Architecture of Perfume

The Language of Flowers

2012-02-14T21:23:00.000-08:00

Aromatic flowers are practically synonymous with perfume. Aside from their beauty, their scent is what captivates our imagination. As such, flowers have long been viewed as symbols of love and their scent, the vehicle of this emotion. Perfumers have been keen to capture this aphrodisiac quality so that our bodies could readily be adorned with their aura. While flowers have long conveyed meaning (i.e. red rose=romantic love, narcissus=egoism, etc.) it was the Victorians who perfected a language of flowers, so they could convey a sentiment or message without words.

In his essay, “The Language of Flowers” George Bataille critiques this sentimental approach to flowers and proposes an alternative interpretation that is modern, complex and perplexing. While he acknowledges the aphrodisiac qualities of flowers, he proceeds to deconstruct their ideal beauty and reveal their sordid nature. Beneath the colorful corolla lies “dirty traces of pollen” and a “satanically elegant” stamen. The external beauty of flowers distracts us from recognizing their perverse “hairy sexual organs”, far from the human ideal as espoused by the great philosophers and their categorical imperative. For Bataille, flowers are oppositional in that they interpenetrate reason with bestial unreason. In his previous essay, “The Solar Anus”, Bataille states that the communist worker appears as ugly and dirty as “hairy sexual organs” to the bourgeois. So by undermining the western obsession with the ideal, there is a politicizing aspect to his critique as well.

Bataille’s language is obscure, almost poetic, yet some of his statements border on the hilarious: “flowers do not age honestly like leaves, which lose nothing of their beauty, even after they have died; flowers wither like old and overly made-up dowagers, and they die ridiculously on stems that seemed to carry them to the clouds”. He follows that thought with the tragicomic opposition of the “death-drama” carried out between the earth and sky where we learn the “banal truth” that “love smells like death”. By extension, since flowers embody love, they too, smell of death.

Bataille was trained as a medievalist librarian and worked at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris until 1942. He must have come in contact with seminal texts, in particular those of the alchemists. Much of his writing is infused with alchemical imagery and shrouded by enigma. Certainly his emphasis on the dissolution, death and putrefaction of the flower seems like a direct reference to alchemical transformation, or at least a part of it: “after a very short period of glory the marvelous corolla rots indecently in the sun, thus becoming, for the plant, a garish withering.” He describes the roots of the plant as “swarming under the surface of the soil, nauseating and naked like vermin”. The roots, he continues, “represent the perfect counterpart to the visible parts of a plant” and are base in the sense that they are connected to what is evil. He even conjures up the satanic image of the mandrake root, the mystical plant of alchemists. It is easy to recognize the roots of a plant as oppositional, but Bataille demonstrates that flowers inherently represent those qualities as well.

What is Bataille seeking to achieve by tearing down the image of the flower as noble and showing it to be putrid and base? There are so many layers to this essay: philosophical, political, psychological and religious. Bataille seems to be lashing out at all of these “establishmentarians”, but to what end? In the last sentence of the essay, Bataille references the Marquis de Sade who had the most beautiful roses delivered to him only to “pluck off their petals and toss them in to a ditch filled with liquid manure.” Like Sade, Bataille is “substituting natural forms for abstractions” because even elevated thoughts, like flowers, can end up getting dragged through the mud. Bataille was interested in this type of “heterogeneous matter”, subjects so repulsive as to defy all convention. In the manner of a true alchemist he brings together the oppositional realms of the very high to the very low.

It is interesting to note that “The Language of Flowers” was published in Documents (Documents 3, June 1929), an art review founded by Bataille and other surrealists like Andre Breton, who criticized Bataille publicly for this essay and his reference to Sade, labeling him an “excremental philosopher”. While this essay could be viewed within its surrealist context, it seems more fitting to position Bataille’s oeuvre in relation to its alchemical roots. Bataille was the first philosopher whose work was written using suggestive language, rich allegories and word play instead of abstract, analytic and discursive methods that filtered out the brute physicality of the world. This was the method of inquiry employed by alchemists before the advent of scientific methodology. At times Bataille’s texts read like a riddle, cryptic and coded and highly evocative of an alchemical image that encodes knowledge. Bataille seems to have deliberately chosen to write his philosophy through an alchemical lens that obscures the idiom and makes his work that much more layered and complex, offering alternate paths of interpretation.

For perfumers, “The Language of Flowers” confirms the notion that floral notes are not always pretty and limpid, but can hide a dark, fetid side that lends them complexity like the indole found in jasmine, the animalic musk in rose and the earthy-rootiness of orris. It works the other way too; where one senses a hint of floral sweetness in hyraceum, castoreum and ambergris. An undercurrent of this theme is the connection between the world of perfumery to that of alchemy through the transformation of plant matter into aromatics. The image of Sade tossing fresh rose petals into a manure ditch, this alembication of high with low, combining beauty with baseness is the essence of perfumery.

