Pallas Athena

I've always admired the Greek Goddess Pallas Athena, since I first read about her as a young child in the Argonautica. Her wisdom, strength and poise impressed upon me that women can also be heroes. She always appears in warrior regalia: helmet and a spear. Her other symbols are the owl, the snake and she is often depicted with a symbol of the snake-haired Gorgon Medusa's head, either held in her hands, or placed upon her sash or shield. Pallas Athena is the one who have sent Perseus to bring Medusa's her to her, with full instructions on how to do so without turning into stone, which is the fate of anyone who gazes upon her terrible face. 

If one looks deeper into the mythology, it is told that Medusa is who she is (meaning: so terrifying that whomever gazes upon her becomes frozen or dead-like) because of a curse Pallas Athena herself cast on her, after Poseidon have raped Medusa in Pallas Athena's temple. So Pallas Athena is not only a warrior but also associated with rage and revenge. 

At the same time this makes one wonder “on which side” was Pallas Athena? Was she siding with the Patriarchal rapist god, or the woman who was raped? Was she commemorating her rage in response to the rape, and giving her the means to protect herself? Or was she enraged that a woman would allow such a thing to happen in the holy temple to the Goddess? Or is the temple actually symbolic of the woman's body - her personal intimate temple? I have a few reasons to believe this is all of the above. Medusa has become a part of Pallas Athena, either because she represents her more innocent side that was betrayed and raped; or because she was Pallas Athena's victim. And victims and their perpetrators are forever connected in an embrace that is at the same time a curse, and at the same time the key to their respective healing and redemption. 

Is Pallas Athena in a sense is a very Patriarchal female-goddess, a female goddess who is trying to navigate through the new realms of Patriarchy, using masculine tools such as weapons and revenge? Or is she giving women the tools to redeem their frozen, traumatized selves and transform them into powerful magical beings such as Pegasus (the winged-horse that was born out of Medusa after she was beheaded)?

The story echoes an ancient story: The Descend of Innana to the Underworld, a Sumerian myth that is the most ancient written myth we ever found, written in cuneiform on clay slates some 6,000 years ago. In this myth we can peek into the Sacred Feminine and its power before it was tainted with fear, hatred and oppression. Inanna was the Goddess of Fertility and War, just like Pallas Athena reconciles within her Wisdom and War. Some say that Venus or Aphrodite was Innana's later form, being the tame goddess of love, beauty and fertility. But I think that Innana held within her all Sacred Feminine -  Pallas Athena and Aphrodite. She was both powerful, just and wise, as well as sensual, sexual and seductive. She is portrayed in that ancient myth as the master of her own self, body, soul, mind, spirit. She has conquered the world on all of its layers - the heavenly and spiritual (the sky or heaven), the earthy and sensual (earth), and lastly the underworld which is the shadow aspect of the world, the unseen, and hidden, the ugly. She is no frozen Medusa when she chooses on her own terms  to bring her own death upon her, because a lifeless body and yet she has a plan and she is able to come back to life, buy her way out of the underworld and even seek revenge at those too weak to support her sacred journey. Innana exemplifies a deity that is both dark and light, sensuous and clever, enjoys her body, smart and cunning, and can face her own death and conceive her own rebirth and redemption. She shows us how to be authentic and connected to our entire being on all its levels: light and dark, shadow and self, passive and active, spiritual and earthy and even beyond and underneath this world. And to me this is what I peel away when I look at the myths of Pallas Athena as well. 

In her own way, Pallas Athena integrates Medusa, her frozen and frightened self, her lower existence in the shadows, by wearing her as a brooch or perhaps even a trophy on her regalia. But this integration is symbolic and not internalized. Medusa is seen as an enemy; while Innana's descend into the underworld is considered her greatest achievement, after which her lower self and higher self become one and whole; and her decaying carcass, her shadow is embraced and returned back to life and back into the land of the living, to continue leading a life, making mistakes and continuing to learn and evolve. Pallas Athena, without knowing, is forever frozen just as much as her trophy, for not embracing her fully. For not allowing her weaker aspects the space they need to be felt and there for to heal and become whole. 

Palas Atena perfume is one of my first creations (2001) and is an Oriental-Spicy perfume with champaca flowers, lavender, neroli and cinnamon over a base of amber, patchouli and sandalwood. It brings me a bit of synenthetic response, seeing the colours of crimson and gold which I imagine the goddess to be wearing. I hope wearing this will enable you to reconcile all those aspects of yourself. When I wear it I feel powerful and smart and sensual. I hope it will do the same to you, and maybe even other things that I can't even imagine.

The image is of Pallas Athena Attic red-figure kylix painting from c. 480-470 BC showing Athena observing as the Colchian dragon disgorges the hero Jason. 

Varthemia

Sharp Varthemia (Chiliadenus iphionoides), or in Hebrew Ktela Harifa (כתלה חריפה) likes to grow inside rocks and has the most incredibly resinous, rustic, complex aroma. It truly is like a complete perfume all of its own, exemplifying what Garriague and Chypre are all about.



I've stumbled upon this plant by chance, first near Keshet Cave in Park Adamit near the Lebanese border. A beautiful place with gorgeous view. It was one of two aromatic plants i was unable to identify, but intuitively knew they are both of medicinal and aesthetic value. I later found Varthemia on the mountain above my house. But it wasn't until I saw Yonat HaMidbar post about it and rave about its lovely perfume that I was able to identify the plant (it was never in bloom when I saw it, and it's near impossible to ID plants when they are not in bloom).



Shortly after I was not only inspired to finally make incense cones out of it, but also studied some of the medicinal properties of it. Among others, it is good for heart problems and diabetes - and seems like a very gentle herb to enjoy in tea (as long as it's not overly done). I picked some for a friend who just had a heart attack, and figured my own heart could benefit from it too. So I've been sipping a lot of vartehmia. marrubium and white mint tea. A lovely combination, and feels to be soothing both the heart and the soul.

