Optical scentsibilities: the Art of Composition

One of the first things that one learns at Art School is the mastery which is required in placing your subject in a composition that focuses on what you want to focus on and hinting at subtle references. The art of composition is not easy, alas. This is often the downfall of many advertising campaigns which opt for a too "loaded" approach or one that misses the target and diverts the eye from the focal point.
And then some others do brilliantly exactly thanks to their arresting placement of elements on paper. Like this advertisement for Paco Rabanne cologne for men from the late 70s. In a very clever composition it puts all the emphasis, through the use of light and shadow, on the central subject: the man in the background. The fact that he is a glamour photographer is hinted at by the equipment seen in shadow on the foreground and the two are joined by the ray of light escaping from the room that is seen at the back, while the man is apparently talking on the phone, casually -as hinted by his hand in his pocket- disheveled; perhaps arranging a tryst with a loved one. The message is smartly displayed: Paco Rabanne for Men is meant for men who don't have to prove anything and it challenges vision to be used in alternative ways: maybe through the aiding lens of olfaction, for a change.



The composition merits its own lineage being revealed. It is none other, in my opinion, than this classic of classics: Las Meninas by Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez from 1656. Las Meninas means "maids of honour" in Spanish. The painting is a depiction of the royal family of Phillip IV of Spain and its entourage, in which the Infanta Margarita (the royal child-daughter) is posing at the center with her maids, her chaperone and two dwarfs. But in reality it is more a depiction of the shadowy silhouette standing at the doorway, seen through the lit "window" at the background that draws the eye upwards and through the painting. Again the trail of light travels from the back to the foreground, creating the tie that binds the composition into a whole. In the words of Silvio Gaggi, the painting is presented as "a simple box that could be divided into a perspective grid with a single vanishing point".
The iconic status of the painting is evident even more if we consider that Pablo Picasso as well as Salvator Dali interpreted the composition in studies of their own. Here is one of them by Picasso from 1957.
If one is interested in a more analytical approach of the painting, I would advise turning to Michel Foucault's Les mots et les choses ("The order of things", New York, Random House 1970), in which he devotes the opening chapter to this.

A innovative approach that has had an unforeseen lineage in perfume advertising.




Pic of Paco Rabanne courtesy of parfumdepub.
Las Meninas courtesy of allposters.com

Magicians and Pharaohs: Djedi by Guerlain (fragrance review)

Lore has shaped the imagination of many in reference to the secrets of the Great Pyramid of Egypt: hidden passages, curses cast upon intruders, mystical symbols and astronomical calculations far ahead of their times. More Sphinx-like than the actual Sphinx, the Great Pyramid still holds some of its secrets to this day.

Djedi by Guerlain ,"the driest perfume of all time" according to Roja Dove and the "tremendous animalic vetiver" for Luca Turin, is an analogous example in perfumery. And it takes its name after an ancient Egyptian magician related to the Great Pyramid. It is as magical, as soulful and as strange a perfume as entering an ancient burial place hidden behind rocks in a far away desert.
But you might need magical powers to have a bottle procured; or very deep pockets…Or better yet a dear friend like mrs.Kern who is so amazingly generous and kind that she sent me a little of her own.

Herodotus, the Greek historian, had visited Giza in about 450 BC, where he was told by Egyptian priests that the Great Pyramid had been built for the pharaoh Khufu (Cheops to the Greeks) second god-king of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2575–c. 2465 BC). It weighed 6 million tons, the weight of all Europe's cathedrals put together and it was the tallest building in the world up till the start of the 14th century AD.
Khufu and the Magician is a tale of Egyptian magic which appears in the Westcar Papyrus (Second Intermediate Period - around 1500 BC), housed in the Berlin Museum.
Pharaoh Khufu's sons are amusing their father by telling tales of magic:

“Djedi is a man of one hundred and ten years~the tale went. Every day he eats five hundred loaves of bread, a haunch of ox is his meat, and he drinks one hundred jugs of beer as well. He knows how to reattach a severed head and how to make a lion follow him with its leash on the ground. And he knows the number of secret chambers in Thoth's temple."