We remain captivated by the sillage of these thoughts.

Form Follows Fragrance

2011-07-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

A perfume cannot exist without its container. Perfume bottles have been around for millenia, intriguing us with their essences. The perfumes themselves may have evaporated, but the forms linger and speak for the vanished contents. These ancient vessels are still as relevant today as they were when they were first created. The perfume bottle has indeed transcended time.

In order to understand how the perfume bottle has remained timeless I thought I would make one. There were several functional requirements that would have to be met. The bottle would have to be non-porous and protect the fragile essences from sunlight and oxidation, be non-reactive against the corrosive action of the volatile oils/alcohol and be proportioned to contain the precious liquid, about 1/2 ounce. There would also have to be a small opening so that the perfume could be applied without spilling and the orifice closure would have to prevent evaporation.

The natural materials available ended up being limited to glass, stone, glazed ceramic or stainless steel, the same materials one would use to cook acidic foods. Glass would have to be blown, cast or ground. Stone would have to be chiseled or ground. Steel would have to be forged.

Ceramic would have to be formed and glazed. An unglazed terracotta pendent, however, could be the ideal vehicle for wearing a natural perfume as it would hold onto the volatile notes and diffuse them slowly. But that’s the subject of a different exploration . . . Of all the methods, the one that afforded the most plasticity and availability was ceramics. Since I had taken a ceramics class (two years ago), I decided to practice throwing in miniature.

The forms that resulted were limited by my technical ability, but yielded a surprising variety of shapes. Perhaps unconsciously influenced by the work of Jonathan Adler

or the generic genie bottle each flagon took on a different shape, all under two inches high.

There is an amusing similarity between one of the bottles and the bulb extractor given to me at the hospital last November after my daughter was born. Hmmm, I wonder if those bulb extractors could hold perfume . . .

Aside from the formal study, other basic issues such as materiality and decoration were explored. Since I was not proficient enough to use porcelain, a material better suited to such small scale work, I chose a clay body with a fine grit which I highlighted by leaving a portion of the exterior unglazed. The bottle interior, however, had to be glazed and non-porous. Depending on how the pieces were dipped, the interior glaze sometimes overlapped the exterior glaze and resulted in some unexpected results and flaws. This contrast between glazed and unglazed surfaces was the only decorative element used.

Another challenge was to pull the bottle walls thin enough without compromising their structural integrity. This would help reduce material weight and ensure the bottles were proportional. The top had to be finished so that a cork stopper would fit properly. Cork was chosen because of its traditional use in perfumery and availability. In order to figure out volume, each bottle had to be filled with water before measuring out the perfume. No other identifying details such as labels or tags were used except for a signet ring imprint (did ancient perfumes have labels?). Finally, the bottles were not created with a particular perfume in mind, but were the end result of an exploration of perfume containment as a concept and analogous to study models or sketches used architecturally to analyze an idea.

My handmade ceramic perfume bottles work well and have an appeal that is almost toylike. They are reminiscent of the miniature Chinese ceramic jugs shown below that are almost 2,000 years old. As much as I enjoyed this experiment, the modern day exigencies of perfume selling would make my ceramic bottles highly impractical. Although form follows fragrance, there are practical considerations that have to be met. I will have to revisit this topic in the near future when I am ready to launch my first perfume.

Ghosts

2011-05-18T23:37:00.000-07:00

I recently salvaged a stash of old perfumes which included some vintage Chanel No. 5, Miss Dior and other more contemporary scents from the 70‘s and 80’s. It was such a pleasure to experience them, knowing they were no longer in production, at least the way they were formulated at the time. They reminded me of old buildings; we continue to inhabit them, but they are shells of their former selves. And yet traces of the past can be sensed like ghostly reminders.

I was surprised to discover that some of the unknown scents had murky bases full of labdanum, oakmoss, vanilla and patchouli. Contrast that to the metallic brightness favored today. These old perfumes actually unfolded on my skin, leading me to believe they contained high percentages of naturals.

Another surprise was how these old compositions were all about the base, exuding richness and complexity in lieu of lightness and transparency. Some might associate this with an “old lady” smell, but I realized that at some point in time, base notes were treasured in women’s perfumery. The leathery Miss Dior reminded me of a handsome satchel worn with a houndstooth suit and black stilletos. This Miss Dior could kick the crap out of any modern day sylph and yet her ladylike persona defined restraint.

When my mother smelled it on my wrist she said it instantly transported her back to New York in the 1950’s, when Miss Dior was a popular choice for young women with new found jobs. I may not have known my mother back then but I was able to imagine her as a 22 year old music school grad working her job at RCA and for a moment was connected to her in her past.

