A Shropshire Lad with added scents

As I have mentioned in my post about the Gorilla perfume exhibition, I have a "thing" about interdisciplinary co-operations. The creative impact of two or more different concepts/ideas/fields of expertise coming together can be incredibly inspiring. In a way it's what I do with this blog, but that is still a very solitary affair. (apart from your comments, of course) So when my friend and neighbour Jeni Toksvig asked me to take part in a theatrical production I was both massively thrilled and silently scared. Jeni is a musical writer, director, lecturer, fasciliator of wonderful things. A world that I know next to nothing about. In true creative passion Jeni often sees connection where others don't, and she wanted me to bring "smell" to her latest theatrical adventure: AE.Housman's poem collection "A Shropshire Lad" put in a song and dance structure by Niall Ashdown. The poems, first published in 1896 "struck a chord with readers most pointedly as the events of World War One became known. It is said that many a soldier in the trenches carried a copy of Housman's poetry with them as they waited.*

The concept of the dramatisation is to allow and encourage audience participation and community involvement, both in setting up the stage and during the play. Factual information about the war combined with personal stories about emotional experiences of loss, farewell and home are going to be shared throughout the event. As I am usually terrified when I get asked to participate on any stage I wasn't sure how much this open structure aspect of the show would work for me, but I could see that a community involvement could add another dimension once the show will go on tour. My job was supposed to be that of a responder, someone who comes and observes the workshop and adds something from their own field of creativity. Jeni gave me total freedom how to respond, it only had to relate to smell in some way. The journey of the Shropshire Lad begins in an ideal English countryside in spring, with country fair and love and dance and carries on to the bitter farewells, all the way to the terror of the trenches and the loss of the lives of young men. My idea was to capture the smell of those events and the emotions involved in little bottles. I am of course not a professional perfumer, and I have no intention of becoming one, so after reading the script for the Shropshire Lad I got working on the idea of translating key elements of the story and my general associations with WWI into smell with all the things I had at hand.

Some were easier than others. The seasons, for example, could be found in many perfume creations. I chose Lolita Lempicka for 'Spring', Une Rose by Frederic Malle for 'Summer', Patchouli 24 for 'Autumn' and Serge Lutens L'Orpheline for 'Winter'. I found a 'Hero' in Parfumerie Generale's L'Eau Guerriere and 'Bodily Fluids' in +MA by the aptly named Blood Concept. 'Melancholy' was the lovely Angelique by Papillon Perfumes, and 'Healing' was provided by Thyme Sacre by Parfumes de Saintete. But apart from proper perfumes I looked for other, less complex sources of scent that would work for the narrative.   'Wounded' was TCP, 'Courage' a good glug of Whisky. I wanted to have a 'Hell' and had bought some sulphur powder for that, but should have known that it doesn't actually smell all that much. Anyway, it was fun. A few essential oils also came into play and Mael's Whisky aroma testing box proved very resourceful with notes like 'Decay', 'Cut Grass', 'Earthy' and 'Smoky'. For the rehearsal I had decided on presenting the scents in small medicine bottles and only offer to spray on blotters and people's skin if they wanted. The smell of 'Decay' for example isn't something you want to linger. 

I was slightly nervous as to how my little display would be perceived, but I needn't have worried. Everyone tucked in and opened bottles happily, sniffing, recoiling, smiling, all chatting to each other and being very engaged. Smell does that to people. Comparable to music in that it opens some channels in a very spontaneous and unfiltered way. 

I then had the opportunity to listen to the songs and see the acting for the first time and it really moved me. Even in that rather uninspiring hall the power of the music and the play was incredible. Niall has found melodies that are simple and evocative in the best possible way. (He is also responsible for some strong ear worms I keep getting). And actors are a funny crowd. You can see who is an actor right away; there is a presence and awareness that is electrifying, and being so close to see them working their magic was pretty awesome. 

Whenever new people came into the room, audience/family and friends, we encouraged them to try some smells and again the ice breaking qualities of scent were interesting to watch. It would be amazing to have an element of smell for the actual tour of the production. I'm sure it will help the audiences to engage with the story in a playful way. I am absolutely thrilled by the experience and can't wait to do it again. 