Khufu orders his son to bring the magician and then a prisoner brought, to lop off his head and see Djedi's magic in action. But the magician protests that he could not sacrifice humans for his magic. So a goose is brought on which Djedi could perform his magic on. The morale of the story is transparent: some things are just too sacred to be trifled with.

Khufu had wished Djedi to fashion his mausoleum under his guidance, but to no avail. In the words of Zahi Hawass, upon excavating the pyramid, courtesy of guardian.net:

“I never thought we would find anything behind the door discovered 64 metres inside the south shaft of the Great Pyramid in 1993 by Rudolf Gantenbrink . […]But when we used the ultrasonic equipment and learnt that the thickness of the door was only 6cm, I said that this was a surprise and there must be something there. […] We sent the robot into the second shaft, and as it traveled through we could see […] it stopped in front of another door with two copper handles: Some believe these doors have a symbolic meaning because it is written on the Pyramid Text that the Pharaoh must travel through a series of doors to reach the Netherworld. […] I would like to suggest that these doors hide Khufu's real burial chamber. […]
About 900 years after the reign of Khufu we have a story called "Khufu and the Magician". Djedi knew everything about the secret chambers of Thoth, but he did not reveal the secret. I therefore believe that the burial chambers were hidden behind these doors”.

The perfume itself is a strange and perfume-y mineral affair of dry leather and ambery, animalic decomposition that almost defies description. Its opening is jolting, disturbing, the weirdest thing; yet it beckons you to continue smelling till the end of the prolonged journey into the night. There is deep grief manifesting itself through bitter herbs, artemisia-like, and copious amounts of earthy vetiver with cold air which reminds one of the strange feelings upon first trying Messe de Minuit by Etro. Those elements fan out into feminine, yet dusty, almost musty rose and a powdery base. This is no opulent rose for a bourgeois eager to show off her wealth or powdery sweetness for an aristocrat who wants to keep her man in difficult times. This is a regal lament for the loss of a favourite son, perhaps lost forever in the cold waters of the battle of Salamis or the trenches of the World War I, no matter; this grief transcends cultures.
Pungent leather with its slightly sour edge and powdery musk act like whalebone does to underpinnings, supporting, exuding an image of bravery and humaness at the same time.
This is unmistakenly Guerlain, unmistakebly animalic with a rather fecal warmth at the end, exuding the grandeur of another, elegant era. Reminding me of my grandmother who had her clothes tailored in Paris and her jewels made in Smyrna and who always smelled ravishingly opulent.

Although its strange, intense greeness and dryness have a passing relation to the classic Bandit eau de parfum, the closest to it that I have smelled is Vero Profumo’s Onda; although the latter is a tad warmer and sexier with its catty whiff and coriander/mace spiciness. However, while Onda has a certain modernity that puts it firmly into the realm of a contemporary piece of art, Djedi is stylistically a product of its time and recalls an era that is past us.

Djedi was created in 1926 by Jacques Guerlain and re-issued in 1996 for only 1000 bottles. Today the vintage is extremely rare and goes for astronomical prices rivaling the mathematical achievements etched on the pyramid walls itself. The re-issue, using the formula of yore, is also quite rare and costly.

But it lets one glimpse one into the abyss and back. If one dares…

Notes: rose, vetiver, musk, oakmoss, leather, civet and patchouli



Pic of Great pyramid by inderstadt/flickr. Painting "And there was a great cry in Egypt" by Arthur Hacker courtesy of art.com. Bottle of Djedi courtesy of Guerlain

Optical scentsibilities: the allure of the sofa

Many times a simple object holds a fascination beyond its functionality. Like sofas... They are lovely to cushion our derriere, but have we paused to think how they also suggest an atmosphere of nonchalance that is eminently befitting perfume images?
Not surprisingly the thought has crossed the minds of perfume photographers and illustrators for a long time. For Coco, the baroque oriental by Chanel an equally decorative sofa from the appartment of Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon has been selected to hold the porcelain curves of model Shalom Harlow.



While for Christian Dior it was Dioressence and illustrator Rene Gruau that took the sofa into the realm of the decadent and sybaritic. One can almost feel the feline look in the eye of the woman in the ad, as her face is partially masked by the big, colourful cushions resting atop a schematic sofa.