My next adventure with vartehmia is infusing it in both alcohol and olive oil. From the olive oil I will make a single-note vartehmia soap (I will also have it brewed into tea for the water component of the soap making process, so that it is as naturally fragrant as possible). From the alcohol infusion, which turned out beautifully resinous and rich, I've created a rustic, garrigue-inspired amber perfume, which I am debating if you launch this fall or not. It's a further development of an old, old, old formula that was almost sickeningly sweet because the amber base in it wasn't my own and I am quite certain contained some artificial molecules. Frankly, that base smelled more like an ambreine accord. The perfume I made with it included a touch oregano that balanced this sweetness to some degree, but not enough. I want the new perfume to be more authentic and local, and use my own herbal infusions in it - but without taking away from the luxurious character of the perfume. It is very different from the original, and surprisingly has a bit of the Espionage DNA to it - even there is nothing smoky about it. Must be the ambreine accord (which, FYI, is the core of Shalimar, Emeraude and the like). 

Serge Noire

I'm much behind on checking out "new" scents, including this "recent" offering from the leading niche house of Monsieur Lutens... I've been skimming through new releases with very little interest in the past few years (in case you haven't noticed the waning volume of perfume reviews here). And when yet another fragrance with artificially blackened subtitle showed up, I've become not even in the least curious about it... However, aside from the (lame) name, Serge Noire was a pleasant surprise: it is the liquid version of Zu-koh, AKA Japanese body incense.

My first encounter with Serge Noire gave me the impression that it's yet another violet-cedar oriental, full of ionone and cedrol. Then, when I tested it at Sephora it smelled entirely different, and totally won my heart: Camphoreous-woody and underlined with balsamic sweetness. I was smelling a whiff of of borneol camphor at first, sprinkled with cassia and over a looming backdrop of dark woodsy notes of patchouli, cedar wood and sandalwood. The finishing touch is a base of powdery, comforting puff of amber and vanilla. And it is a dead ringer to Tokusen by Shoyeido, which I adore.

If you're unfamiliar with the experience of body incense (zu-koh), this is a special blend of powdered woods and spices that were originally intended for purification before prayer. Instead of washing one's hands before entering a temple, you'd sprinkle your hands with this powder and rub your palms with it. It can also be worn much like liquid perfume - a sprinkle on the chest or behind the ears and on the wrists and inside bend of the elbows. You'll be enveloped in a dusty cloud of spice and wood, and enjoy the benefits of incense (minus the smoke) or perfume (sans the alcohol). I'm very fond of this perfume, and it makes one feel both sensual and spiritual at the same time... It is how I'd imagined the "char black" perfume that is mentioned in Memoir of a Geisha... It is sensuous, and at the same time also inspired meditation and contemplation, bringing instantly a magical, ancient feeling of serenity and deep thought, as deep as the roots of the trees it came from.

Surprisingly, Serge Noire is the first Lutens in many years that I feel the urge to purchase. However, to my dismay, the carded sample I originally got still smells too much like the signature Lutens cedar-honey-violet accord which was originally introduced in Feminite du Bois. It's not so much about my personal preference but more about how much this style was copied over and over by "niche" brands that made it feel redundant and no longer original... Such is the nature of trends, unfortunately. I'll have to go to Sephora to try it again and make sure the bottles they carry are more like the body incense and less like artificial cedar and violets. Alternatively, I can just revisit my Tokusen zu-koh and enjoy what I have.

It also reminds me very much of a special Japanese incense that my friend Noriko brought me from a temple in the countryside.

Jasmine and Pine

Another gem from the stash of decants I received from Joanna is vintage Devin cologne by Bernard Chant for Aramis (1978). It was a FiFi Award winner that year, which was well deserved. I've never even heard of it, and wasn't really drawn to even trying it before I got on this roll of trying out masculine scents. But when I finally did, I was in for a most pleasurable ride, and a long-lasting at that as well.

Devin is that fabulous meeting point between resinous and green. It may seem familiar to us residents of the 21st Century; but back in the day when green icy florals and soapy Chypres reigned supreme (No. 19, Ivoire, Private Collection) this must have been an original.

Whenever I got out of the rustic village and visited my grandparents in their modern Tel Aviv apartment, I would be treated with the most luxurious bath in my grandmother's best tradition: foam bath in her blue bathtub. Into the warm running water (ours had to be boiled stove-top in a kettle!) into which my grandmother would drizzle generous amount of an acid-green fragrant liquid from an emerald-coloured plastic bottle to create rich lather the consistency of meringue. I would build mountains of this cream on top of my head and pretend to lick it off like ice cream. Naturally, it smelled of pine needles in the most heavenly way. And that fresh-yet-sweet, resinous scent is what the opening of Devin smells like to me.

Its body reveals sweet galbanum resin, which while still green smells unquestionably sweet, and more like a confection than something you would put in your salad (FYI: galbanum oil smells like parsley on steroids), and there is pine-y yet balsamic frankincense that extends the evergreen notes and melds them seamlessly into the obvious undercurrent of amber that's flowing underneath. If you pay close attention you'll also notice there is quite a bit of jasmine hidden in the heart, harmonizing these seemingly unrelated elements of evergreen forest and frankincense and sticky amber. Later on, spicy notes of cinnamon and cloves emerge as well, but they are not obvious at all - they just add warmth, and also an aldehydic lift to the composition. They are rather light in both dosage and character.

While the sweetness places Devin in a rather feminine territory of amber orientals, there are also other elements that make it also masculine, besides the lovely pine. There is a dry leathery base note, hint of dry, acrid oakmoss, dry cedarwood and phenolic herbs (thyme, artemisia). Compare that with Obsession though (armoise, tagetes), and you'll notice that the two are alarmingly similar not just in smell but also in their notes. The ending note is a smooth, natural vanilla-amber, a surprise for a masculine, and even more so surprising is how un-boring it is. Ambers can easily become flat and redundant. But when true vanilla absolute is used, and some contrasting elements such as dark patchouli (even if in the tiniest amount), this can't be farther from the truth.

