Mica dust / L'Ombre Fauve

One thing that never ceases to fascinate me is sparklies upon the water.  In the summer, sunlight glints on the water, making sparklies that hover just above the water's surface, sometimes seeming to lie on it, but not a part of it.

In the winter, snow, frozen water, offers its own special sparklies.  Bits that remind me of mica chips I used to love to find in rocks.  Tangible, now lying on but also embedded in the surface.  Unlike the glints on the lake, these you know you can touch.  They add a beautiful texture to the surface of the snow.

If you click on the picture, it will enlarge.  And you can see some sparklies.  Sorry I can't offer you a handful to actually touch.

***
I reached for L'Ombre Fauve this morning with eagerness and trepidation.  I love this fragrance, this rough on the surface deep pile beauty.  It's a scratchy dark amber that ends up all animal cozy.  The scratchiness is in the same way I've talked about before in Chamade, and the same way there's a rough powder in Habit Rouge.  I think I've said here a variation on the idea that it's like wrapping in an animal skin inside a wool blanket and laying down in a gentleman farmer's barn?

I've been so busy with other scents this fall/winter--testing or lolling about in a given for a while--that I missed wearing this during my traditional L'Ombre Fauve happy time, cool and cold fall into early winter, when the air is snappy but the sun still has a shot at warming you up.  Once the holidays came, then my foray into counter-season scents in January, I had lost my window of opportunity.  It was either wear it now, and take my chances, or wait until fall equinox 2011.

Why be afraid?  Because I was pretty sure the deep, deep cold (still single digits here, Farenheit, and covered in this just blizzarded two feet of snow) would render L'Ombre Fauve cruel.  That the depth would disappear (no sun to warm it up), and the sharp edges would have time to actually cut.

On the opening, I was afraid I was right.

But given a little time, it is behaving like the big cat I hoped it would.  Threat of danger, but ends up purring under my layers.  I'm glad I dared.

photo author's own

Let's Make a Deal

Who can show me an oddball selection of perfume samples?  First person who can show me at least three seemingly unrelated perfume samples gets to see what's behind Door #1.

What's that you say?  Simmer down!  You...and you...and you... have a stash you brought with you to the blog studio today?  That purposely or accidentally travels with you beyond your temperature and light controlled shoe box once upon a time sweater drawer special place for keeping perfume?

Ah.  Very good.  I'll show everybody door #1.  But first, let's take a look at the silly little organza pouch which caused my perfume knowledgeable friend to say "That's the oddest collection...that's just weird.  Hmmm..." as she looked through my bag o' treasures.

This bag is one I tossed together for a weekend trip out of town.  I had to satisfy multiple goals:  Have something I could wear if I decided I needed perfume (and one of my own at that), have something I could try if I decided I wanted to test drive a perfume (very different from comfortable tossing on a scent and knowing what the result will be), have something to share with a friend.  And then there were the oddballs--one that I might put on if I decide not only do I want perfume, I'm up for a challenge.

And then there's the simple "I dunno, it ended up there somehow."

But it adds up to a nice, if odd, little wardrobe.  That travels well tucked into a side pocket.

Here's the line-up:

• Cuir de Lancome
• Daybreak Violin
• L'Ombre Fauve
• Pierre de Lune
• unmarked 1ml...hmm...sharp green citrusy
• micromini of Chamade
• unmarked 2ml atomizer...bitter...old...leather? (just sniffing the orifice without spraying)
• manufacturer's samp of Parfum de Therese

In light of the subject matter of the previous post, I am having a juvenile chuckle at the expense of that parenthetical clarification of the 2ml atomizer.  (Namely, my dog.  He of the hot spot and the metal chewing habit.)

Any hoo-how, whatcha got up there is one Emperor's Clothes scent (Pierre de Lune...are you sure you applied that?), one easy leather (the Lancome), one fascinating but challenging (Parfum de Therese), one proven winner (Chamade), one something to give a drive before making any judgement (Daybreak Violin), one proven winner that has for some reason been on hiatus (L'Ombre Fauve), and a couple of things that I think I knew what they were once but whose mystery could provide a little recreational investigation if I were so inclined.