And while searching for the image of the book cover, I found that A Shropshire Lad is also the name of a beautiful rose. What a lovely and fragrant coincidence. 

*quote from Niall Ashdown's website

Maai by bogue, pregnant with meaning

I hadn't planned to write about Maai. Highly praised, this recreation of a classical chypre by Italian artisan house bogue appeared in many of the Best of 2014 reviews I had read. From the descriptions and the notes it looked like a winner, and I was fairly disappointed that it didn't work for me. But as I rarely write negative reviews, I simply made a few remarks to perfume friends and moved on to sampling something else. And then a few days ago, while dusting the bookshelf in the bedroom my eyes fell on the Anselm Kiefer catalogue of last year's grandious exhibition at the Royal Academy.

And I then remembered that I had initially intended to use one of his paintings as a starting point for a review about Chypre Palatin by MDCI perfumes. These days I have the memory of a small sized rodent/goldfish/fly so that post never happened, but then a train of associations started and it lead me back to Maai.

But first, let me be a bit tedious and express my thought about Anselm Kiefer: Considered as one of the most important living artists, his ouevre is steeped deeply in German culture/history. His use of Nazi iconography and his, let's say, tendency for the bombast makes him a difficult choice. There are references to the war, mythicism, blood and soil, Wagner, death and decay, and a dark forest or a bleak field are never far away. Many of his paintings have taglines and scribbled notes on them, leaving you under no doubt that here is an artist who has something to say! Bedeutungsschwanger - we call that in German  - pregnant with meaning.

I realise that it seems that I'm not exactly selling him here, but I do actually adore his work. His canvasses are gigantic in size, and often oddly decorative in a graphic/reduced palette sort of way. I feel a resonance and strong sense of connection when I see them in real life. I also feel incredibly German, and I'm unsure what to make of that. The exhibition at London's Royal Academy was eerily beautiful and evocative. But would I want to live with one of his works? Never mind the questions of affordability, practicality and insurance - the answer is: No. His art radiates a heaviness and intensity that I would find troubling and irritating around my personal space.

I would very much prefer to be surrounded by the works of other, less angst ridden Germans, Gerhard Richter and especially Sigmar Polke spring to mind. The latter was given a massive retrospective at Tate Modern at the same time than the Kiefer was on. Polke made fun of the world and himself ( yes, Germans do have a sense of humour...) via his art and although he didn't shy away from difficult subjects, he handled them in a way I find much more palatable.

So all this to tell you why I didn't like a perfume? Well, sort of. When I tried Maai again I   knew it would make an even better match for Kiefer's forests and fields. Composed like a back to front version of Chypre Palatin, this one offers no comfort. The forest it evokes is not a place I'd like to be any time soon. It might lure me in with all this cold freshness but I'm  aware that there is something hidden. A troll, using this particular aftershave to cover his scent before he has me for breakfast. The oakmoss/musc phase lasts forever on my skin and when the perfume eventually develops into something a bit more floral and soft I am almost exhausted. This is intense, retro and BIG perfumery. And like Kiefer's paintings, I very much admire the way it's done. My skin feels just too small to wear it.

For more perfume focused reviews of Maai I point you towards:

http://www.cafleurebon.com/new-perfume-review-bogue-profumo-maai-by-antonio-gardoni-sexy-beast-chypre-fragrance-draw/

http://bonkersaboutperfume.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/turning-japanese-and-fithy-anomaly.html

http://yeoldecivetcat.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/bogue-profumo.html

And if you want to read up on Anslem Kiefer I recommend this article from the Guardian:

http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/sep/12/anselm-kiefer-royal-academy-retrospective-german-painter-sculptor



Images in order of appearance: 
Aschenblume, 2004 
Böhmen liegt am Meer, 1995
Parsifal III, 1973
Winterland, 2010

A strange Virgin and her signature perfume

I cannot remember where and when I first met her, this strange Virgin with child surrounded by angels, but I do come across her in different scenarios, often entirely unexpected. The last time I saw her, as part of an installation on screen and not in person as she had been on loan to Madrid, was at the Dries van Noten Inspirations exhibition in Paris (which I hereby also highly recommend). She has always been a muse to artists and designers  and the late Alexander McQueen used her as an inspiration for his last, unfinished, collection.  It's not surprising, just look at her:

