manages to smell at once comforting and confident with its hazy almondy tonalities and a silken thread of cool that ties it to Ambra del Nepal by I Profumi di Firenze and Ambre Fétiche by Goutal, as well as the attractive interplay between cool and warm facets of Sonia Rykiel Women- not for men! Oriental Brûlant might not be terribly innovative, but it's quite fetching! Try to forget the advertising scenario and picture it as a personal amulet on days of torpor.

Ultimately, Guerlain's Carnal Elixirs, much like that season finale showed, prove that not everything is as you expect it. And in the end, that's "Abso-fuckin'-lutely" OK.

Official notes:
Gourmand Coquin notes: black pepper, rose, rum, chocolate.
Chypre Fatal notes: white peach, rose, patchouli, vanilla.
Oriental Brûlant notes: clementine, almond, tonka beans, vanilla.

Guerlain Carnal Elixirs are currently available in Eau de Parfum oblong bottles of 75 ml at 165 € via La Maison Guerlain, 68 Avenue des Champs-Elysées, Paris or Begdrof Goodman in New York.

Pic of Sarah Jessica Parker courtesy of HBO. Bottle pics via Le critique du parfum.

When Magic is not Enough ~L'instant Magic by Guerlain: fragrance review

A caress of flowers and woods… That's how L'instant Magic , a flanker to the original L'instant by Maurice Roucel for Guerlain, was introduced to the public last September. The anticipation was mostly accountable to its being a new Guerlain for the mainstream distribution as opposed to their exclusive boutique scents; a challenging feat. Yet the resulting pastiche leaves something to be desired, highligting the all too painful division between both the glorious delicacy of yesteryear such as Chant d'Arômes but also the brave stance of modern additions such as Insolence.

"After a bergamot opening, the fragrance unveils a musky-floral heart with fresh notes of rose and freesia. The white-musk dry-down worked into a ‘muscinade’ (a wink and a nod to the famous Guerlinade) is warmed up with woods and a touch of almond."
Designed by Randa Hammami of Symrise, in collaboration with Sylvaine Delacourte, artistic director at Guerlain, L'instant Magic launched in September 2007. I had resisted reviewing it for months, because I was hoping that I was oblivious to some hidden charm that would reveal itself to me in a flash of apocalyptic glory when I was least expecting it.
However, with the apostasis of several months and numerous trials, I can safely say that it didn't live up to my expectations. Not to mention that the linguistically schizophrenic name irritates me (shouldn't it have been "Magique" since the rest of it is French?)

The fragrance itself fails to capture me aesthetically, but also on a cerebral level: if one wants an almond gourmand ~as surmised by the marzipan paste detectable after the initial burst of Earl Grey tonalities in L'instant Magic~ one needs to see no further than Hypnotic Poison with its dare and sexy attitude; if one seeks a feminine musky floral with a "clean" feel , then Hammami's Cruel Gardenia is so much better; if the pursuit is instead focused on a smooth woody fragrance for women, then Flower Oriental by Kenzo fits the bill with less pretence and more conviction. L'instant Magic tries to be too many things at once, failing to bring a coherence of vision.
The overall effect is startingly un-Guerlain-like with a sweet, rotten fruits vibe which seems so fashionable right now; but whereas the original L'instant by Roucel ~more or less also separated from the Guerlain tradition~ managed to be nuzzlingly pleasant and addictive to its fans, L'instant Magic is a departure to a destination best forgotten where magic has escaped like a djin who left the bottle long ago.

The bottle reinterprets the curves of the original L’Instant, but the base of the bottle and the surface of the cap are black.
The commercial was directed by Jean Bocheux, featuring rather indecently-clad model Michelle Buswell ascending what seems like a never-ending staircase to who knows where and who cares anyway.



L'instant Magic comes in Eau de Parfum 80ml/2.7oz, 50ml/1.7oz and 30ml/1 fl. oz.; Extrait de parfum bottle 7.5ml/¼ fl.oz, Magical Body Lotion 6.8 fl. oz, Magical Shower Gel 6.8 fl. oz.
Available from major department stores.

Ad pic courtesy of Fragrantica. Clip originally uploaded by MollyPepper1 on Youtube

Tale of two irises (Prada Infusion d'iris and Guerlain Iris Ganache)

Like Charles Dickens knew so well, there is some charm in correlating different things and finding respective affinities. After all one would devoutly wish for an interaction between entities in the universe; a sense of belonging, of not being cut out. Dissimilar things can resemble each other in some ways while their contrast is piquant and intriguing. Such is the case with two iris perfumes that came out recently: Iris Ganache by Guerlain, their 5th scent in the exclusive L’Art et la Matière exclsuive boutique line and Prada Infusion d'iris, a new feminine scent from the italian leather and fashion company.