Mystery of Musk Perfumes

2010-10-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

Craving, Perfumes by Nature (Ambrosia Jones)

Dionysus, Lord’s Jester (Adam Gottschalk)

Drifting Sparks, Artemisia Natural Perfume (Lisa Fong)

Eau Natural, DSH Perfumes (Dawn Spenser Hurwitz)

Graines de Paradis, Sharini Parfums Naturels (Nicolas Jennings)

Kewdra, Anya’s Garden (Anya McCoy)

Musk Verdigris, BellyFlowers Perfume (Elise Pearlstine)

Sensual Embrace, JoAnne Bassett (JoAnne Bassett)

Tallulah B, A Wing and a Prayer Perfumes (Jane Cate)

Temple of Musk, Strange Invisible Perfumes (Alexandra Balahoutis)

This is a rogue review of the perfume compositions that were submitted to the Mystery of Musk competition in July 2010 and was done in collaboration with Paul Kiler (the “Real” reviewer) who allowed me to crash the party. We decided to look at 10 perfumes and comparatively evaluate how each approached the perfumer’s interpretation of musk. Since we no longer have real musk as a reference point, all perfumes attesting to muskiness had to be creative interpretations stemming from the imaginations of the perfumers themselves. Adding complexity to this issue was the wearers own pre-conceived notion of what a musk should smell like. So what pops up when one thinks of musk? Jovan? Patchouli-donning flower children smoking musky pot? Men’s underarm deodorant that’s fresh but sexy? It turns out the interpretations offered by the perfumers were much more varied and sophisticated than the one-liners we have grown to expect.

Let’s begin with Graines de Paradis since the philosophy behind the perfume tugged at my heartstrings with stories of hand-picked broom blossoms authentically and painstakingly enfleuraged in organic unguents and charmed into existance. Make no mistake, this is a gorgeous floral and the more I work with naturals, the more I realize how difficult it is to create a floral composition that maintains its structure without succumbing to a base or getting beaten up by top notes. And yet this perfume is long lasting even if its sillage grows faint. Although I’m sure Nicolas Jennings invested countless hours creating this scent for the project, I can’t help but think that many of the accords were worked out previously. This perfume is just too perfect to have been created within the timeframe of the competition which is a legitimate approach. But where was the musk hiding? After having enjoyed the pure and perfect scent of gardenia, jasmine, tiare and other flowers, perhaps I forgot about it or just wasn’t able to peel away the floral layers to uncover a musk, just a rooty base. I could smell the Paradis but not the Graines (de musc).

Craving, on the other hand, demonstrated the perfumer’s strong understanding of materials to arrive at a scent that was able to evoke coffee without having any in it. It was certainly one of the more unusual submissions, bucking convention and flirting with the potentially hazardous terrain of creating a heretofore unbeknownst category; gourmand musk. Ambrosia Jones has created a whole new definition for musk, one that involves our craving for sensuous food. I’m all for this kind of endeavor. In fact, I was hoping something like this would happen. Since few of us have ever smelled musk grains, why not allow ourselves the freedom to explore the issue. I was able to learn a lot about Ambrosia by simply smelling her perfume. She is a wild child, older and wiser now, perhaps with grown children, or maybe even grandchildren, but still seeing the world as a garden of earthly delights through which she can romp with all her senses. Her name “Ambrosia” sums it up. While I was left wanting to smell musk in Graines de Paradis, I was not disappointed by its absence in Craving. In fact, the implied musk in her perfume became all the more satisfying.

So if Craving implied musk, which perfume stated it? The hands down answer would have to be Dionysus, the most unabashedly musky, fecal/feral interpretation of the bunch. I’m not sure Dionysus is the right name for this rutty scent one would rather attribute to the god Pan . . . or to a werewolf! To my mind, Dionysus was more of a dissipated sophisticate who originated partially from peasant stock (his father was Zeus, his mother a mortal), not a lewd he-goat. Frankly, I’m scared to try it on. Maybe I could sneak up on my husband, spray some on him and then suffer the conjugal consequences . . .

Another clear statement of musk came from Dawn Spenser Hurwitz whose elegant ambrette soliflore, Eau Natural, captured my imagination. Her perfume evolved from a simple statement about botanical musk to a warm and rich scent exploration replete with pepper and gourmand honey notes. The fact that she was the only perfumer to restrict her aromatic palette to the notes listed in the competition brief while creating an incredible perfume is a testament to the clarity of her intentions. Eau Natural really does enhance the natural scent of skin in the buff or as the French would say “au naturel”.

