The first was part and parcel of satire: {cue gravelly voiced, tired, tousled, deigning, gray haired presence at front of room, with what might appear to be the somewhat older denizens of Fast Times at Ridgemont High filling seats in a classroom furnished more like a high school than a college} "The mind, class, is like a sieve..." {Various reactions make clear that this is a refrain as familiar, and perhaps as frequently punctuated, as "...take one down and pass it around..."}
But the other, the one that I have revisited many times: "It was not the icon itself, but the space between the icon and the viewer, that was worshipped."
Score one for Byzantine history, the Orthodox church, and the professor. This one has not fallen through the sieve, and will not, ever.
•••••
Recently, I have worn two scents that have struck me as beautiful, but never when snarfed/huffed. Only when experienced as that which floats above the skin. It wouldn't be fair to say their "sillage," for in my mind the idea of "sillage" is a nearly visible vapor trail that is left in a wearer's wake. No, this was the air above my wrist, discovered as I leaned over to pick up a paper, or reached up to open a cupboard. If I tried to put nose to skin to discover the source, I got something different. It was only as I pulled back that I got a hint of how to find the source.
It was a space above my skin, waiting to be discovered. It would not be left behind as or after I left the room, but hovered there, somewhere above me, but not exactly part of me. It took a combination of perfume on skin, plus a "viewer" searching the area above, to discover it.
•••••
Thus, it was not idol worship, but idol contemplation, if you will; but do not confuse reverence for object deification. Or, indeed, deification of a person. It was as if the idol allowed for, in combination with a reverential viewer, a sacred space. It was the space that mattered, and it only mattered during the act."
•••••
Vintage Houbigant Aperçu and Nina Ricci Filles de Eve are two examples of perfumes that I find are better experienced off skin than on it. Filles de Eve in particular; when I go in for the close up, it falls apart. It's all old lady perfume, and not particularly complex. I persisted in trying it, because I had smelled it on a friend in perfume, and remembered it as beautiful.
The trick of memory was to adjust the preposition. I hadn't smelled it on a friend; I had smelled it off a friend.
Sure enough, I've caught the cloud a couple of times now. Much better. I am still sussing Filles de Eve out, and not sure if I love it, or I am just having fun visiting. In fact, I may decide I have fun visiting, but don't like it at all. Aperçu is actually more likely to be my bag, though I am still not sure why. For one thing, it has more layers to it, at least as it plays out in my nose. The thing is, taking time to think about exactly what is playing out in my nose is distracting me from that space, that beautiful space just off of my skin.
•••••
I'll be spending time in the future sorting out whether or not I find this phenomenon more prevalent in older style perfumes than newer ones. As it happens, I am wearing Andy Tauer's Reverie au Jardin as I write this, and this is one that I love discovering offskin. But, and perhaps and important "but" to consider as I try to sort this out, Reverie au Jardin is pretty faithful in the huff. What you catch in the cloud is what you find on your skin. Not that I'm complaining. Just saying.
Today, I am all about offskin. This space between us. Present, perhaps, only when someone stops to contemplate it.
image of Saint Stephen icon from greek-icons.org