Come to think of it, this is NOT the collection I packed for my weekend.  That one was a little more purposeful.  What the heck is this?

???

To channel Ronald Reagan (perhaps in more ways than simply parroting), "I do not recall."  Hmm.  All I can say is, the Patou Cocktail and vintage Miss Balmain samples I've collected since will make a nice addition to the mystery bag.  The Cocktail adds something with sparkle, and the Miss Balmain adds another something to test drive.

Of course, I'm preoccupied with trying to remember what I purposely gathered for that weekend.  Am going to go drag THAT pouch out shortly.

And making a mental note to self:  Be sure to pack labels with those empty vials you always have at the ready.

Peut-Etre, Theo Fennell

A study in contrasts:

Peut-Etre, steady eddie, goes on as a glove scent that I am happy with from first moment--which is a good thing, since what you whiff is what you get.

Theo Fennell, magic morper, starts off with a skanky waft that changes into a golden floral (and I mean that in a positive sense), then spends time weaving back and forth, touching on other notes along the way.

Peut-Etre could be a kinder, gentler L'Ombre Fauve.  (Not that I, for one, need L'OF to be any kinder or gentler.)  It is different in that it is haunted by flowers...flowers not freshly opened, or freshly cut, but mature...could have been in the vase for a day, or have spent a day in the sun out in the garden.  This is totally in my wheelhouse, for an all-purpose scent that has interest.  (As opposed to those all-purpose scents that I know are safe at any speed, the ones I can wear around students or to dinner or in close quarters with fellow musicians.)  The interest is in the way I think any good scent has that element that introduces the "better" portion of a "your skin but better--here, the betterment coming from leather and flowers.*  

Theo Fennell seems to be a perfect "going out" scent.  Hits with the danger of skank as it starts on my skin, morphs into this lusciously deep warm without syrup floral, and then meanders back and forth between the two.  Who knew?  I am not a fan of skank, and I never would say I like a "floral" perfume, because I don't want to run the risk of an error.  (Because when a floral perfume is not good to me, it is SO not good.  Blechh.  Headache.  Cloying.  Artificial.  Any, all, or more.)  But this one, I like.  Wait a minute...something new going on...I tell you, almost every time the flowers come back, they are different.  And again, next round introduced a hint of something...foodie?  Oh my, but I am having fun.  And it's not just gimmicky; this is very nice material.

Maybe Theo needs multiple categories.  Sophisticated, quality interest for going out.  Sophisticated, quality entertainment for staying in.  Oh, dear...I'm talking like one of those people with disposable income...but of course, when it comes to music, books, certain foods, office/art supplies, and now perfume, I do behave that way.

Thanks, Marina, for the chance to experience these.  Not only do you write a fantastic blog, you are generous with your draws.  So far, that's three (these two, plus the CB Cradle of Light from Tom) that are further weighing down my "get this" list.  

Mental Rehearsal

You perhaps are already familiar with the concept of "mental rehearsal," wherein performers practice by dancing/playing/acting a piece entirely in their head. The concept first gelled for me as a bona fide practice when I heard Yo-Yo Ma explain in an interview that he spent so much time travelling, he had very little time with his cello outside of his performances. Therefore, he used his time on airplanes to mentally practice, going over the intricacies of a piece, imagining fingerings, bowings, phrasings--not just mechanically, but how his body would execute the performance, what he would be thinking, what he was trying to say.

Dancers can do the same, as can actors, surgeons, athletes. When it comes to the body executing a performance, practice makes better...and mental imagery counts as practice. Which is on my mind today, because I miss my sniffer, and have been attempting a little mental rehearsal of the olfactory kind.

What scents lend themselves to rehearsal? Here are a few that my imagination has visited in the past few days. Not necessarily because they are favorites, but because I realize they generate strong and clear imagined physical responses.

The bubbly aldehydes of Chanel No. 5 and Arpege. The upper reaches of my nose actually open up a bit (okay, they try), because when I recall what I would smell, my body remembers how those bubbles of No.5 go right to the top of the inside of my nose and hang there. And hang, and hang. Whereas in Arpege, there's a quick mid-entry period, a zip to the top, and a settling of the bubbles, slowly descending.