I’m a huge fan of SIPerfumes’s Musc Botanique, but was surprised when I experienced Temple of Musk. Instead of the light, sheer sweetness of ambrette I was greeted by a discordant and somewhat camphorous opening that segued to an herbal accord. I was also mystified by the name, because the mandarin, blackcurrant and myrtle notes did not fit my concept of “Temple”, that of incense and mystery. Perhaps Ms. Balahoutis was trying to arrive at a cool herbal scent that could calm the body as the “Temple” of the soul? And then I thought this could be the start of a very interesting perfume. Temple of Musk certainly highlights the difficulty of the proposed project: to create a complete perfume in such a short period of time. I wish Ms. Balahoutis would pick up the gauntlet and complete her exploration so that she could better define her concept of Temple of which Musc Botanique is the quintessential Dionysian version. Perhaps Temple of Musk could become its Appolonian counterpart.

Speaking of Dionysian revelry . . . which era captured that spirit in our recent history? The sixties, of course! And the perfume that best defined that feeling would have to be Kewdra. I loved the clever play on words, a cross between Kewra, a heady Indian Attar made from Pandanus flowers and Kudra, the curvy Indian heroine in Tom Robbins Jitterbug Perfume who stays eternally young through her Kama Sutra practice and distillation of beet flowers. Kewdra comes on strong and stays strong seemingly for ever. The “great and powerful Oz” (Paul Kiler) declared that it had lasted a week on his scent strip! Kewdra is riotous and bawdy. You have to love Kewra in order to appreciate it as pandanus likes to take over the party. This could be a woman’s answer to Viagra!

Sensual Embrace, on the other hand reminded me of a classic perfume someone like Stevie Nicks would have worn in the seventies dressed in her vintage inspired lace outfits and soft full curls (listen to “Gypsy” or “Leather and Lace” when you wear this perfume). I’m reminded of the antique shops I used to rummage for Victorian blousons and petticoats. By the late 70’s amber and patchouli were blended with antique rose for a more classic take on sensuality. Now I understand why JoAnne Bassett decided to call her perfume Sensual Embrace. Unlike the raw sexuality of the 60’s, her interpretation of musk is all about sensuality.

Musk Verdigris, Drifting Sparks and Talullah B all share the bond of soft freshness and femininity. Drifting Sparks being the sweetest of the three, Verdigris the greenest and Talullah B the most watery. All three are balanced and expertly blended so that no note dominates but rather the whole creates a scent impression of soft, fresh musk. However, soft, fresh musk has become somewhat synonymous with deodorant in our contemporary culture, particularly Mum roll-on, a classic scent I happen to adore. While we’re on the topic of armpits, isn’t that exactly where we expect to smell our own funky human odors? So why not openly explore this dimension through perfume? I propose taking deodorants out of the closet, so to speak, to examine their potential. What I like about Mum is that it doesn’t simply mask body odor, but creates a veil between the scent of the wearer and the image of a feminine ideal. These three perfumes accomplish this while reminding us of the Three Graces; goddesses of charm, beauty and joy in their ability to delight.

It’s not easy to create an animalic scent using botanical ingredients, but there are some impressive submissions that span the spectrum of interpretation. It’s also clear there is no single definition of musk and yet we can all pretty much agree that it is a quality that appeals to the animal side of us. I’m currently reading a book by Michel Odent, the father of water birth who argues that humans are mammals designed to give birth as such. Yet our culture has hi-jacked this natural process and attempted to turn it into a man-made conception. When did we loose sight of our most fundamental animal nature? Regardless of interpretation, it’s clear to me that a musk perfume should remind us that, despite our cultural proclivities, we are still and always will be, animals.

Public and Private Realm of Perfume - Part 2: Natural Perfumes

2010-06-10T02:02:00.000-07:00

In Part 1 I critiqued how contemporary perfumery had commercialized the public realm with a battery of strong scents analogous to olfactory billboards, each vying to grab our attention. This widespread and “loud” use of perfumes in so many products has reversed what was once the traditional use perfume; as a way to draw us into the private realm of the individual. Instead, we have become (sometimes unwilling) participants in the private lives of the people we encounter throughout the day and have lost touch with the scent environments of our natural world.

Yet, I still love perfume. I enjoy the feelings they evoke, the memories they conjure and the beauty they offer. A world without perfume would quickly become boring and flat. Perfumes are virtually universal and timeless in their appreciation as they speak of culture. The ancients were crazy about them. Witness countless images of Roman ladies holding perfume bottles, Egyptians carrying perfumed cones on their heads, and exotic resins traveling the silk road. Perfume has been written into our sacred texts and even uncovered in tombs. There isn’t a culture that doesn’t have some form of scented experience. It is intrinsic to our human experience, and distinguishes us from animals but also ties us inextricably to the natural world. After all, our receptors register the same odor molecules that bees and other insects detect in flowers. If our noses only functioned to help us differentiate dangerous odors from benign, why would we have evolved such complex mechanisms to smell something as “superfluous” as a flower? It is this phenomena that compels us to create naturally derived aromatics. They connect us to the private life of the natural world where scent plays a major role in the complex dance between plants and animals.

