“The nightmare city was gone (…) In the interval the city had disappeared. The roar of it no longer dinned upon his ears. Before him was smiling country, streaming with sunshine, lazy with quietude”.
(Jack London, White Fang)

So begins White Fang's life in Northern California, which resonates with my state of mind these days. Although I can't really say that Vancouver is all that intimidating of a city (unless you are a wild wolf meeting it for the first time...), nor is it detached from nature to that point that I feel disconnected from it; but somehow, after my 13 consecutive years of urban life, and swearing by it as if my sanity depends on it, I'm coming to a realization that even that phase might pass. I'm not so much fed up with the city itself as much as I'm longing for simplicity, and am a little bit tired by how materialistic city life can be. Of course, even for city-dwellers, there is still some choice in the matter. It's not as if living in the city is by default materialistic; but it certainly is far easier to get there and try to fill any existential void that might present itself with pretty things (or at least window shopping for them).

The other part of my White Fang equation is the longing for a slightly warmer climate. Growing up in Israel, I was always attracted to the North - especially Canada where I was born. Not that Vancouver is really a hard-core Northern city, but the greenery, snowy mountains, forceful rivers and soft cloud-filtered light certainly have their Pacific Northwest magic to them. However, these days I'm trying to break free from these glass towers, where my heart was kept on ice for years of exile... I'm seeking a change of scene and my spirit wants to wander southbound, where the sun is warm and rarely gets interrupted by rain. A place where the country is smiling!

And until I'm there again, all I can do is bottle up my dreams (no pun intended) and work feverishly on my perfume for the Midsummer Night's Dream scent event. Which is the only excuse why this post ever made it to SmellyBlog. But it will all make sense in the end... I promise.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
- Albert Einstein

When inspiration strikes, it meets all kinds of challenges before being fulfilled. Obstacles once met pave a different path and at times a different creation than that which inspired its quest. The aromas of India have been on my mind recently, beginning to develop into a clear olfactory vision with name, ideas for notes and everything. I envisioned this perfume to have leis of marigold in it strewn with spices and woods. But, once starting to work with the actual materials, I always find that things don't really go quite as planned... If it's not the name, it's the notes that are missing; and if there is a name and notes put together in a blueprint "formula" - they are bound to not work... Such is the ironic humour of life. And rather than becoming frustrated with it, I learned to enjoy the journey. And also accept the failures, frustrations and banging the head in the wall so to speak...

And while Albert Einstein's saying (also echoed more humorously by Samantha Jones of Sex and the City), after repeating the same mistake more than once, it's definitely unrealistic to expect any success. Creating perfumes certainly takes more than just a little bit of madness... And sometimes banging the head against the wall is exactly what you need to realize it's time to change direction. And I'm talking about way more than just twice. Or thrice. With this particular adventure, it wasn't till the 4th take that I realized that perhaps, using marigold, cumin and turmetic together is most certain to make my perfume smell sour, instead of richly spicy like a curry.

So 7th take into this adventure I've finally hitting the nail in the head this morning. And I've not only decided to abandon the marigold I was so attached to (visually, metaphorically, spiritually...), and just move on to what the scent is supposed to smell. And what seemed to work here, was using another golden flower instead of marigold: the modest, everlasting aroma of the curry plant (Immortelle absolute). I've likely used too much and will need to adjust the formula greatly to make up for this potent material; but it's definitely smelling like a woody Indian curry!

Tuberose have been played quite mellowly so far in my perfumes... In White Potion it is a soft whisper of creaminess with sandalwood and gourmand, bittersweet tonka and coconut. In other scents it's more of a supporting note (Zohar, Razala, Hanami...). I tend to accentuate its creaminess rather than the medicinal and rubbery aspects.

Tuberose is an intriguing material that can be played in many different ways. More often than never I find it overpowering in commercial perfumes, to the point of being unbearable... i.e.: paired with screeching green high notes (i.e.: Cabotine de Gras), and worst of all, smelling sickening, artificial and overpowering (i.e.: Poison, Carolina Herrera). Which is unfortunate - because natural tuberose is nothing like it. It's potent, strong and the fresh cut flower can take up a whole room after nightfall... Of course, there are many examples of bold tuberoses to look up to: Fracas, with its full-bodied, albeit high pitched at first, floral, fruity tuberose; La Chasse Aux Papillon with its lighthearted tuberose laden bouquet and other cheerful greenish airy florals, and last but not least – the dusky, toxic Tubereuse Criminelle, where rubber and wintergreen are boldly used alongside dense white blossoms of orange and tuberose. And I adore the creaminess of Noix de Tubereuse.

Tuberose (Polianthes tuberosa) is a flower related to narcissus and is native to Mexico, where it is called a "bone flower" in Aztec (Omixochitl). The name tuberose has nothing to do with rose, but with the tuberous or swollen roots of the plant. Therefore, the Latin name of the plant really means a plant with many flowers and tuberous roots. In Victorian times, young ladies were forbidden to roam the tuberose fields after dark from fear that they will lose their innocence due to the seductive influence of the flowers. In tropical countries, tuberose flowers are strewn into leis for ritual purposes (along with jasmine or marigold in India, for example) and for beauty and sheer pleasure (i.e. paired with plumeria and gardenia in Hawaii).

Tuebrose grows in other parts of the world - both for fresh cut flowers (I'm always excited to find them at the flower shop!) and as a raw material for perfumery (mostly in India nowadays, and to a far lesser extent in Southern France). There are 12 species of tuberose, and the one used for perfumery is different than that of the cut flower we are more familiar with, and has to be grown from the bulb for 4 full years before it will actually bloom. In France, tuberose may still processed in the traditional enfleurage method, which involves animal fat (lard and tallow). Tuberose is very unusual in that it releases more scent after it has been removed from the plant, making the process of enfleurage ideal and most efficient way to extract its fine aroma. However, because of religious reasons, neither of these fats can be used in India (Cows are holly to the Hindu, and pigs are forbidden among the Muslim population). Therefore, it is only extracted with a solvent (hexane) to produce its absolute.

The scent of tuberose is different from each locale and of course is different in enfleurage or in absolute forms. The enfleurage seem to capture more of the medicinal, rubbery and salicylic notes (reminiscent of wintergreen). Generally speaking, tubrose is often compared to jasmine and ornage blossom in its makeup, although it has no indole at all. It is rich, creamy, opulent and heady, with some animalic, licorice, medicinal, powdery notes. In the absolutes, I have tuberoses that range between powdery and even a little green, to buttery and milky/lactonic notes with hints of bitter almond (which makes it a perfect companion to tonka bean) and all the way to intensely heady and high in orange-blossom notes (from methyl anthranilate).

I adore tuberose and find it to be one of the most intriguing essences to work with. I even went as far as using it in my White Potion truffles and am planning to find other fascinating culinary uses for it, which I’m sure to share here on SmellyBlog once my experiments lead to a desirable result. But for now, I’m trying to explore its darker sides in perfumery, i.e. the more rubbery, medicinal, wintergreen notes, and see what can be done with that without the aid of synthetic aromachemicals or isolates. Curious minds want to know how far I can push this to… At least my mind is!