Jean Fouquet, Virgin and child surrounded by angels, around 1452, image via wikipedia

Painted by the French artist Jean Fouquet in the 1450's, it is a piece of art that most people describe as surprisingly modern and of disturbing beauty. Her alien paleness, emphasized by the high hairline, is part of the beauty ideal of the time and even the unnatural breasts, poking out under her armpits like perfectly shaped marble balls, can be seen in many virgin and child paintings. It's the colour and texture composition that I find so striking, and if you will, modern about this Madonna. Her white figure is set against a group of angels in red and blue, arranged in a strange Tessellation style pattern reminding of H.W.Escher. Mastering the art of perspective was still a bit hit and miss in the early Renaissance, but this doesn't look like it was done due to lack of skill, it's a very deliberate effect. Despite them forming a background pattern, the chubby little angels are very three dimensional, especially the red ones.  And, ever so slightly disturbing: they are covered in a glossy texture that is not dissimilar to latex. In contrast to the naughty cherubim the virgin has almost no real texture, Fouquet didn't render her skin very differently from the folds of her cape, making her appear like an alabaster statue in her own painting, highlighting her otherworldly-ness. A lot of the paintings startling allure is probably due to the mixture of realistic (baby Jesus and the virgin's face) and iconic (her figure and costume) elements and it's certainly a great example of a dualism in style in early Northern Renaissance art. Also not untypical for the time, she is depicted as a Queen more than a  mother and art historians are now pretty certain that Fouquet used Agnes Sorel, favourite mistress of King Charles VII of France as his inspiration and model. Being regarded as the most beautiful woman of her time, he certainly did her honour. 

And because I love the painting and the myth that surrounds her I now try to find a perfume that best captures this 15th century virginal pop art queen. My first idea is Alexander McQueen's violet number MyQueen,  for the connection mentioned above. It has the edge I'm looking for and a sharp hairspray weirdness at some point during the wear, but it's altogether a bit too one dimensional. I went back to the Relique d'Amour from Oriza and a few other incense-strong perfumes  to see if that would work for her, but they either lacked the modern/alien aspect I was looking for or were too   masculine. Serge Lutens' La Vierge en Fer, an interesting Lily, is, while certainly more modern, too sweet and innocent. It's interesting how, when searching for a specific scent, the name, the packaging, the whole brand identity suddenly becomes such an integral part of it. This virgin's perfume has to be daring, a bit alien, cold but sensual and definitely modern, futuristic even.  A little bit sweetness is fine and incense and lilies would be perfect. And the brand has to be daring too. Bold. And preferably French. Don't ask me why, it just has. 

Perfume brands don't get much bolder than Etat libre d'Orange, and even their logo goes terribly well with my chosen artwork. But I'm not all that familiar with their scents apart from a few exceptions, and was also in need of some more ideas. It was my perfume friend Nick who helped me out here. I gave him a few hints about the nature of the fragrance I was looking for and he made two suggestions: Comme des Garcons 2011 EdP, to which I will come back later,  and for the land of Orange he named Charogne. 

Charogne had featured in a "skanky scents" Perfume Lovers London event held by the very same Nick not too long ago, and I remember liking it a lot. On the right side of wearable, with some weird sensual undertones, a bit rubbery. When I test it now in connection with the artwork seeks perfume quest it behaves even better than expected. A strong lily, jasmine accord is combined with a leather/rubber note, incense and a lot of creamy and not overly sweet vanilla. I can for the life of me not see why anyone would find this offensive. It's daring, I admit, but a lot of the provocation comes from the name. And even that doesn't hold when you look into the inspiration for it:

 Beaudelaire's poem Une Charogne 

The perfume evokes the beauty of decay. And when you see flowers in their very last stages before they wilt and wither away completely, you understand the intent. However, as much as I love the perfume - particularly how  the lily is partnered with the rubber  - it's not quite right for the virgin. It embraces and celebrates the cycle of life and death, and in doing so it's all too human and grounded to our bodily ways. 