But there also less classical examples of perfumes that use the reclining on a sofa pose to very good effect....
Isabella by Isabella Rossellini, a warm powdery floriental


Still by Jennifer Lopez, a limpid floral


Byzance by Rochas, a warm and deep oriental

Perhaps one could trace this tendency way back to venues other than perfume. To art and its effect on the collective subconsious that tends to find similarities and recall familiar images, even if not consiously perceptive.
After the ball by Margaret Dyer uses an impressionistic palette and brushstroke to show the contemplation of the heroine, hand under chin, reminiscing about the highlights of the event; such a formal occassion should have demanded her best perfume, surely.


Natasha Gellman by Diego Rivera was painted in 1943 and is full of the usual clear, bright palette of Rivera in almost an illustration which depicts a glamorous lady of the times reclining on a sofa amidst white blossoms which seem to emit their own rich aroma.



But of course the archetype is probably Madame de Pompadour by Francois Bouchet, painted in 1757 and rounding off the theme of contemplation, elegance and languor, as expressed in the trails of beautiful essences that must have adorned her lavish clothes.





Pics of ads from parfumdepub and okadi. Paintings: After the ball by Margaret Dyer, Natasha Gellman by Diego Rivera and Madame de Pompadour by Francois Bouchet. Courtesy of art.com, allposters.com and madamedepompadour.com

Burr responds

The interview with mr.Chandler Burr sparked interesting commentary and gave a chance for all ends of the spectrum to be heard. It was refreshing to see and it gave Perfume Shrine great pleasure to read intelligent replies.

Mr. Burr himself wanted to comment, but since he is not really immersed in technology per his admission (perfectly valid! I was not either) and Blogger is not that welcoming anyway, he opted to email his response.
I thought it fair to publish it here in a seperate post, so that people might read it more carefully. He is replying to commentary published in this post (scroll for the readers'comments below the interview).

Here it is:

"Hi, guys.

OK! So I figured that when Helg did this Q&A ~her questions were perceptive, serious, and interesting ~ she’d get some interesting responses, and I (who am such an instinctive non-blogger, low-tech guy) am really glad to read these responses.

I realize that when what people know of you is only words that come out under your name in newspapers or magazines, you're both a very real person and, at the exact same time, a total cipher or come across at times like a prick. I’m not, I promise, but then that’s completely subjective as well, and if you met me, you could decide for yourself. I’m going to be flying around the country Feb 1-21 doing publicity for the book, so I hope to meet a lot of you guys.

First, there are the constraints I work under. Helg commented of my writing, “Sometimes, one (myself included) might perceive a limited-space laconic article as being less thought-out than it is,” and this could not be more true; I can’t give details because that would be unprofessional and my editors wouldn’t appreciate it—and my editors are doing their jobs, and ALL creation, including very much newspapers, is about constant compromise, constant negotiation, and sometimes last-minute, not-always-rational cuts and changes too—but I work under huge constraints. All journalists do. Please understand that not all of the time but certainly some of the time what I write is written to fit the space, to come in on time, to follow a theme I need to follow for the coherence of that issue, or date, or section, etc., etc. And that’s legitimate; that’s the way it works. But being a critic does not—not—mean I can write anything I want at any length I see fit or appropriate.

Second, the job of being a critic is by definition giving opinions, and being a journalist means expressing views and reporting facts, and there’s sort of no end to the amount of ways opinions can be disliked by those who (often quite legitimately) disagree with them and reporting can be interpreted.
IlseM wrote, “It's hard for me to believe that someone can be so rigidly opposed to natural ingredients in fragrance,” and I was just about to despair since it’s the exact opposite of what I believe when Joan gave exactly the right response: “I don't think that he is against natural scents, but feels that synthetics are just as valid and possibly less allergic.” Perfectly said.
Perfumer Michael Storer also precisely expressed my own point of view. Again, rather than write it in my own words, I’ll simply use his, since I agree with them completely: “[Burr] extolls the virtues of synthetics and the profound limitations we'd have without them. In my opinion, too, I find many ‘naturalists’ tantamount to religious fundamentalist in that they are simply incapable of hearing any other
viewpoint.”
Catherine says, “I find the growing discussion of synthetics in concrete term (rather than those vague, dreamy ad blurbs) refreshing and engaging,” and that makes me very happy. It’s true that my approach just isn’t going to work for people who aren’t interested in synthetics or the molecular components of perfume, and that’s fine; for others, it works great, and I write for people like Catherine.