The low in my nose, deep in my throat edibility of a gourmand like Ambre Naguile. Which connects me to simply low & sweet and nearly tastable leather or comfort scents, like PG L'Ombre Fauve, Lancome Cuir de Lancome.

Then there are scents that move around, like Hermes 24, Fauborg, which threatens to bubble like an aldehyde (I can feel the vibrations beginning), then settles into a veneer with a rumble underneath (kind of like the way a comfort scent feels, but with a bubbly brook somewhere in the distance).

It dawns on me that this hasn't been a mental "rehearsal" so much as a mental review; I am attempting to recapture, not rehearsing for improvement. Nostalgia embodied, perhaps? Since I was pretty much trying to recapture how I remembered things feeling, as well as smelling, perhaps this is ultimately an opening of the door onto the practice room before the performance is ready. And ultimately, practicing what? Isn't it the perfume that communicates? Or does the way my body works with it count as part of the message?

I recall the soprano in Ann Patchett's Bel Canto making the comment that she never allowed people to see/hear her practice. Would that I had been so wise...nonetheless, thanks for indulging me.

If you've got time for a longer read, there's a nice piece on mental rehearsal and "physical genius" here (a 1999 article from The New Yorker, found on gladwell.com).

Event Scent vs. How I Want to Smell

I'm exploring the idea of categorizing perfumes in one of two columns:  In column A, Event Scent.  In Column B, Me Scent.

Event scents are the ones whose mere presence is an event.  They are performers.  They make you pay attention.  Not because they slap you across the face (or smother it...can you hear me, beautiful but room only for you Fracas?), but because either through their development, or the way they transport you through memory and time, you find yourself paying attention to them instead of your environment.

I mentioned SIP Black Rosette the other day as one of those perfumes.  That's one in the development category; you find yourself ignoring everything else so you can follow its development.  Then there's En Passant, on my wrist as I write, transporting me to beautiful spring, gone now, on a day when I know fall will soon be gone, too.  There's Arpege, which not only has a development event, it goads my musician self into seeing if I can identify intervals.  And there's any number of I Hate Perfume iterations, but I'll refer to Black March, because it gobsmacks me into the middle of one of my pots when I'm out with the terracota, dirt, and flats of plants on a spring day.  (I know other people get earth dirt, but I get potting soil, all the way.  Love it.)  

Opposite the Event Scent is how I want to smell.  Not simply an amplification of my own "au naturel," as it were, but a scent that extends me.  What was that line about "making me more than I am?"  There's Parfumerie Generale L'Ombre Fauve.  I could disappear into that one myself, a delicious creamy musk that is ever so slightly sweet on me.  Leather you lick.  Also from PG, Bois Blond.  That makes me feel like I'm wearing a little bit of my favorite patch of forest.  I know, not a direct association.  It's not a Christopher Brosius creepily on target re-creation.  It is an impression, and I like the way it smells, and the way it smells on me.  And then there's L'Artisan Fleur de Narcisse, which never lets you settle into thinking it's "pretty," but is a beautiful trip through a true narcissus, and hay, and what not.  Compositions, these are, in every sense of the word.

Unfortunately, this event scent/my smell duality leaves me with a few knots.  What, for example, to do with my Chanel loves?  Bois des Iles.  (Sighs.)  This is gorgeous, but I both get caught up in smelling it as wanting to smell of it.  Those aldehydes draw attention.  They're a bit showy.  They live on their own.  This means it is not a "what I want to smell like" perfume, but a "what I want you to smell on me" perfume.  There are others:  Bel Respiro.  Amarige.  (Actually, I think you could put white florals in general in this category, as far as I am concerned.)  And bridging the gap between:  Lancome Magie Noire.

Shalimar?  I love to smell it, and love to smell it on me, but I harbor no illusions that it is a part of me.  Event Scent.  Musc Samarkind?  Gently sweet, but a hint of animal that rides close to my skin and makes me double check every time I sniff.  Me Scent.  

Pondering....