Perfume Renaissance

A renaissance is taking place in perfumery that extends back to the ancient practice of using aromatics derived from plants and animal sources to create fragrant compositions. For lack of a better term, it has come to be known as “natural perfumery”. Others call it “traditional” or “botanical” perfumery, but what it refers to is the use of naturally or traditionally derived essences to create perfumes. It eschews the use of synthetically derived aroma chemicals and additives. However, instead of looking backwards nostalgically, natural perfumery has embraced the multitude of new extraction techniques and novel essences that have expanded the palette from some 200 notes to well over 600. It has also revived an interest in traditional extraction methods that have existed for thousands of years, such as the production of attars and is protecting these art forms from being lost.

Although natural aromatics were used exclusively up until the end of the 18th century when synthetic compounds such as vanillin were discovered, the commercial perfume world has reacted harshly to the efforts of natural perfumers. They have gone so far as to say that it isn’t possible to create a perfume with naturals because they diffuse too quickly, have limited longevity, don’t have enough lift or sillage, vary from batch to batch and end up muddy. Really?

Diffusivity

Most natural perfumes are structured on the diffusivity of the essences used in a composition. Top notes are essences that dry down and disappear within an hour, heart notes are those that last for 2-3 hours and base notes linger for 3-4 hours or more. As a result, natural perfumes change as they dry down since they do not contain fixatives to prevent top notes from dissipating or chemicals to help give them lift and sillage. The dry down allows for interesting structures to emerge as the wearer discovers new layers that reveal themselves over time. It’s a very different experience from the primarily linear structure of contemporary perfumes. Contemporary perfumes tend to smell pretty much the same when first applied as they do by the end of the day. A natural perfume evolves over time and has to smell appealing through all of its dry-down phases, not just hold together as a composition.

Longevity

The limited longevity of natural perfumes has been a subject of considerable debate and criticism. Why create a perfume if it’s only going to last for a few hours? Traditionally, perfumes were not only enjoyed on the body but also on handkerchiefs and gloves. The reason for this was the limited life of traditional perfumes on the skin. No one really knows why, but skin type and metabolism seem to be factors in how long a natural perfume will last. Dry skin tends to absorb scent molecules faster than oily skin. Warm skin diffuses scent better than cool. However, the same perfumes remain relatively “fixed” when applied to fabric or gloves. One could reach for a “mouchoir” and enjoy a perfume anytime without fatiguing ones olfactory receptors.

But there’s another argument in favor of perfumes with limited longevity and it has to do with how the nose perceives scent. In the morning, the nose is rested from it’s temporary paralysis of anosmic sleep and is most receptive to fresh, bright odors. By afternoon, the earlier hours of stimulation have somewhat desensitized the nose, so richer scents are needed. In the evening, the nose prefers the heavier scents typically associated with going out on the town. Natural perfumes lend themselves to this daily evolution of the nose. One can wear a citrus based cologne in the morning, a balsamic floral in the afternoon and a heavy oriental in the evening without fear of overlapping or muddling one’s perfumes.

Lift and Sillage

Natural perfumes have also been criticized for not having enough “lift”. While some naturals have moderate lift, most tend to remain close to the body and are rarely perceived unless one is embraced. As such, they define the private realm of the individual. The sotto voce whisper of a natural perfume is a welcome change for those fatigued by loud sillage. Commercial perfumes may dominate the public realm, but natural perfumes define the private.

Variability

Botanical extractions used in a natural perfume can vary fromseason to season and are dependent on the terroir or region where they are grown. Like wines, aromatic extractions can have “vintages” and some years may be better than others. Some extractions age well, while others oxidize quickly and this has to be taken into consideration when blending as no preservatives are added to natural perfumes. As a result, a natural perfume may not always smell exactly the same from batch to batch, unlike synthetic perfumes where many of the ingredients are created in a controlled environment so that a perfume will always smell the same. In effect, each natural perfume batch becomes a “limited edition” that is dependent on the subtle nuances offered by the elements used. These nuances may not always be perceptible to most. Like wine, variability in perfume editions can offer alternative dimensions that can be explored and savored. Each bottle of natural perfume is a unique entity. This differs greatly from the concept of mass-produced objects and is accepted for most artisanally produced items such as wine or cheese. So why not perfumes? After all, our sense of taste is wholly dependent on our nose, so why not view perfumes as an extension of our palate? That way a wearer can develop an expanded vocabulary of scent variability and, like a gourmet, be able to appreciate the subtle complexities, differences and finitude of a particular scent from edition to edition.

