Nikki Saint Phalle is a viscous beast. Thick, tarry green, no limit to its depths. Kind of like a broccoli rabe reduction with a hint of arugula at the edge. I'm going to have to dip my toes in this pool a few times to see how I end up feeling about it...
...but I think there's a strong chance I'll enjoy the accumulated visits. (Could the adjective here be anything but "strong"???)
Meanwhile, wafting up and haunting me from another skin patch, a sample of Crepe du Chine. Holy cow. This one manages to be green and floral and bubbly all at once. Curse you, discontinued scent. Someday, I'm going to follow a heartbreak avoiding rule: unless the formula is in production RIGHT NOW, just don't go there. No sniffy. Forget the waft. Turn away. Do not uncork.
Unfortunately, I did not spare my heart today. There is this fabulous aroma rising from my elbow crook. A not too flowery floral, ever so slightly effervescent...not at all what I find when I put my nose to skin. Then it's green, a hint of bubble, just a little powder at the edges.
And all in varying degrees in the space in between. And therein lies the magic. Once upon a time, a history professor introduced me to the idea of the icon in the Orthodox church--it wasn't the object itself, but the space between the icon and the worshipper that was revered.
Nose down, or nose up, I am in a bit of a reverie. Perhaps I should root for disappointment on the return visit...and yet...today has been such fun.