Devin is one of those rare things: a masculine fragrance with absolutely nothing about it I do not like.   With so many of them there is a phase I wish I could fast-forward through or skip altogether (the top notes in Polo green, for example, are a bit much and I wish I could lower the volume a bit until the dry down begins to kick in). Each phase in its progression is delectable, yet calling it a crowd pleaser would do it injustice. It's unique and to me seems ahead of its time, a precursor for Obsession (1985) and predicting modern, unusual fragrances that choose to treat the note of galbanum as a rich, incensy or even foody manner rather than the bracing cut-grass and soap that Yohji (1996) and Incensi by Lorenzo Villoresi (1997). Serge Lutens' much later Fille en Aiguilles (2009) has a similar structure, only here galbanum resin is replaced by the jam-like, resinous-sweet fir absolute.

Top notes: Bergamot, Pine, Artemisia, Lemon
Heart notes: Jasmine, Carnation, Thyme, Cinnamon
Base notes: Galbanum Resin, Frankincense, Amber, Leather, Cedarwood, Patchouli 

Courage by One Seed Company

Curly petals of intoxicatingly fragrant yellow Ylang Ylang, a photo by jungle mama on Flickr.

Courage by One Seed Company opens with a very rounded, citrusy-floral-amber presence with the soprano melismas of magnolia embelishments and raspy myrrh undertones. Otherwise, this perfume is a not-all-that-courageous all-natural ambery jasmine, paired with all its long-time allies: sweet orange, ylang ylang and vanilla. While I can't say I've never smelled anything like it before, it is well made and balanced, and deserved mention even though it hasn't rocked my world.

The rather fruity opening of orange and peach-like magnolia reveals a raspy-voiced jasmine alongside spicy whispers of ylang ylang (which further amplifies the clove-like eugenol, which is present in jasmine as well). The sweetness of all is further amplified with an almost-syrupy base of benzoin and vanilla, balanced only with the slightest hint of earthy, bitter myrrh.

Top notes: Magnolia, Rosewood, Sweet Orange
Heart notes: Jasmine, Ylang Ylang
Base notes: Benzoin, Myrrh, Vanilla

Patchouli Magique

Russian scarf A LA RUSSE - Kristina Bazan (KAYTURE), a photo by MagnifiqueLilly on Flickr.

The lovely Muza has generously sent me samples to enjoy, including Russian perfumes which I have never been exposed to. It's wonderful to explore fragrances that I don't normally have access to. And among them, Patchouli Magique immediately grabbed my attention. If it wasn't for this, I would have continued to believe that the prime purpose of perfume in Russia is a vodka back-up.

Patchouli Magique is not a Bolshevik perfume. I'm still stumbling to find out when it was actually created - before or after the revolution or the perestroika or whatever the crumbling of the Soviet Union is referred to. All I know is that it's a fine patchouli fragrance that won't put to shame even the most niche houses out there. I wish I had it earlier when I was running the patchouli series - consider this a latecomer to the patchouli party!

Patchouli Magique enveloped me in a plush wrap made of soft yet rustic fabric. Like a hand-woven alpaca poncho. Or a woolen Russian scarf for that matter, with big roses printed all over it. Patchouli Magique is indeed magical - it's soothing yet sophisticated. Welcoming you with warm earthy notes of dry patchouli leaves; yet develops into warmer, sweeter notes of aged patchouli mingled with amber and sensuous musk. And a trail of sweet incense smoke weaves its way through - not the heavy resinous church incense; but rather a blend of sandalwood and flowers, reminiscent of the famous Nag Champa. Patchouli Magique is a delightful discovery in the patchouli genre, and is unusual in that it is simultaneously luxurious and sophisticated yet easy to wear and not in the least pretentious or overbearing. Being centred around a base note, its structure is not nearly as complex as classic French perfumes and such; but it is still dynamic rather than static; and provides something to ponder upon as you just immerse yourself in all those alluring notes and surrender to their powerful yet quiet beauty.

Patchouli Magique is made by Novaya Zarya, and being Russian, there got to be some fascinating history behind this house: originally Henri Brocard's company (a French perfumer that moved his business to Russia)*, it was renamed "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 5" in 1917 (after the revolution); and then "Novaya Zarya (New Dawn) in 1922, under which title they first released Krasnaya Moskva (Red Moscow) - the first Soviet perfume.

* The story of this brand is kinda like the reverse of Ernest Beaux, whose family's perfume business, A. Rallet&Co. before the revolution; and "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 7" in 1918, and eventually - Svoboda (Freedom)

Osmanthus Red

rothko_redblackmaroon, a photo by expository writing: arts & ideas on Flickr.

Osmanthus Red by Rebel & Mercury paints osmanthus in broad strokes of magenta, red and gold. While most mainstream osmanthus scents are painted in faint, washed-out watercolours, Nikki Sherritt prefers to paint hers in full-bodied oils that give a thick, almost syrupy texture to this rare absolute.

Osmanthus Red pairs the plum-like and "violet meets blackberry jam" quality of osmanthus, as the perfumer described she perceives it in our previous conversation - with juicy blood orange, and the golden hues of marigold (aka tagetes - pronounce tah-jet), a modest garden flower that keeps hungry caterpillars at bay, and gets little attention if at all from perfumers. Marigold on its own has a slightly citrus opening reminiscent of bitter orange zest; but it is most significant for its overripe Golden Delicious apple-like notes and almost-disturbing green bit of leafy overtones; yet ends with a soft, very natural, herbaceous-sweet grassy, hay-like finish. It's a little like tomato-leaf: you'll either love it or hate it. And who besided Nikki would have imagined that such a strong-minded note will get along so well with the elusive and distinctive osmanthus?

Snowy mooncakes - Sweet Potato and Banana, Sweet Osmanthus and Chestnut and Chocolate and Banana, a photo by Pondspider on Flickr.

