Alcatraz, on the other hand (“Indian blond tobacco, yerba maté with its notes of dried hay, smoked lignum vitae and cinnamon spiced with black pepper”) seems to have been conjured not from an actual three-hour tour but a dream.
— On Astier de Villate candles, from Follow Their Nose at the New York Times. Hat tip to Kevin!
Candles marketed to men usually smell of musk (“the animal in you”), wood (the untamed wilderness), musky-woods (hunting deer in the untamed wilderness), leather (baseball mitt!), vetiver (cut grass), even hamburgers (White Castle), but all those supposedly manly candle aromas smell like so many roses and chocolate-covered marshmallows compared to perfumer Olivia Giacobetti’s Dans l’Atelier de Cézanne candle; it’s the most “masculine,” austere-severe candle scent I’ve ever smelled. Dans l’Atelier de Cézanne is downright UNcomfortable; as I sniff it, I feel an ancient bottle of flammable fluid in a rusty tin bottle is on the verge of igniting, a storm of dust bunnies might suffocate me, or dry-rot could cause the floor under my feet to collapse.
Need I say…I love it?
The Dans l’Atelier de Cézanne aroma was created for the artist Vincent Beaurin and his Le Spectre installation at Paul Cézanne’s studio in Aix-en-Provence last July and August. The PR materials say it all:
Nothing has changed in this ancient studio since Paul Cézanne passed away and his paintings were removed. Time has laid a veil of fine dust over it, as the Provençal heat has almost mineralized the wood of the furniture, of his easel and of the floorboards, long stained with colours, oil paints and turpentine.
Giacobetti has worked with Beaurin twice before* and was asked, this time, to concoct a perfume that captured the “essence” of Cézanne‘s workspace…
It’s such a conundrum. I have more than enough perfume for life, yet the occasional bottle or split still finds its way into my crowded perfume cabinet. While I return to my favorites and exciting, newer bottles, perfectly good perfume sits and risks turning. What’s a girl to do? Find more ways to use perfume, that’s what. Here are a few uses for perfume you like enough to keep, but fear you won’t use before it spoils:
Scent your curtains. Diaghilev reportedly sprayed his curtains with Guerlain Mitsouko so when the wind ruffled their fabric, his rooms were filled with Mitsouko’s sepia peach and moss. Such a romantic idea. A few years ago I followed his lead and spritzed the cotton velvet curtains in my living room with Mitsouko EdP. I nearly threw up. For about a week I couldn’t spend time on the couch without occasional forays to the kitchen for air. Fragrant curtains are a terrific idea, but I recommend something with less presence than Mitsouko…
A short film for the new Roseros candle duo from Diptyque, created in collaboration with graphic design duo Kuntzel + Deygas. The song is RosEros, by Bertrand Burgalat and April March, lyrics by Pascal Mounet.
Below the jump, more about the Roseros candles.
The Jonathan Adler Hashish candle was on my Best of 2009 list, but I’ve never gotten around to reviewing it. What better time than now, when the house or apartment needs some scenting before the onslaught of New Year’s Eve guests (and if you’re staying home alone, a good perfumed candle makes things cozy-contemplative and festive).
Hashish’s listed notes are black currant, green apple, wormwood, patchouli and moss. Hashish is a pungent, “manly” fragrance. As the Hashish candle burns, I smell fruity tobacco mixed with earthy patchouli and moss. The “ripe” fruit notes don’t smell like candy or fruit fresh off the bush or tree; these are intense, fruit-in-liqueur aromas. Weaving in and out of the Hashish composition is the spooky scent of wormwood — green, sweet and a tad medicinal. I also detect a slightly vanillic sweat-musk accord; sometimes this sensual aroma smells like cedar-cumin, other times like dark, boozy chocolate. All Hashish’s simmering fragrance notes produce a complex perfume that, every now and then, resembles the scent of burning marijuana…