Complexity

Botanical extractions used in natural perfumery are complex entities often containing hundreds of naturally occurring chemical constituents. Synthetic perfumes, on the other hand are made with mostly individual chemical constituents that have to be blended into complicated formulas in order to approach the equivalent of a natural. Many botanical extractions are already “rounded out” with their own top, middle and base notes and can be viewed as complete perfumes in and of themselves. Such is the case with attars that are by made by steam distilling a single aromatic into sandalwood essential oil. Two constituents, yet deliciously intricate.

Blending naturals can be challenging as not all notes like to play well together. In addition, blends have to marry for a couple of months before they can be evaluated. A natural perfumer learns through experience which elements work together harmoniously, but after that it is up to the chemical reactions that take place in the bottle. There is an element of alchemy involved in this process that makes working with naturals so exciting, mysterious and unpredictable. Blends that start out coherent on the scent strip can end up muddy and those that smell off can end up brilliant. Simple combinations can end up better than elaborate formulas. So far, no one has quantified the process of creating natural perfumes, but why tamper with this inherent complexity and contradiction? Natural perfumery requires circular thinking and the willingness to work with variability, failure and change. It is the antithesis of structured linear thought associated with a scientific approach. A natural perfumer does not seek to tame or master his medium but rather strike a balance between the desires of the will and the outcome of circumstance.

Conclusion

Commercial and natural perfumes differ greatly from one another. One dominates the public realm while the other defines the private. One clings to the body while the other transforms it. One sparkles with the virtuosity of our scientific age while the other speaks of fragility, subtlety, nuance and changeability. One is made by a chemist, the other an alchemist.

Older commercial perfumes used higher percentages of natural ingredients in their blends. Many were eventually reformulated in the 1980‘s with synthetics because of skyrocketing costs, seasonal variability, discontinued ingredients, crop failure and even political unrest affecting the availability of natural ingredients. Cheaper and easier to obtain synthetic substitutes were no longer dependent on the vagaries of life. Recently, many of these classic perfumes have been reformulated again to satisfy the stringent requirements of IFRA. The result has changed the world of commercial perfumery to the extent that some scents are almost unrecognizable from their originals. When Luca Turin waxes poetic over the original version of a particular perfume, I can’t help but think the difference has to do with the naturals in the juice. But I also think about the history of older perfumes and how they captured a moment in time that can never be recreated. To me, that is art.

Public and Private Realm of Perfume - Part 1: Contemporary Perfumes

2009-12-15T00:39:00.000-08:00

Contemporary perfumes have become increasingly noticable in the public realm. Some are so strong that they are able to broadcast an individual upon entering a room. Others create a cloud-like aura that hovers throughout the day. They even leave their imprint in elevators, subways and office cubicles. Through the use of chemical extenders that emanate scent creating lift and sillage, fixatives that allow perfumes to last longer, and a palette of strong aromachemicals the modern perfumer appears to have unwittingly unleashed a chemical assault on the public. This has not gone unnoticed.

The prevalence of strong perfumes has sparked a backlash. Many doctors have posted signs asking people to be considerate of others and not wear scent. There are even medical procedures, such as embryo transfers where patients are asked not to use scented soaps or body washes as the odor molecules can interfere with the early stages of embryo development and cause potential chromosomal damage during transfer from petri dish to an expectant mother’s womb. Recently, the city of Detroit created fragrance-free zones in its city buildings after one of it’s employees claimed a co-worker’s perfume caused breathing problems and was awarded $100,000 by the U.S. District Court under the Americans with Disabilities Act. Finally, there are anti-fragrance campaigns that seek to ban perfumes and other synthetic smells altogether from public places.

Indeed, perfumes have become so ubiquitous that they can be found in just about everything we use. A sample inventory of scented personal care products will include: shampoos, conditioners, hair creams, gels, sprays, soaps, body washes, treatment scrubs, face cream, cleansers, toners, body lotions, eye creams, hand creams, foot creams, cuticle removers, hair removers, shaving creams, underarm deodorants, full body deodorants, perfumes, colognes, after shaves, soothing balms, toothpastes, mouthwashes and even dental floss. Almost every personal care product we use has some form of (usually synthetic) scent or flavoring. Our cleaning products are also heavily perfumed. They include household cleaners, deodorizers, scent neutralizers, detergents, solvents, and conditioners that add up to a relentless battery of smells that can not only assault the senses but can also lead to chemical sensitivities.