Another prominent note in Osmanthus Red seem to give a nod to the Asian culture from which this plant originates: ginger CO2, which is full-bodied and as golden as could be, almost candy-like. Tuberose gives it an animalic edge, yet with a feminine softness, which leads us to the most alluring, voluptuous amber base, lingering for hours on end. It's honeyed, a tad powdery and very long lasting, as a good amber should be.

This is the Eau de Parfum I'm writing about. It is also made in an oil base. Other sizes are also available from the Rebel & Mercury online shop.

Amaluna

Untitled, a photo by kivellotephotography on Flickr.

Every once in a while, I owe myself a visit to the circus. It doesn't only wake up the sleepy towns in Carnivale, but also the soul: bringing unsurfaced fantasies into the mundane and awakening the never-ending quest for more. And so I found myself at Cirque de Soleil's newest performance Amaluna last night, amazed at the commitment and dedication that each moment of the show requires from a host of artists - off and on stage.

The show surrounds the moon and it's fluctuating cycles, battles between fire and water, and the constant quest for love despite obstacles. One of my favourite scenes was the balancing act of sticks shaped like prehistorical bones, floating in space in a breath-stopping, slow-motion spin (pictured above).

The morning after, I pulled out my sample of Eva Luna that Charna from Providence Perfume Company kindly sent me at the end of 2012: a sheer concoction surrounding two unlikely partners: carrot seed and jasmine. Both related to the moon (as most aromatic seeds and white flowers are), it just seemed befitting to wear after the show.

Eva Luna begins with the jasmine being far more prominent than the carrot, paired with watery spearmint note. Bright, sheer and beautiful, it soars above the skin like a seagull from the water. The carrot seed whispers in the background with warmth anchored by the muskiness of ambrette seeds. Chased with a fresh yet sweet amber and frankincense accord, Eva Luna is unexpectedly easy to wear, more of a summery daylight scent than a lunar orchestra.

Who Needs a Boyfriend?!

When Boyfriend perfume came out, the story behind it as I recall was that Kate Walsh (not sure who she is - Comedian? Actress? Singer? All of the above?) longed for a long gone boyfriend's smell and thus created a perfume that will remind her of the shirt he leaves behind.

It's comforting to know that not only I sniff old boyfriend's sweaters (blush); and also, unlike the endless possibilities of cheesy videos that a perfume with such name could have rendered - I think it has a brilliant marketing campaign: It walks the tightrope of being nostalgic and emotional to a fault yet laughs at oneself while at it. Which is a healthy balance when delving into the dangerous world of romance. Even the packaging is well done - the bottle, engraved with a long list of popular Anglo-Saxone names (if you haven't dated them all, please circle the one that best applies). The only thing they overlooked in that regard is a big red marker to circle around the boyf's name/s that apply to you... I suppose I will have to source mine elsewhere.  But either way - the bottom line is that the whole campaign made me have a good laugh. Which is most welcome when it comes to the most "serious" matters of the heart... 

I guess all in all, I was the perfect target for this product: endlessly single gal in her 30's, career oriented, pretty hopeless when it comes to romance, and pathetically smelling old boyfriend's t-shirt when nobody's watching... Well, mine has gone stale long ago. I was so worried that the perfume will disappoint me that it took me another year to come closer to it (responding with a big smiling recoil at the daring dose of patchouli). And remembering that, I had to come back for a real try this week to complete my patchouli series.

Boyfriend begins with a robust fruity notes of dark plum, underscored with massive amounts of resinous benzoin - a sheer foundation for the most popular amber personality of the decade - "crystalline amber"*, whose sweetness can only be forgiven as it's anchored in a woody, dry, musky notes: bitter myrrh, reminiscent of the tears of sacrificial love that every woman worth her salt has put into a relationship only to find out that yet again, it isn't working; patchouli, to reminisce after his patchouli-lade Eau Sauvage aftershave (I'm just making things up... If I met a man who uses Eau Sauvage aftershave I would be single no more!). Vanilla kicks in shortly after the myrrh, but it's rather full-bodied and thick, bringing to mind real vanilla extract with a powdery heliotropin finish.

And lastly, Boyfriend dries into a clean patchouli and musk cocktail, that is not too uncommon for present day, but quite nicely done - a clean skin scent that is not unlike Pure Turquoise, though with a much warmer beginnings.

Boyfriend is surprisingly well-done, not just in comparison to other celebrity scents, but even just as it is. It's refreshing to see a celebrity taking her scent so seriously and bringing so much humour to a rather sore subject - kudos to her! Please don't kill it with meaningless flankers! (too late...?).  

*Crystalline amber is the kind that is light on the sweet resinous animalic aspects of labdanum, rendering its amberiness from fraction distillation of labdanum, which are more transparent, woody and clear in colour as well - plus some synthetics that I won't get into right now)

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme

Lighthouse Park, a photo by jimoftheday on Flickr.

Is it randomness or is it fate, which will forever link a certain fragrance with a certain place? Perhaps even a little of both... But the result is the same, and will forever be engrained in my brain, psyche, heart - call it what you may.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme is not exactly what you'd wear on a hike on a sunny and warm May day, but that's precisely what I will forever associate it with. Sitting on the rocks and trying to figure out what's in it - and whether I like it or not.

I'm re-visiting it again tonight, after stopping at Oakridge Mall on the way to the train station. Historic moment, by the way: in an unprecedented moment, a sales associate at The Bay has voluntarily offered to take $10 off a bottle just to make a sale... Three hours later, I wish I took her up on that.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme begins like a mist of citrus peel with florals thrown in the mix - the familiar crystalline feel of bergamot, and some tangering and orange. Non of which is strong enough, of course, to cover up the brownie, chocolatey, delicious earthiness that's lurking underneath.

First comes amber, with a load of benzoin; then the bergamot makes a second entrance, only to be pushed away by a clean, woody patchouli that almost smells like cedar. The amber and patchouli remain the main components for the next three hours, feeling a little too crystalline and transparent to my taste at first; but becoming more bold and dominant and deep, with only sandalwood occasionally making some white noise, and vanilla that is almost chocolatey and edible. Lastly, a familiar note of vetiver joins in and adds an extra layer of wood that is clean, elegant and delightful.