So I go back to Nick's first choice, the Comme des Garcons 2011. The one in the wonky, melted pear shaped bottle that won't stand up. And at first sniff I know that this is it. This is the scent that the painting should give off, the virgin's signature perfume.
Ingredient lists can be very boring reads, but this one certainly isn't: Industrial glue and brown scotch tape, aldehydes, saffron, styrax, lilac and rubber? I assume there is also a long list of fluffy and nice smelling things which didn't make it into the press material because they are just...well, boring, but there has to be a reason why this actually smells so great. I get a lot of aldehydes and yes, they are paired with an industrial note I can't really identify, but then comes a spicy freshness and the soft lilac. It has all the elements that I wanted for the Virgin, it's sharp, cold, sweet, alien, futuristic, plasticky, intriguing and intoxicating. And, most importantly, it defines beauty  in an unfashionable and unconventional way. 

Where to see:

You can visit The Virgin surrounded by angels at the Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten in Antwerp

The Gentleman and the Lady

When I sit in my little office I look at a wall of souvenirs. Postcards, labels, business cards, little notes, photos of cats and people, tickets and other oddities which I find interesting. One of the items is a postcard from an art exhibition I visited in Paris last October, showing "Box seats at the theatre, The Gentleman and the Lady", by Swiss painter and print maker Felix Vallotton. 

Although not really his most famous work, it was the image the curators of the Paris exhibition had chosen to advertise the exhibition all over Paris, and it attracted me to go and see it. I had no real idea what to expect other than seeing the work of a late 19th, early 20th century's painter of mediocre fame. The exhibition held a vast amount of artworks, varying from slightly surreal and beautifully stylised landscapes to portraits, nudes of debatable quality, fantastic black and white wood prints, horrendous illustrations of classical and biblical themes and a few absolutely astonishing paintings of genre scenes, often showing couples. I walked around being surprised that one man had managed to create art with such difference in quality and craftsmanship. His wood prints in particular were outstanding, and he has obviously been very influential for Aubrey Beardsley. And on the other hand he produced some truly awful female nudes that make you wonder if some adolescent wannabe painter had been temporarily given the reign over the canvas. But whenever the women in his art have their clothes on they are interesting and as a spectator I want to know more about them and their story. 

A particularly weird nude from Vallotton

Example of Vallotton's wood cuts

Box Seats at the theatre, the Gentleman and the Lady by Felix Vallotton, 1909

The decision to chose The Gentleman and the Lady as the icon of the exhibition was clearly an inspired one, and having since spent 4 months with the image in front of me, it hasn't lost any of its enigmatic power, despite it's somewhat shoddy technical finesse.  What is the story behind this couple surrounded by darkness, he in hiding, almost trying not to be seen and she looking forlorn and lonely, overshadowed by her enormous hat. The balcony belongs to the theatre or the opera, but wherever they are, he seems to be watching her, not anything on stage. They are very much in a public space, yet obscured by darkness. However glamourous and joyous the perfomance might be, it doesn't reach up to the Box seats. There is a lot of sadness in this painting and a weird dangerous undertone is humming in the background. Is she a "kept" woman and he married to another? What is she thinking? What perfume might she wear? Something he bought for her? To answer that last question in a lazy sort of way I could just go back in perfume history and chose one of the early Guerlains, or a Penhaligon,  but I'm not really familiar with vintage scents, and I'm sure there will be a contemporary fragrance out there that feels right for her. 