And as if that weren’t enough, there are architects and perfumers (Christophe Laudamiel) who are enamored with the idea of environmental smells that go beyond room fresheners or deodorizers. They seek to create scent environments and even an opera! In a recent one-day symposium held at the Parsons School of Design architects and perfumers gathered to discuss how scent could become the new territory for design. “Scent is a tool for architects and designers that should be exploited more,” quoted Paola Antonelli, the organizer for HEADSPACE 2010.

While it is interesting to conceptualize how scent can become a more proactive participant in the built environment, it’s worthy to note that contemporary perfumes have already exploited the most public domain of our cultural milieu, that of advertising our sexuality. Wearers have become olfactory billboards for perfumers where each is trying to scream over the din of the others below. These perfume screams have gotten so loud that perfumers themselves are reacting by marketing the “anti-perfume” popularized by Rei Kawakubo of Commes des Garcons or the “non-perfume” such as LolaVie, Jennifer Anniston’s soon to be launched perfume.

What has all this done to the private realm of scent; the mysterious aura of the individual, the carnal knowledge of the nose? For one, it has reversed our notions of public and private so that the smells of the bedroom can now be found in the boardroom (and everywhere else). We have become unconditional participants in the erogenous lives of others. Ironically, by thrusting out the scent of the individual and saturating the environment with aroma chemicals each of us has lost the breathing room of the self we once enjoyed. We’ve lost the room to explore our own odors, the odors of others and the smells of the natural world. In many ways I believe this is in response to the sensory deprivation that has become endemic to modern living. We use smell to recreate a world that doesn’t really exist. Perfume has become a substitute for living in the natural world where our senses were stimulated by the odors of our own bodies and our surroundings. Throughout history scent has been used to mask putrid odors, but our culture seems to be waging a war against natural smells. We wear our perfumes like armored vehicles, intent upon protecting ourselves from the terrain of natural smells.

I grew up in Iran where strong smells were inescapable: infrequently washed bodies, breath pungeant with raw onion and bazaar floors wet with animal feces, blood and urine. By contrast, there was the smell of fruit: peaches, cucumbers, melons and flowers like roses, jasmine and orange blossoms that were intensified by the arid climate. The smell of dust settling as gardens were watered in the evening and the occasional plastic-sweet plume of opium wafting over brick walls. I don’t remember the smell of detergents, cleansers, shampoos and creams. In fact, the only artificial smells I recall came from the occasional American product that seemed wildly exotic at the time: watermelon lip gloss, strawberry shampoo and Love’s Baby Soft. Otherwise, my world was defined by everyday things: the pages of a fresh notebook, fountain pen ink and pencil wood. Perhaps this helped develop a more subtle and sensitive nose that despite the strong smells of the city, did not feel the urgency to mask or perfume them.

By constantly having synthetically perfumed products around us we may be overloading our sense of smell to such an extent that it might lead us towards olfactory breakdown. Who really knows what all of these aroma chemicals are capable of doing to our odor receptors. They do cause temporary olfactory fatigue so that we are no longer able to smell the more subtle aromas around us. Now that aromachemicals can be found in countless products the world just doesn’t seem to smell as good as it once did, at least not to me.

(Part 2 of this article will examine the Public and Private Realm of Natural Perfumes)

Process versus Product

2009-02-07T20:13:00.000-08:00

A question came up recently about the discussion of perfume as a process rather than as a finished product. The consensus was that as perfumers, it was more relevant to talk about process than about the finished product. Some felt that a finished perfume did not need further discussion, unless one was to critique a scent. Others pointed out that many perfumers never felt finished with their work; they were constantly tweaking and experimenting with their perfumes even after they had been completed. This got me thinking about the issue of product versus process in the creation of perfume as well as in that of architecture. I wondered how the two disciplines could engage in a dialogue about this issue and how each could inform the other.

While a building could be considered a finished product, it is, in fact a constantly evolving “work in progress”, one that begins with a concept that is developed through a complex design process. The result is a set of drawings (a simulacrum) that describe the building analytically as a three dimensional entity. During construction further changes take place that form a part of this dynamic process. After a building is inhabited, it comes to life and is transformed by its inhabitants (Colden Mansion in 1859). Finally, after a building has been abandoned, it changes further as it decays. The life-cycle of a building is characterized by entropy. (Colden Mansion today)

If a building can be viewed as a dynamic entity that is constantly changing, can we ever view it as a product? At the inception of a project a conceptual design is presented for approval before the design of a building is developed any further. These schematic design packages necessitate hours of preparation to form a coherent “product”. Fast forward to when a building has been completed and in the pages of a magazine. The photographs that are taken are generally of spaces that have been styled to create an ideal image. Rarely does one see a photograph of a space that has been taken spontaneously. Furthermore, these photographs are selected for their composition, color and other formal elements.