Prada Ambre Intense Pour Homme has a long and clumsy name, but it's well constructed, with a structure similar to the great Shalimars of the past, and could be easily worn by both men and women, as long as they go hiking with it.

Patchouli, Plastic, Prada

la diva.., a photo by luana183 on Flickr.

Initially, I picked to review this perfume because it's in my "patchouli file". But after repeated applications, and especially after reviewing the other patchouli fragrances, I'm discovering it's on the very other end of the patchouli spectrum, where light, amber and sheer plastic flowers meet for a little public display of affection.

Prada opens a little more floral than expected. Not any particular floral, but more of the floral top notes that amber accords tends to have: the lilac-and-epoxy-glue symphony from liquidambar (aka styrax) and an overall sheer, crystalline effect. If there is any patchouli in there it's completely secondary. The resins are taking centre stage, and while they are sweet, they also have a certain transparency about them that is more woody than foody. It has a simple, flat personality from an overdoze of benzoin (a caramal-like resin that has an understated, powdery yet lasting effect), and peru balsam (which is a thinner and flatter vanilla, with hints of woods). The patchouli has only a balancing act: contributing dryness counterpoint like a throaty red wine with vanilla poached pear. It whispers, never shouts. It gives the vanilla way too much elbow room and as a result the perfume feels very flat - a flat amber accord with dry nuances from patchouli.

The vanilla intensifies over time and becomes a little syrupy only half an hour in. I really wish there was more dry presence to make it ever so slightly less ambery. Prada's other flankers might be more intriguing in that regard (especially the Ambre Pour Homme Intense), but still - it's very decidedly agreeable, which comes at the expense of intrigue or mischief. It smells extremely similar to Dior Addict's vinyl and pleather vanilla theme; and very much like Notorious, just less aquatic and without that dusting of cocoa.

There is no shortage of amber scents in the world in 2004, when Prada debuted, and although I can't pretend it's groundbreaking and I've never even managed to get through half of my 2ml sample - there was certainly refreshing to observe its commercial success despite the fact that it was neither a nondescript floral nor a foody fruity floral. And a lot of others followed with patchouli-centered fragrances, which quickly turned into the much dreaded (though still better than the previous) "fruitchoulis" - those faux "chypre" compositions that juxtapose the mass appeal of candy and fruit notes with an ever so slightly sophisticated scent of natural patchouli and perhaps a few other surprises that none of us would ever sign up for (watery notes, anyone?), such as Black Orchid (Tom Ford), Notorioius (Ralph Lauren) and more.

I find the abundance of flankers from this label confusing at best, but I shall try the Prada Intense to see if it's more patchouli-centered (and hopefully also more to my liking).

Chinese Herbs and Amber

Chinese Herbs, originally uploaded by Ayala Moriel.

Well well, I will spare you the details on why I ended up at my TCM clinic again today (nothing major, but necessary enough to submit my entire body to 12 needles for an hour without movement...while meditating about the strange connectedness of the body. It's not so philosophical - the moment you move as much as a millimeter of the right wrist, for instance, you feel an unbearable pinch in the left leg...).

Anyway, while anticipating the spontaneous visit, I was reminiscing fondly over the scent of angelica that permeates the TCM's office upon entry. Bitter, pungent yet somehow comforting.

I delightfully worn a perfume that I made inspired pretty much by my original painful odyssey at the TCM back in 2009. It's fascinating how good things come out of really terrible, painful (and even tragic) events in our life. I was able to sweeten my medicine, so to speak, not with honey but with amber. And those good things usually have more depth, mystery, intrigue and realness to them. Probably because they stemmed from more than just a pretty idea or a fantasy. They were earned with blood, sweat and tears...

I'm typing this while still gagging on the potion you see in the photo (even though with the honey it's not nearly as bad as I had to take it - straight - back in 2009). But in my memory is still ingrained the odyssey and how it really saved my back (and my life) at the time.

So, you probably want to hear no more about these herbs, and are slightly curious about the perfume I'm wearing today... It's not really a perfume, yet. It's an amber accord, which I created very much as a result of my exposure to these crazily effective, angelica-and-dust tasting bitter herbs. It has the smokiness of don quai (Angelica chinensis - aka Chinese angelica), with a bit of celery-like tones of lovage. Both very dark. And it's sweetly comforting like any amber should be - honeyed, soothing, soft and warming.

I love wearing it on its own. But I've also treated it as an amber base in other perfumes I'm working on. And like so many of my perfumes, it takes years to really refine an idea or develop it. Not to mention that one could and should only release so many perfumes in one year... So it will take time before anyone will be allowed to smell it (unless you come visit me in the studio in person, that is!). I love working on projects like that at their own pace, and with their process unique to them. Unrushed, authentic, yet with some kind of perspective (being reviewed and reworked years after the moment of inspiration is sometimes an advantage!). It's just how it should be.

Antique Amber for BuenoStyle

One of the things I've enjoyed the most last year, was collaborating with other creative and passionate business women in Vancouver, who I was fortunte enough to meet. As you may have already seen on BuenoStyle's blog, my 1st collaboration for 2011 is ready to launch this weekend!

Christi York of BuenoStyle creates jewelry from vintage finds that she collects and assembles with her own design sensibilities and style: chains, beads, brooches, lockets and vintage charms. Walking up the stairs leading to her studio, the scent of antique furniture and wood-polish and hints of incense perfumed the air ever so gently. Her studio is located on Main street, with a large window to the street observing Shaktea tea salon (I'm so envious!). These wide windows bring in plenty of natural light so one can marvel at the beautiful miniscule vintage treasures, such a chains of pearls, antique brass clasps, rolls of vintage chains, crystal and glass beads, Bakelite flowers and old tarnished filigreed lockets - attractively arranged in wooden trays of print setters.

So it only made sense to call the perfume that was going to complement BuenoStyle's jewelry with the name Antique Amber!