Guerlain tells us that this new scent is

"Un beurre d’iris travaillé comme une ganache en pâtisserie"

which roughly translates as "iris butter worked like patissery ganache".
Ganache is a sort of chocolate cream that is thick and smooth, more solid than liquid. One would assume that we are dealing with a gourmand iris and that one would not be far off.

Iris/Orris is the rhizome of a beautiful flower, mystical, subtle and discreetly melancholic, encompassing dusty, powdery and mineral qualities. The essence of a fairy that is about to die in a puff of her delicate wings. In Iris Ganache that delicate fairy is munching meringues and feeling quite well, thank you very much. Perfumer Thierry Wasser (aided by artistic director Sylvaine Delacourte) managed to marry opposites creating something that is decidedly not as audacious as it first sounds, but rather a fluffy concoction that has a tinge of violets, quite like those sweet ones surfacing in Guerlain's more commercial scent Insolence. The feel of the violet is delectable, with a tinge of milky kid's chocolate drink, a direction that was explored in one of the limited edition versions of Oscar de la Renta's, namely Oscar Violet. There, again, the unmistakable dusting of sweetened Nesquik is painting the picture in foody terms. One might even think of the light orientalised theme of last year's Ange ou Démon by Givenchy. Suffice to say that this reminiscence does not great originality make for Iris Ganache...

The opening on bergamot and cinnamon is abstract and not as spicy as that in Musc Ravageur by F.Malle, although I am sure they were aiming for something sexy in that direction.
However, this is what makes it approachable despite the "difficult" for many note of iris. If we are to take Dickens's approach to the fore, Iris Ganache is decidedly French, representing Paris, all cafés and bistros; not Café Flore with its existential milieu of Sartre and Beauvoir, animately drawing puffs from their dark cigarettes that the French love so much. This is rather a bourgeois salon de thé, where the guests are sporting pouffy chiffon blouses that caress bodies prone to sensuality thanks to the ambery fond and the musk that embrace the white chocolate. This is the less cerebral and intellectual side of Paris as befits a house that was infamously producing scents for cocottes.

Prada Infusion d'iris on the other hand is more London-like, less indulgent, much less gourmet: all wet pavement and airy notes of a steely sky that sustain themselves on a very slight vanillic base that comes from benzoin. Poised between the crystalline opening of Iris Nobile by Aqua di Parma, a fresh breath of citrusy sensuality, and the earthy yet light depths of Olivia Giacobetti's Hiris for Hermes, Infusion d'iris is the equivalent of a metallic-hued slip of a dress over a young body that radiates intelligence and discreet sensuousness. A woman that enters an indian temple, inquisitive and with a mystical yearning. There is a smooth feel to it that caresses the soul, a nod to a thinking woman's scent, with a touch of childlike softness that reminds me of an infant's s hair washed in Johnson's Baby Shampoo. The liaison is weird no doubt and the breakdown of notes does not do it justice.

The mention of lentisque made me see that it is mastic, the very Greek resin from the island of Chios that is used for the world's only natural chewing gum, skincare products, liquors and products for medicinal use. I can't say that the aroma of mastic is instantly recognisable as such, despite my familiarity with it. However there is a greeness and woodiness that makes for a very endearing emotion; that of familiarity, of belonging, of touching the earth.

Prada claimed they got inspired by an old technique of haute parfumerie (infusion) that allowed the roots of iris to "marinate" for 6 months so as to render the true soft, fresh and powdery aroma of iris and Daniela Andrier for Givaudan succeeded in producing one of the loveliest scents of the season, even if I suspect there are synthetic aromachemicals at play. It comes in minimal light pistachio-green-labeled bottle of Eau de Parfum and it is wonderfully tenacious without ever becoming suffocating.

While Iris Ganache will appeal to those who do not go for intense, carroty irises like Iris silver Mist by Lutens, Infusion d'iris might fill the void when the mood calls for something airier than the former.

Official notes:

Iris Ganache: bergamot, cinnamon, iris butter, white chocolate, patchouli, cedar, amber, vanilla, musk, powdery notes.

Infusions d'iris: galbanum, tunisian neroli, italian mandarin, lentisque (mastic), iris, cedar, vetiver, benzoin from Laos, somalian incense


For inquiries and orders on Iris Ganache call + 33 (0)1 45 62 52 57.
Prada Infusion d'iris is available in major department stores.


Pic originally uploaded at cofe.ru

Colour of the jus

Have you ever wondered if the colour of your perfume is not a haphazard choice? Have you asked yourselves if you would love it equally if it were a different hue? Or more importantly if the people involved in creating it have actually exerted any brainstorming about this?
A funny incident happened a while ago and made me consider the issue from another angle than the mere personal.

