Father is a minor player in our home life. Mother always seems to me to be
the star. Father is a recurring character with an extended walk on role. He
seems to know what mother needs and makes sure that she has it. This all
takes almost no communication whatsoever, as if they can read each other’s
minds. Years later, it will occur to me that mother’s needs weren’t being
met at all, that she was possibly pretty unhappy, maybe even something like
miserable, certainly unfulfilled, and only seemed to be content because
she’d mastered the art of looking that way.
As a child, I think that my parents must do all their talking behind closed
doors. Their scenes together take place off stage: in the bedroom, or downstairs,
in the den, once I’ve gone to sleep. At dinner, mother tells me to sit
up straight, paying serious attention to the way I chew my food, the way I
look, the way I speak. She seems to know what I’m thinking, verbalizing
my insecurities.
Tension runs from her place at the table to mine. Father reads the paper,
or watches the TV. Something very important is always in the paper or on
the TV and one of the very first things I learn in life is that when father is
watching TV he must never under any circumstances be distracted or
interrupted in any way. I must be nine or ten, and we’re sitting there at the
table, and father is chewing as he watches something on TV - possibly the
news - and without taking his eyes off the screen he compliments mother on
her perfume. It’s as if he’s talking out loud to himself.
Sometimes, mother and I go to the department store together, which is like
a movie set, complete with backdrop displays, extras, and intersecting
intrigues. The smiling mannequins are dressed like mother and could be
her stand-ins. At the perfume counter, I search the bottles for anything
that looks like the one mother has at home, while she chats theatrically with
the sales associates. She acts as if she knows them, asking about their
families, complimenting them on their outfits. She knows everyone in their
families by name. She knows the ages of their children and remembers
their accomplishments and activities. She’s so friendly, so sociable, that I
barely recognize her.
In this alternate universe, she’s the picture of happiness. Her laughter
spreads around her infectiously, and I find myself laughing too, without
really knowing the script. The mall is full of women, and all of them smell
like perfume. The only man I see is the owner of the place, who emerges
from a doorway every so often, standing in the background, watching our
interaction. He acts as if he’s orchestrated the conversation, as if he’s the
director, but to me he seems peripheral, as if he’s been shut out of the scene.
“One of the things I find most frustrating about the way whisky is described is the level of parochialism with the terminology used - things like ‘peaty’ or ‘Christmas cake’ don’t really mean anything to an audience where peat doesn’t exist, or where there’s no such thing as a Christmas cake”.
Thus muses Roja Dove, the creator of the Harrod's Haute Perfumerie who collaborated with David Cox, director of brand education at The Macallan, producing The Macallan Aroma Box, a collection of 12 scents that help whisky drinkers identify the olfactory highlights in the distiller’s range of products. The Aroma Box looks a lot like a perfumery education scent kit, full of phials with individual "notes" or "bases" so as to acquaint oneself with the different ingredients that go into fragrances.
In this scent kit, the first 6 scents showcase the more common characteristics of whisky, arranged in pairs of opposites so as to provide an education by contrasts to the nose. The next 6 phials represent Dove’s interpretation of the essential sensory character of The Macallan matured in Spanish oak, sherry seasoned casks and American oak casks, seasoned with both sherry and bourbon, thus experiencing how wood affects the colour, flavour and fragrances of the finished product.
Candice Baker, will present The Aroma Box, at The Macallan Maturation Zone during this year’s FNB Whisky Live Festival, which is taking place in Cape Town and Johannesburg in November 2011. [Cape Town International Convention Centre from 2 – 4 November (18h00 to 22h00 daily) and at the Sandton Convention Centre, from 9 – 11 November (18h00 – 22h00 daily)].
If Charles Baudelaire or Oscar Wilde (pleading with Lord Alfred Douglas from within his jail) are references both in plain view in the new Serge Lutens fragrance De Profundis, and they themselves relied on this, their posthumus reputation might be rather lacklustre. Whether it is fatigue or overfamiliarisation, the olfactory seraglio at Palais Royal has began showing signs of tiredness, despite the vivid, novel colour of the latest perfume which shines in its beautiful bell jar like a bright amethyst. You can almost hear the cry of the 130th Psalm "De Profundis Clamavi Ad Te, Domine" for all the drama in front of your eyes! Sadly, experiencing the fragrance by one's nose is underwhelming, after such build-up, promising the scent of death, no less. De Profundis is a piercing, sharp, dusty and at the same time aldehydic "clean" floral that petters out to woods and a little fruity violet, rather than the dark, dangerously sexy or earthy, medieval scent suggested by its apothecarial look.
Just take a look at the official ad copy (or skip it), composed in the usual cryptic style which reveals less than it suggests:
"When death steals into our midst, its breath flutters through the black crepe of mourning, nips at funeral wreaths and crucifixes, and ripples through the gladiola, chrysanthemums and dahlias.
If they end up in garlands in the Holy Land or the Galapagos Islands or on flower floats at the Annual Nice Carnival, so much the better!
What if the hearse were taking the deceased, surrounded by abundant flourish, to a final resting place in France, and leading altar boys, priest, undertaker, beadle and gravediggers to some sort of celebration where they could indulge gleefully in vice? Now that would be divine!
In French, the words beauty, war, religion, fear, life and death are all feminine, while challenge, combat, art, love, courage, suicide and vertigo remain within the realm of the masculine.