Ilse: “[I]t seems [Burr’s] experience with naturals is limited to newly formulated scents. Could you ask him if he has ever sampled vintage fragrances.” My experience with the classics is indeed frustratingly limited, although it took a small change for the better recently; my next piece for T: Style magazine of Feb 24 is a piece about l’Osmotheque, the Paris perfume museum, and I spent an entire day
smelling the original formulas of classics. I’d of course have preferred to spend a month rather than a day, but there we are.

I love (and I know Helg loves) Carmencanada’s “dream of real schools of perfumery criticism, with solidly argumented controversies and discourse, as exists in other arts…. Maybe this is the beginning of something.” That is precisely the approach I’ve taken in “The Perfect Scent,” for example an analysis of Ellena’s work that starts on page 98. Because perfume is such an amazingly young art—the youngest of the
major human arts by far due to the fact that technology has only recently made it possible as an art form (though I suppose movie might compete with it for that title; Wikipedia says, “Mechanisms for producing artificially created, two-dimensional images in motion were demonstrated as early as the 1860s,” just before the first perfumery synthetics were being created)—and also because, by chance, it has been treated much more as a commercial product than an art per se, it has not yet had time to develop hugely deep schools, as has architecture —classical, gothic, Bauhaus, Tudor, Romanesque. But the schools are there, and I completely agree with Carmen that it’s incredibly exciting to start thinking about perfume in this way because it really facilitates the conceptualizing of perfume as an art.

That’s a macro approach. In other ways we need to take a micro approach. Michael: “I struggle everyday with trying to write profiles of my perfumes without using, for example, the word aldehydic. But in reality, it can't be done.” In my opinion, this is correct, and in order for perfume to take its place as a full-fledged art, our culture and the public need to learn and absorb perfume’s basic vocabulary
(which is the same for film, dance, and music). Brands hate aldehydic only because people don’t know what it means; if the public was familiar with it, there’d be no problem, and they’re going to have to be, sooner or later. Perfume should be taught in classes just like painting and literature. As Luca points out, what’s lacking is simply the vocabulary."

~Chandler Burr

Pic sent to me by mail unaccredited

Burr-y the Hatchet: part 2

We continue our interview with writer and perfume critic of The New York Times, Chandler Burr. For part 1, click here.

PART 2

PLEASE NOTE: unauthorised copying of excerpts of the book constitutes copyright infringement. Mr.Burr personally gave us express permission to reprint those for this venue only.



PS: Chandler, for your new book “The Perfect Scent” you followed two different paths: the path of the celebrity scent (for Sarah Jessica Parker for Coty) and the path of the perfumer’s vision for a high-end brand (Jean Claude Ellena for Hermès).
Which one was more fun and which was more challenging, journalistically speaking?

CB: They were as completely different experiences as they could be and still be, in both cases, spending a year inside a perfume making process. Ellena’s story I tell from the perfumer’s perspective, Sarah Jessica’s from that of the creative director, so there you have a fundamental difference. The only time I spent with Laurent and Clément, her perfumers, was when they were with her. I’m going to let the book speak on this one; decide for yourself which you think was more interesting. I’ve already heard vastly different opinions.



PS: How viable are celebrity scents in your own opinion. Most are bought by fans who want to emulate their idol and are consquently frowned upon by perfume lovers who refuse sometimes to even try them out! However in my personal opinion there is no blanket description: some are good (like Lovely), some are horrible. Why is this, in your opinion and experience getting to know the process of creating one?

CB: I agree completely. Hilary Duff is a very good perfume. So is Midnight Fantasy. The Kimora Lee Simmons Goddess is beyond-belief bad. I do think celebrity perfumes are still viable and will remain so because they’re simply such a good, effective way for famous people to monetize their pure celebrity. There simply is no better mechanism by which to do this.