Christi's favourite scent has been Cancer perfume from my (now discontinued) Zodiac collection. We felt that while the perfume was very appropriate for the style and personality of BuenoStyle, this name was misleading. So we formulated it for a solid perfume base, and changed the name to Antique Amber, so that even people who were not born under the sign of the crab will feel compelled to adorn themselves with this exotic amber perfume!

Antique Amber is an oriental-ambery perfume with an old-world charm, like an antique wooden dresser filled with treasures: Luxurious amber resin, exotic patchouli-scented shawls, and remnants of jasmine perfume for an extra feminine touch. Borneol camphor and a hint of aniseed add a mysterious, lingering cool/warm intrigue.
Antique Amber can be worn alone or can be layered with other perfumes for added depth mystery.

Notes: Amber, Camphor, Aniseed, Jasmine, Patchouli

Fragrance family: Oriental-Ambery

Antique Amber will debut tomorrow, encased in BuenoStyle's perfume locket pendants with vintage chain patchwork and crystals (each is a unique design - one of a kind piece!) at the Indie I Do show at Heritage Hall (Main @ 16th Ave), tomorrow - January 22nd, from 11am-5pm. Hope to see you there!

Magnolia Lily & The Chinese Apothecary

Some Chinese herbs, originally uploaded by egle_k..

Just before the year ended, some packages with supplies that got stuck in the holiday mail arrived. One of them had a sample of CO2 extraction of Magnolia Lily (Magnolia fargesii) - a type of magnolia that smells nothing like white magnolia or champaca. It has none of the fruitiness or sweetn floralcy of either. Rather, it is camphoreous and medicinal and leaves the palette bewildered as for whether it is hot or cold. It reminds me a bit of ginger lily (only woodier and less reminiscent of ginger and roots) and I immediately knew I would have to try it out in my 5th mod of the Amber & Ginger perfume (by the way, this is only the working name for this perfume) - a perfume I started working on last winter when I caught a bad flu and needed something to warm me up. All the more appropriate to add to it an essence that smells like a Chinese Apothecary!

Incidentally, my spring cleaning also revealed some treasures. Literally. I found my lost formula for the 5-spice accord I was hoping to use in some upcoming revolutionary floral (I don't know what would be revolutionary about it but I can feel it). I also found 7 pendants, probably in the same drawer. Which a good thing because otherwise I would have needed to order more!

So, the 5th mod of Ginger & Amber features the abovementioned Magnolia Lily, as well as a hint of Egyptian jasmine grandiflorum absolute (a stellar jasmine if you ask me). I also created a 6th mod, in which there is even more magnolia lily and jasmine, as well as some ginger lily (the root, not the flower). It is still just as juicy and cozy as the 4th mod that I loved, but thanks to the floral heart notes it has less of the hollowness that typifies perfumes based on a top-note & base-note marriage.

Previous posts about Amber & Ginger's development:

March 3rd, 2008: Amber & Ginger

April 2nd, 2008: Amber & Ginger, Part 2

May 6th, 2008: Amber & Ginger: The Third Party

Of Breadth, Depth, Illusion, Reality, Chaos and Where They All Meet…

*, originally uploaded by futureancient.

A nose approaches a field of wild flowers. The air is intoxicated with the scent of myriad different species in various stages of bloom – fresh buds, flowers in full bloom, petals dying and rotting in the warm sun… You know the scent comes from the flowers, but yet if you were to go blindfolded into the field you won’t be able to tell exactly which flower is responsible to what part of the overall “wild flowers” scent. They all play like a large orchestra tuning its instrument in no particular direction or rhythm. This is reality.

Take No. 5 on the other hand, worn on a woman’s skin: it starts out certain way, and develops into different things, revealing an internal structure or hierarchy that exists all at once in one olfactory source – the perfume. Or a wine or tea for that matter, with all their different layers of top, heart and base, revealing depth in various stages of the experience. These can be likened to the orchestra already playing in perfect sync, accompanying the Mezzo-Soprano diva at any given moment.
But is there anything out there in nature, completely non man-made, that has a hierarchical olfactory existence such as perfume?

I have to confess - all the Jean-Claude Elena talk yesterday neatly got me to almost lose sleep as I was contemplating those two principles that seem to pull modern perfumery into two different directions: expansion, diffusion and breadth versus hierarchy/structure, evolution and depth. These two concepts are what Octavian Sever Coifan refers to as the principles of Musk and Amber.

I noticed that I have difficult time understanding or fully grasping certain modern perfumes. I only now noticed why: these are made to evolve differently. Although I may be able to detect one note or another in composition such as Narcisso Rodriguez, Agent Provocateur and Osmanthe Yunnan – I can’t say I perceive them as clearly as in, say, the classic Carons and Guerlains. These perfumes are fickle like the scent of an ocean breeze or a field of wild flowers. It’s almost as if their source has blurred (even though I know they are on my skin when I wear them). They are even more ephemeral the scent is to begin with. It’s hard to tell when they move from one phase to another. It’s hard to tell if the dry down is still apparent or if the perfume left the skin hours ago. They exisit in a different dimension altogether...

The classic orientals, chypres and fougeres, however, have a well-kept structure that reveals itself as you go along. They are still abstract and intangible (as fragrance always is); but it’s easier to see what’s going on at any given time. There is a flow and it’s heading forward at all times. Where as in the other genre, there is constant movement to all direction in an attempt to diffuse and disperse the molecules, almost as if attempting to hide their source.

I found it particularly fascinating that these perfumes that are more abstract and conceptual and follow the “musk” principle (i.e. Jean-Claude Elena’s) actually behave a lot more like scents do in nature; where as perfumes following the “amber” principle are in fact restricting the scents and coaxing them into pre-established forms.