On a fine lunch hour shopping spree I passed from that shop that was inspired by Moses' wife and rhymes with catastrophe in Greek (which is what my significant other always mutters when he sees a bag with the white-on-black logo of it). I am referring of course to Sephora.
As I was browsing, nodding to myself "already tested", "already tested", "already tested", I come close to a couple at the Lauder shelves. Casually dressed but well groomed (the european groomed casual chic), around 30 both.
The girl, a dark haired one, rather pretty, grabs the tester for Knowing and ooohs and aaahs saying "Oh, this is my favourite perfume in the world, wore it so much". (I am thinking she wanted the guy to take the hint and buy it for her- and she was not the mercenary type at all). The guy seems uninterested and browses beside her, going "uh huh". She then picks up Cinnabar, as they have the older Lauders all grouped together. "This is nice too" she comments smelling the bottle.(I agree) She gives it to the guy, who says they are both rather heavy, vetoing the decision. She is even motioning to pick up the Youth Dew, when he intervenes and says : "Imagine how heavy that one must be; it's almost black!!" She never finished the motion to pick it up and sniff the bottle, as she didn't do it with Aliage either (which is also quite dark). And immediately he goes on and picks the nearby Alien (Sephora places them alphabetically and Mugler is after Lauder). "Now this is lighter, better" he quips. (the "light" thing merits its own discussion in another post) She made a face. I just about wanted to smack him at that point! Both because he denied her what she obviously liked and because he showed his prejudices about perfume picking. I didn't follow them to see what they bought in the end. I didn't have the luxury of time. Maybe they didn't buy anything. If they did however it was not what she wanted, she seemed crestfallen....
I don't see these two making it to the aisle and that doesn't refer to the shopping kind.
The little story has a moral though. People judge with their eyes as much as with their noses.

There is another great story that has been recounted to me by J, known as Teacake, a sweet Australian-based lady. She mentioned that someone young (a teenager actually) who was a friend of her daughter had proclaimed upon viewing her collection that "yellow/golden juices don't smell nice, only pink and blues do". That comment has been a mini-epiphany for me. Seriously: it made me realise that indeed the colour of the jus really denotes the target market as well as the olfactory family in most cases: fruity florals and "fresh" scents which were all the rage with the young some nanoseconds ago are indeed pink or blue!

I don't think this is an accident. I believe it has to do with the mentality that yellow jus is older, classic perfumes that are associated with natural ingredients (no naturals are coloured pink or blue, except chamomille of course and they don't use it in most commercial perfumery because of that unstable blueish tint that might ruin the general effect).
If one stops and thinks about it most of the classics are pale golden or light ambery: Shalimar, Femme, Mitsouko, Joy, Chanel #5, Bois des iles, L'heure bleu. They all vibrate at some variation of wee colour. There are a few notable exceptions like Chanel #19 or the afore mentioned Youth Dew, but still no pink or blue or even purple coloured perfume existed till quite recently. Certain natural ingredients do have a deep colour: Peru Balsam is molasses dark; natural jasmine turns almost orange with the passing of time, sometimes alarming us into thinking that a perfume containing it has turned.

Pink and blue juice on the other hand usually has a highly synthetic construction that guarantees the stability of colour and the unnatural hue of the finished product.
Personally, I have a deep seated aversion to the colour blue in fragrances, although I do appreciate it in other permutations (the sea, glassware and jewels come to mind). I think it shows an insurmountable lack of imagination on behalf of the person who opts for it; especially if it's a man, I'm afraid. It's such an easy, safe choice! What's your favourite colour? 9 out of 10 men reply blue, if asked out of the blue about it (am I being punny?). I don't hear fuschia (too gay), chesnut(too difficult; do they even know it's a shade?), vermillon (it sounds like a french recipe for something involving snails or frog's legs) or even black (the odd rocker/goth/outcast/mysterious Lothario picks that one up out of the 10.....thank God fot that)
In perfume terms it usually denotes an overload of the dreaded fakeness that is the "marine" note. Yeah.....marine for people born and raised and living all their lives in the Chezh Republic(a landlocked country); having no passport on top of that. I am categorically adamant that the sea does not smell like any of the marine fragrances out there I have ever smelled. I do keep hoping some day they will catch the elusive trail. I live in hope.

Anyway, younger folks tend to associate the hip and new with those pastel hues, dismissing the rest as "old ladies' perfume". In their desire to mark their territory and draw the line, maping their own identity, revolting from what their parents wear, they go for the pink and blue, with the odd inclusion of purple for those who like a smidgeon of mystery (or so they imagine).
So companies churn out perfumes in those colours. It's all marketing, I'm afraid.


Pic was sent to me via mail uncredited, probably courtesy of an advertising campaign (MAC maybe?)
Not sure, but great photo nonetheless.