PS: Jean Claude Ellena is the darling of the internet-reading perfumephile. I am a fan of his perfumes as well. However, theres is the impression that what with his numerous interviews and constant media exposure and his habit of showing his “tricks” of expertise to awe-stricken journalists that he has become a bit of the latest conjurer: to be admired for what he hides in his sleeves rather than what he genuinely reveals. Did you find that this is true, while following his work for “The Perfect Scent”?

CB: Um…no, absolutely not, but I suppose I hesitate only in that I do realize why people can have that impression of him. My year with him—and this is a categoric statement—showed me how extremely talented he is. He is not super-human. No one is. He has limits. He has an immense ego as well, which in my view is his only serious character flaw (I generally find him a delightful guy). I think Terre d'Hermès is excellent as masculines go but overpraised. I think Jean-Claude’s Achilles heel is persistence on skin. And he has said to me quite openly several times that every perfumer owns strengths, and he plays to them.

But to give you a taste of what I say in "The Perfect Scent" about this question:

"The announcement of Ellena’s appointment was made by Hermès on May 5, 2004, to go into effect June 7. Everyone in Paris had a comment (New York noted it and went back to its business lunches), though since it was Paris all the comments were off the record and many were tinged, overtly or not, with venom. “It’s excellent to take Jean-Claude,” said one young perfumer, who cleared his throat, squinted at the sky, and added primly, “I’m almost jealous.”They were openly admiring (“They couldn’t do better than Jean-Claude,” the perfumer Calice Becker said, “an excellent perfumer passionate about his métier and uncompromising on materials”). They were acid (“How nice that Jean-Claude will get to do even more of his favorite thing: talking to reporters”). They were envious (“Can you imagine the freedom?”). They were thoughtful, analytical(“Jean-Louis was very smart about this, and you watch, they’re going to start increasing market share”)….The industry discussed his putative salary in the way the French always discuss salaries: as if the KGB were listening….
Ellena? He was a star, like Jacques Cavallier (the lovely Chic, the monster hit L’Eau d’Issey, the monster miss but utterly brilliant Le Feu d’Issey). Or Kurkdjian (Armani Mania, Le Male). Or Becker (J’adore, Beyond Paradise). And he had a star’s usual partisans and critics and detractors. All this was intensified with Ellena because he was a darling of the media, with whom he was famous for having a discours de parfum. Reporters could talk to him. He could talk back. To the degree to which this was rare, in part it was the perfumers, who were not groomed for microphones, and in part the paranoid, control-freak designers, whose dogma was maintaining the official fiction that they created their own scents. They liked perfumers to be kept in cages in dark rooms. This was why some perfumers liked the fact that Ellena spoke.
Naturally there was also bitter commentary—vindictive jealousy is, like beurre blanc, a French speciality—usually punctuated, after a careful glance over the shoulder, with the stab of a hot cigarette. “I don’t think he’s the best perfumer in the world,” said a competitor, “but he’s one who has a thinking about perfumery. He presents himself as the heir of Edmond Roudnitska.”…There was derision. “I don’t have a big appreciation for him actually,” the creator of several legendary perfumes sniffed. “His behavior is not greatly appreciated by many people.” His behavior? “Ellena has a good reputation with important people but not with people in the perfume industry. He’s a version of a celebrity chef, a media whore, which everyone tries to become today because the world is now based on the media whereas autrefois the perfumer simply focused on his work and le plan creatif.” “I won’t discuss Ellena,” one dowagerof the French industry and creator of several classic perfumes sniffed. “He’s a showman.” But others took a more philosophical approach. “Grasse is a complicated tribe,” said a middle-aged perfumer. “There’s a real mafia grassoise…. Grasse is a tiny little town, and the kids leave for Paris to seek their fortunes. Jean-Claude is grassois, and so they all know him, and when you understand that, you understand everything.
Jean-Claude knows how to talk about perfume, and the press is desperate for that, and I’m sorry, but if other perfumers are jealous it’s because very few perfumers can talk about perfume. ‘I put jasmine in rose.’Well, OK, so what the fuck does that mean. Nothing! And someone comes and explains it, and suddenly he’s a media whore? Please.”