It is interesting to note that the latest attempts to modernize the genre of chypre have mostly focused on rearing these compositions into the “musk” direction. I was nearly awe-struck last night when I re-applied Terre d’Hermes and noticed that what made it smell familiar to me is its resemblance to Agent Provocateur of all things!
And no, it is not just a question of vetiver, it’s the usage of synthetic musk that create that there-but-not-quite-with-you feel that I find to underline all musk-oriented fragrances. To illustrate my point, think of what happened in 31, Rue Cambon where iris and pepper were used to create the illusion of chypre, and how little it has to do with Miss Dior and how much more it has to do with scents such as Osmanthe Yunnan or Terre d’Hermes.
A nose approaches a field of wild flowers. The air is intoxicated with the scent of myriad different species in various stages of bloom – fresh buds, flowers in full bloom, petals dying and rotting in the warm sun… You know the scent comes from the flowers, but yet if you were to go blindfolded into the field you won’t be able to tell exactly which flower is responsible to what part of the overall “wild flowers” scent. They all play like a large orchestra tuning its instrument in no particular direction or rhythm. This is reality.

Take No. 5 on the other hand, worn on a woman’s skin: it starts out certain way, and develops into different things, revealing an internal structure or hierarchy that exists all at once in one olfactory source – the perfume. Or a wine or tea for that matter, with all their different layers of top, heart and base, revealing depth in various stages of the experience. These can be likened to the orchestra already playing in perfect sync, accompanying the Mezzo-Soprano diva at any given moment.
But is there anything out there in nature, completely non man-made, that has a hierarchical olfactory existence such as perfume?

I have to confess - all the Jean-Claude Elena talk yesterday neatly got me to almost lose sleep as I was contemplating those two principles that seem to pull modern perfumery into two different directions: expansion, diffusion and breadth versus hierarchy/structure, evolution and depth. These two concepts are what Octavian Sever Coifan refers to as the principles of Musk and Amber.

I noticed that I have difficult time understanding or fully grasping certain modern perfumes. I only now noticed why: these are made to evolve differently. Although I may be able to detect one note or another in composition such as Narcisso Rodriguez, Agent Provocateur and Osmanthe Yunnan – I can’t say I perceive them as clearly as in, say, the classic Carons and Guerlains. These perfumes are fickle like the scent of an ocean breeze or a field of wild flowers. It’s almost as if their source has blurred (even though I know they are on my skin when I wear them). They are even more ephemeral the scent is to begin with. It’s hard to tell when they move from one phase to another. It’s hard to tell if the dry down is still apparent or if the perfume left the skin hours ago. They exisit in a different dimension altogether...

The classic orientals, chypres and fougeres, however, have a well-kept structure that reveals itself as you go along. They are still abstract and intangible (as fragrance always is); but it’s easier to see what’s going on at any given time. There is a flow and it’s heading forward at all times. Where as in the other genre, there is constant movement to all direction in an attempt to diffuse and disperse the molecules, almost as if attempting to hide their source.

I found it particularly fascinating that these perfumes that are more abstract and conceptual and follow the “musk” principle (i.e. Jean-Claude Elena’s) actually behave a lot more like scents do in nature; where as perfumes following the “amber” principle are in fact restricting the scents and coaxing them into pre-established forms.

It is interesting to note that the latest attempts to modernize the genre of chypre have mostly focused on rearing these compositions into the “musk” direction. I was nearly awe-struck last night when I re-applied Terre d’Hermes and noticed that what made it smell familiar to me is its resemblance to Agent Provocateur of all things!
And no, it is not just a question of vetiver, it’s the usage of synthetic musk that create that there-but-not-quite-with-you feel that I find to underline all musk-oriented fragrances. To illustrate my point, think of what happened in 31, Rue Cambon where iris and pepper were used to create the illusion of chypre, and how little it has to do with Miss Dior and how much more it has to do with scents such as Osmanthe Yunnan or Terre d’Hermes.

Ginger & Amber: The Third Party

zest, originally uploaded by ChrisB in SEA.

It seems to be moving in one month intervals with the development of this fragrance. And here comes the third entry for my amber and ginger fascination. Last time I was wishing for more of a dramatic dichotomy between the fuzzy amber and the zesty ginger. The 2nd mod was very close to what I wanted - turning up a little musky, surprisingly. I liked the dry out but wanted to amplify the zing of ginger.

The third mod tries to do just that, and with the addition of a third party, a new element: orange.
Wild orange, to be precise. It’s lively and zingy and mouthwatering. In addition, the candy-like sweetness of Tangerine Murcott and orange peel.

I have also decided to play up the musky qualities with the addition of ambrette seed CO2. And to increase the sweet drama of the amber with some naughtily animalic honey absolute. I have to say that so far I’m pretty happy with the direction, although it’s not finalized yet.

For the next mod, I would like to add some orange juice essence (which I run out of and need to order) and perhaps something floral as well to make it more perfumey and complex. I was thinking about gingerlily but quickly realized it’s the idea of using gingerlily (because of the name) and not the scent itself that is attracting me here. Gingerlily will be too complex and add a musty-earthy spiciness which is what I’m trying to get away from. I want the juiciness of ginger, not the rootiness of it.

Amber & Ginger, Part Two

rizaulait+gingembre, originally uploaded by auntie_jo.

A month ago, I shared with you my craving for ginger and amber, together. Now experiencing the sequel of the same flu (been traveling around the city I hear, with two phases, thankfully the second is less aggressive than the first) - my ginger & amber craving has come a full circle.
In the last three or four days, I have been wearing my second mod for this amber and ginger perfume concept. This ons is so simple it’s almost ridiculous to even consider it a perfume yet. But it works as a skeletal stage for something bigger and better. I hope.
All it has is my amber base no.3, with organic ginger CO2 and an extra boost of styrax added. Since there is already styrax in the amber formula, don’t even consider it an additional element or note... The amber base includes plenty of styrax, plus benzoin, vanilla, tonka bean and two different labdanums. It’s a sheer sweet amber, simple and easy going.

It wears nicely on the skin, even if a little too soft. I would like to see more of a dichotomy between a zingy bite in the opening, and a deep, rich, caramel-like at the base.