I think it should be something with a hint of powdery, old fashioned toiletries. But as she is the dominant figure in the painting, her scent will also have a strong attitude. Something that announces its presence, but not giving away all its secrets all at once, and then only to the person coming close enough to smell it on skin. Hm...
Lipstick Rose from Frederic Malle comes to mind. As does Moulin Rouge from Histoires de Parfums. It's been a while since I had last smelled Lipstick Rose, so today I made a detour to Liberty to get - not a sample - but a sealed piece of paper. ( I know they have samples, they know they have samples, but we sort of both pretend they don't exist. Does my head in, but is another story...) So back home with LR both on paper and on skin I have to say that although it fits the criteria of "old fashioned make up" it is far to bright and happy go lucky in colour. The memories condensed in this fragrance are happy ones and  the painting is gloomy, its hues subdued and earthy.  My other idea fairs much better. From the start Moulin Rouge is actually a bit "muffig". This neat German word describes a variety of slightly unpleasant smells, ranging from damp to stale. Moulin Rouge is a bit rank, but not too much, just on the right side of  "times gone by". It feels alltogether like a scent that has captured something that has disappeared. If you think of the Nicole Kidman Moulin Rouge of the musical/movie with its plush colours and overbearing decor you are in the right place but wrong time for this perfume. This Moulin Rouge is a bit haunted, the carpets and velvet curtains are fading and the music has long long gone. But the Histoires de Parfums creation is much better than I make it sound. After about an hour I do get powdery sweetness, and warmth, a bit waxy, with some dryness that, for me, speaks of the empty stage and a dusty red curtain that will never be lifted again. It's a lovely scent that stays close to skin, with hints of red roses and pale iris, but ultimately this theatre backstage smell is not mine. It is, however, a fantastic time machine sort of fragrance, and from now on the perfume I imagine the sad Lady in Vallotton's painting to be wearing whenever I look at her.

This is in a way, the second artwork meets perfume post on this blog, and I am planning to make that an irregular feature. Because I don't really think of these posts as proper reviews, more like inspiried musings, I will not do  a Where and How to wear for those. Just doesn't feel right. But if the artwork speaks to you, you might also like my chosen perfume.  

And now: Off  to Thailand.

 

Perfume for an exhibition

Perfume is obviously something that is on my mind quite often and even more so since I have started the blog. There are moments when I find a connection to perfume, either a specific one or fragrances in general and I always cherish those findings because they help me understand perfumes better and in a new way. It's particularly enjoyable if I can connect things I really love and make them more "mine".

The last time this happened was a real special moment and that's why I want to share it here. 

I went to see an exhibition at Tate Modern and fell in love with the work on display, the woman behind it and that moment of connection I described earlier. Mira Schendel was a Swiss born jewish refugee who settled in Brazil after the Second World War. She had studied art and philosophy in her youth but was forced to leave Milan university after Mussolini stripped Jews of their Italian citizenship. 

Being too poor to afford "proper" art materials she sketched on cardboard, used crayons and in her own words:"painted like crazy." The early paintings are soft and remarkably calming abstracts and still lifes in muted colours, influenced by Klee, Murandi and other European painters. In the 60's her art career takes off with a solo exhibitions in London and Brazil and she starts drawing on rice paper which will become her medium of choice. She is inspired by philosophy, language and religion and often uses words, typography and fragments of texts in a variety of languages. The rice paper, so fragile and fleeting, is not just a medium but also the message. "The back of transparency lies in front of you," the artist wrote, "and the 'other world' turns out to be this one." 

Her work is pure and playful, with a very Zen like quality and when I was walking around the exhibition I was completely mesmerised. I sometimes regret that I'm not as enthusiastic about art as I used to be, too often I find myself thinking: "Yeah, great, but seen it before..." May be that comes with age, but this time I really was thrilled and felt this connection that makes suddenly everything right and glowing and a bit magical. I'm not an art theorist, I can't really describe an ism and the whys and why nots, but I do know when I see something truly special. 

And at some point I realised that the fragile otherworldlyness of her rice paper works reminded me of perfume. First, of perfume as a medium, fleeting but yet evocative, not really there but present...invisible but sensual. And then I entered the room of her installation called "Still Waves of Probability" and it hit me that Lumiere Blanche, by Olfactive Studio was the perfume I was thinking of while spending time with Mira Schendel's art. It's not just the name which makes this a suitable olfactory connection, but the transparency and the pureness. LB is an homage to light with a strength that makes you squint for a second and although it's a warming and comforting fragrance it's primary aspect is cool. Does that make sense? Probably not, but for me it really does oscillate between warm and cool in an astonishing way. It's also manages to be ethereal without any faux  pretension. I wish I had worn it that day.

 

Mira Schendel Still Waves of Probability

Images via TateModern and wikipaintings.