PS: Ellena also frequently talks about not having to conform to marketing briefs and target groups’ opinion. Does he really have free reign at Hermès? I have read in his self-authored books that he deems the 2-3% share he garners satisfactory. In a market in which perfume generates lots of revenue for big luxury houses as the most accessible of their products to the middle-class is that doable?

CB: I will simply say on this question that from everything I’ve seen, Ellena truly has a huge amount—not by any means complete, but a huge amount—of creative control at Hermès. He creates according to concepts sometimes (Un Jardin sur le Nil, for example), but never briefs in the sense of conceptual blueprints created by other people that he must then build with molecules. That work, for him, is finished.


PS: One criticism that has been directed at Jean Claude Ellena is that he has completely altered the scent profile of the Hermès fragrance stable: his spartan style that exudes a vibe of sparsity, although undeniably chic contradicts the image of Hermès as smelling “rich”. Contrasting previous fragrances of the house, like Rouge or 24 Faubourg -which are easily imagined on a lady wearing furs (parfums fourrure) - with his own creations like Un Jardin sur le Nil or Terre d’Hermès one notices a stark difference. The newer ones, even the Hermessences don’t smell as pampered and luxe. I realise that this is his conviction of how perfumery should be done (not catering to a bourgeois sensibility), but did he shed any other insights into this?


CB: I’m actually going to leave this one for the book as well, not only to make you read the book but, frankly, because he never gave me a specific answer to this, but I think you’ll find that my year with him, taken as a whole, absolutely provides, in the end, an answer. I know the criticisms of course; part of my response is Ambre Narguilé, simply enough, which to my mind (and Jean-Claude’s) is the way rich luxury must evolve in the 21st century, an absolutely stunning piece of perfumery on every level. But I think Kelly Calèche is a masterpiece because it is 100% Ellena’s contemporary, forward-edge, intellectual presentation, 100% Hermès, and 100% luxury. Not Louis Vuitton purse luxury—beautiful, refined, purified luxury.


PS: I have been saying this last bit ever since it launched! LOL
On that note of luxury: I was reading a very intriguing article in Fortune lately, which focused on the new McLuxury scenario. Namely that upscale houses and designers are experiencing a democratization of their product both in terms of aimed audience and in their brand becoming more accessible. We have the examples of Stella Mc Cartney and Karl Lagerfeld designing for H&M for example or the case study of Coach who aimed at a lower price point from the start.

CB: Yes, Dana Thomas just wrote an entire book about this, "Deluxe".


PS: Right! In perfume, there are two distinct paths: that of masstige (perfumes circulating on the mainstream circuit posing as something more upscale than they are) and that of high-browed exclusivity trying to reposition a brand into higher planes in an effort to ante up the cachet which will perversely help boost sales of their lower end products! (Case of Les Exclusifs at Chanel, Hermessences, Armani Privé, Dior Collection etc.) What’s your take on this issue?


CB: I’m not sure if I’m more or less cynical than Dana. It is just so obvious to me that “luxury goods” are 90% image and 10% substance. Jacques Polge’s Chanel No 18 is an astonishing perfume, but you’re paying a huge premium for the word “Chanel”—compare it to Juicy Couture, which is a similar approach by Harry Frémont. Chanel No 18 and Juicy Couture have an identical aesthetic approach: both are machines built of glass and meant to be filled with light. They have different scents, but stylistically they are in the same category.

OK, so we have to pay a premium for luxury—big surprise. So I think you perfectly characterize the commercial purpose of Les Exclusifs and the others you mention. And at the same time, they just are, generally speaking, superior perfumes. Would I pay that premium? Yes, for some of them, not for others. But the fact that they have a commercial purpose as well as an aesthetic purpose—a dirty and a pure both—bothers me not in the slightest. This is the way the game is played. Art and commerce have never been separate. And when they have, the art has often been crap. I suppose the trick is simply in knowing what’s going on in front of you—then taking what you like.


PS: Thank you Chandler for what has been a trully fascinating perspective.


CB: And thank you for allowing me to answer these questions.



Pics of Lovely and Hermes ads from okadi. Pic of Jean Claude Ellena courtesy of the LA Times.