When I was searching for images to illustrate this little entry I came across this rice pudding garnished with candied ginger. It instantly reminded me of the ginger gelato I had in Squamish two weekends ago. It was dotted with caramelized ginger galore. And if you found a teaspoonful that did not have ginger in it, it tasted mostly like mastic, the magical resin used to thicken and flavour ice cream in the Mediterranean region. It is the contrast between the cool ice cream and the hot, spicy ginger that I find most intriguing, and perhaps this is what I’m searching for in my amber & ginger perfume. The sharpness of ginger on the backdrop of buttery-smooth amber is what I envision for it.

Something to think about: adding notes of mastic resin tincture. And amplify the ginger so much so, that it would have an unmistakable initial bite, no matter on how much amber it’s lying.

Ginger & Amber

Ginger Root, originally uploaded by cfwhitney.

Craving of recent weeks: ginger and amber perfume. Maybe it was the cold that stroke me, I was craving a ginger perfume, with the gorgeous authenticity that I've found only in one essence: organic ginger CO2... Instead, I was reaching out for Burnt Amber, and imagining the ginger part. This must have helped to chase away that cold...

Today at the lab I was playing around with the idea, and as I feared, this is not going to be an easy task. I always find it challenging to blend orienal ambery notes (mainly labdanum) with both citrus and spices without creating a mess. And by mess I mean a muddy, cluttered sensation, no definite statement and of course the downside of materials gone to waste... Very easy to get there, and this is what happened as soon as I got tempted to add some fresh ginger essential oil to the mix.

The next day will require a careful mixing of one of my amber bases along with ginger CO2 only. More to come...

Sticky and Stuck

candy lane, originally uploaded by Carol Esther.

You won’t ever hear me complaining about my work as a perfumer. I have the most creative freedom possible on this earth and I enjoy every bit of the process from concept to getting dirty and messing up with the scents. It is also very rare that I find myself “stuck” and in a sort of an awkward situation when it comes to fragrance development.

But now I am. I am feeling quite frustrated with a particular composition I was commissioned to create for a client. There are a few technical issues at hand, one being that the medium is a solid perfume (rather than the alcohol I usually prefer to work in). The second is that the scent itself is an ambery fragrance, and is meant to be mostly amber. The issue is not so much with the scent itself as it is with the medium it’s in. You see, most of the essences used to create an amber accord are stickier than molasses. Benzoin, Peru balsam, labdanum… These are all thick and sticky materials that without the helping hand of alcohol are really difficult to work with. I feel like I hit that spot in Candyland and I am just not seeing the way out… I already missed 8 turns, and that's more than I'm used to...

The other problem I am finding myself in is that originally, this was meant to be an amber/incense scent. I am feeling a lack of direction, even though these two seemingly have no conflict with one another whatsoever. When it comes to a scent that is rather simple, they seem to just not get to where I’d like them to be. Amber and incense should be rich, deep, penetrating and sweet. Instead, I am getting a gooey mess that smells more like rancid resins than anything else. Plus you get that sticky feeling when you finally get to smear it on your skin. Not fun at all, I’m telling you. And with the amber pulling one direction and incense pulling the other, I am feeling totally stuck in the middle from an olfactory design point of view.

Last night, what I did was blend together a new amber base. I already developed 5 different ambers which I love. But for this client I think they deserve to get something new. It is mostly based on Peru balsam with hints of other balsams, vanilla, benzoin and styrax. What makes this interesting is the added note of helicrysum absolute. And this is what I am hoping would set this apart from other ambers (meaning: keep it from being lame…). To that amber base I would like to add a tad of smoky-resinous notes of Choya Loban (the distractive distillation of benzoin, meaning it is left ot burn and scortch a little in the process, to produce a wonderfully smoky burnt caramel scent). Aside from that, a bit orange for sweetness and a lift, guiacwood for additional smokiness and finally a bit of cedar to thin out the consistency and add a smooth woodsy touch.

Cross your fingers for me... I am hoping in the morning, after I melt these all together into a solid perfume, I will finally get what I want: A stunning smoky amber.

Update: I spent most of the day struggling with the amber. I made additional 3 mods and melted them down to make a creme parfum. In all instances, the resins sink to the bottom after melting and even after re-melting. Changing the order of melting didn't help much either (i.e.: melting the essences together with the beeswax, or alternatively heating them up gently inside in oil base). I am getting scorched caramel lining on all of my pots and am feeling almost helpless... But wait, there is hope. One of the ambers seems to smell right after becoming a solid. It's a sweet, sugary amber and my friends who came over for dinner tonight tried it on and loved it. They even thought it is very girly and fashionable, which is the last thing I would have thought about it... Which is a good thing, because this amber is suppose to be very approachable, even if a bit off-beat and interesting. Is it possible that I am over-criticizing my amber?

A few hours later, my amber on my arm has warmed into a truly caramely, sugary layer glimpsing at me from my skin. I am starting to think that it might be it. Or at least very close to where I want to get. Forget about the woods and smoke. Let's just do a caramely amber and enjoy the dessert...

Anbar

Anbar, or amber in Arabic, refers to both ambergris and the fossilized resin used as a gemstone whose beads are often used in Masbaha (prayer beaded chains). I got the perfume oil by this name at Majed’s shop, and it is also dark in colour.

Anbar perfume oil is not as animalic as Al Mesk Aswad, but is still fecal, dark, sweet, and has hints of civet. It smells so animalic it may have some ambergris to it. Like Al Mesk Aswad, I smell hints of camphor at first, which smells cool and metallic, with hints of myrrh and benzoin. Most of all, Anbar reminds me of antiques made of dusty copper and brass and of chains of amber Masbaha displayed in abundance in a crowded souk, where fumes of incense weave their way through the abundance of old Persian carpets, coin-decorated belly dancer’s outfits, piles of dusty incense tears, copper lanterns and hookas laid out on the cool, footsteps-polished dusty stone floor.

Photo: Words of Wisdom, by Barbara (overthemoon on Flickr)