Architects work towards a constantly evolving product through process. There are some, who are engaged and stimulated by the process of design, and certainly there are design tools (imaging software) that allow a conceptual design to appear as real as an actual structure, but in general, the work of architecture tends to center around the production of the object. Process is a means to an end, not an end in and of itself.

Perfumery is similar to architecture in that an idea or concept generates the process of creation and it takes months, sometime years to develop a perfume. The difference is that while a building is designed through representation, the design of a perfume is done using the materials that actually make up the perfume itself. Process is product in perfumery. Perhaps that is why perfumers prefer to talk about making their perfumes. The process of creation is the creation itself. While the architectural object is dynamic and changeable, the object of perfumery – a finished perfume - is static. That which is dynamic in perfumery is its creation. This is not to be confused with the dynamic nature of a perfume once it is applied and the rates of dry down that create layers of changing scent. The static nature of a completed perfume has to do with the immutability of the finished blend, not a drop more being added or subtracted, it is balanced and still.

Space Time and Perfume

2009-01-18T05:35:00.000-08:00

Modern architectural theory was first established by a few seminal texts which included Siegfried Giedion’s Space, Time and Architecture published in 1941. In it he outlined concepts that formed the foundation of a new aesthetic that broke away from the architecture of the Beaux Arts tradition. He argued that abstract notions of space and time were paradigms of this new design. These revolutionary concepts have now become intrinsic to our knowledge of contemporary architecture. Today, we take for granted the notion that we experience space in time. Although we perceive space visually, we actually scan with our eyes and build composites from snapshots of our memory.

So how do we experience perfume? There are strong parallels between how we experience the visible world of the built environment and the invisible construct of our aromatic surround. As a perfumer, one has to be aware of this non-visible world and its potential to impact our spatial understanding in subtle but direct ways.

Aromas are experienced in time creating scent memories that help us remember and orient ourselves in space. When we step into a room we are first guided by our visual and auditory senses. But what about our olfactory impressions? When we transition from one space to another we become aware of odors. These odors help our brain differentiate between safety and danger. If we “smell danger”, our brain prevents us from going any further. However, if a smell is benign, our brain permits us to enter, which is why the inviting smell of baking cookies is so important if you want to sell your home.

Once our initial impression of a space is determined our noses go into “sleep” mode and we are no longer aware of further environmental odors. This anosmia is one of the most baffling phenomenae of our olfactory sense. Why does the nose shut down? Why aren’t we always in a state of smell awareness? The area of the nose that contains odor receptors is directly adjacent to the brain. Through each inhalation we are literally drawing molecules of our immediate environment practically into our brains. Perhaps a likely answer is that our brains are not equipped to handle scent 24/7. We need to preserve that function so that we can detect danger when it is truly necessary. Perhaps our brains evolved to be more visually aware and our olfactory sense ended up taking a back seat.

There is no doubt, however, that there is a relationship between scent and memory. Scientific studies have shown that scent memory is 60% accurate while visual memory is accurate only 15% of the time. Our visual memory is highly susceptible to interpretation while our olfactive memory tends to be more precise and “objective”. So why don’t we rely more on our noses? Perhaps this anosmia makes the nose ultimately less reliant than the eyes, or perhaps our ability to remember scent makes us less likely to constantly have to smell them.

These questions often surface when I’m working on a perfume. Scents can anchor memories of people, places and events or can prod the imagination. What interests me as a perfumer is how the imagination can be evoked, invoked or even provoked. Essences are the material building blocks of a perfume and each has individual qualities that are complex and layered. Many essences also have strong historical and cultural associations, like the rose. However, these essences can also be viewed as abstract elements. The rose, for example, has simultaneous qualities of luminosity and darkness. Instead of viewing it in the traditional sense as a “floral”, it can be used to lighten or darken a blend, depending on how it is combined with other essences.

It is analogous to the use glazing in architecture. A window can be viewed as a functional element for light and ventilation, as a decorative or compositional element in a façade or as an abstract element such as a curtain wall. The latter use of glass in modern architecture allowed us to view glazing as a means of creating an effect, one of lightness and openness in a building. The Glass House by Philip Johnson (left) is a great example of how curtain wall construction can form transparent walls that allow the structure to become a part of nature. Essences can also create effects of transparency, luminosity, porosity or conversely effects of darkness, chiaroscuro and solidity.

For me, the challenge of perfumery is to create blends that bring us into the architecture of our minds where we can experience space in its purest abstraction. One should be able to enter a perfume and explore its arrangement and structure, experience its effects. Natural perfumes evolve over time; as top notes evanesce, other layers are revealed and unfolded. This unfolding is like walking from one room to another where rooms are connected but have different qualities. Architecture deals with the external structuring of space while perfumes evoke an inner construct. This is where perfume and architecture share a common ground, as a means of experiencing space in time.