Clearly, Death is a Woman. Her absence imposes a strange state of widowhood. Yet beauty cannot reach fulfilment without crime. The chrysanthemum is the sole pretext for writing these lines.
Turning grave sites held in perpetuity over to Life – a familiar of these haunts – the chrysanthemum invites Death to leave the cemetery and offer us its flower. De Profundis clamavi." [translation by Fragrantica]
But how did we get to here?L'Eau Serge Lutens seems like a seperate entity in the canon, both in context and in smell, and for that reason was given leniency, even if it alienated much of the fan base; and while Boxeuses conversely recycled the familiar in a most pleasant way, I was rather hesitant into jumping for a full bottle of Serge's last, violent and incongruous release, Vitriol d'Oeillet. This was a first. Not jumping up & down for De Profundis, later on, sounded like sacrilege! But the expectations were set too high: Baudelaire is too much of a decadent aesthete to reference with impunity; Eros & Thanatos has been explored as an idea by scholars for millenia; and a scentscape inspired by death is a risky bet ~ the church has the patent down pat after all. Lutens took the All Saints tradition of taking chrysanthemums (autumnal flowers) to graves and span it into composing a floral that would get inspired by death.
De Profundis olfactorily resembles a dusty, powdery yet sharp scent of herbal tea and flowers, with a smattering of honeysuckle, lily of the valley and greenish notes (green jasmine, green lily) on top; not melacholic chrysanthemums promised by the ad copy, but rather the aftermath of the funeral, despite the closeness with the autumn blossom.
What is more unexpected is that the bouquet of green floral notes very soon gives way to a "blanched" soapy musk resembling Galaxolide (but not quite! what is it?), and aldehydic nuances, reminiscent of the worst memories of L'Eau Serge Lutensand at the same time like bottled light, ozonic, lifting upwards and upwards...like a soul to the light?
Whereas the soapy concept was thick as thieves with the humorous, ironic allusion to "clean" in L'Eau as a sign of defiance in an era when perfume connoisseurs are embalming themselves in thick resins, stinky florals or bitter pharmaceutical-worthy oud notes to prove their mettle, in De Profundis the trick doesn't quite work again: The synthetic feel of the powdery note is far off the luxurious iris of Bas de Soie (which still denoted a classy sexiness) and at the same time it lacks the nuanced greyness of the majestic and unsurpassable Iris Silver Mist. Amidst it all, a fruity scent surfaces, enhanced by alpha methyl ionone (a recognisable violet note), giving a mildly sweetish, pleasant backdrop which bears a hint of familiarity with the previous Lutens fragrances. Although seemingly a loud perfume upon spraying, in its rather screechy projection upon first spray, De Profundis mellows into a soft woody skin scent which doesn't last as -usually- expected.
Evaluating a Lutens creation in less than stellar terms leaves me with a certain disillusionment, which is painful to experience. For more than 15 years, Lutens used to instantly transport me into imaginary travels atop a magic carpet which seemed to continuously unfold new motifs, to lull me into a reverie that united the mysticism of the East with the classiness and chic of the West. Perched, as I am, between two worlds, from a geographical point of view, this unison spoke deeply to my soul. I'm hoping that the line will find again its axis, but with dearest Serge reaching 70 it looks like it is a precarious, foreshadowing prospect and I find myself sitting on a church pew like a kid, confused with the world and eager to catch at straws...
Official notes for Serge Lutens De Profundis: chrysanthemum, dahlia, lily, violet, earthy notes.
Serge Lutens De Profundis comes in the familiar bell jar bottles of Eau de Parfum available only in Paris at Les Salons de Palais Royal (It's part of the exclusive line), 75ml for 120 euros. This year there will be two limited edition engraved bottles which cost significantly (significantly!) more (We're talking upwards of 1000 euros here): there will be only 7 of each bottle design for sale, reportedly.
For our readers, 2 samples of De Profundis, out of my own stash, will be given. Tell us, what would you like to smell in a "death perfume"?
Movie still of Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense by M.Night Shyamalan, Music set to the psalm 130 Arvo Pärt
Floris, the British firm with the nostalgic appeal, is issuing two new fragrances paying homage to the roots of the founder of the company Juan Famenias Floris in Minorca in 1730: Sirenaand Mahon Leather, both in Eau de Parfum concentration.
Sirena, a feminine woody floral musk, is a tribute to Minorca, the island in the western Mediterranean basking in the sun. The freshness of the sea permeats the heart of regional floral notes (such as oleander), while the base is woody and lightly musky.
Mahon Leather takes its name from the capital of Minorca, Mahon. This masculine woody-spicy-leather fragrance is based around a heart of leather notes, infused with the liquor note of Calent (a preparation made of pine), the rooty-grassy feel of vetiver and the warmth of amber.
...for the new Tauer "Miriam": One purse sized atomiser (7ml) to Lindaloo
and 5 deluxe samples (1 ml each), with a DVD included, shipped directly by Tauer Perfumes to Sugandaraja, Isa, Dink, Jennifer Edwards, Liisa Wennervirta.
To claim your prizes, please email perfumer@tauerperfumes.com , with your shipping data. You should include "winner of Miriam on PerfumeShrine" in the title of your email, so as to make it easy on him.
Thanks for the enthusiastic participation everyone and till the next one!
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