I was a couple of years late into the game trying Santal Massoïa Jean-Claude Ellena (created for the Hermèssence collection). Perhaps it was after the Iris Ukioye that I felt a little disappointed in the line. I feel that the majority of the new creations are becoming victim of their own style. As if the creator's commitment to stick to a certain genre of aesthetic statement. I feel that no matter what theme would be picked for this line, and no matter how outrageously intriguing the combination of notes may be, the result would be the same ethereal, non-descript quality of non perfume. Something quite pleasant, utterly wearable and easily so.

Like many of the scents in the collection, in the several times I wear it and try to find words to describe it - I stick my nose really close to my wrist and shake my head from side to side in search for something more. And before it has any chance to appear, the scent disappears altogether. Which is truly unfortunate in the case of Santal Massoïa. I was truly excited to discover what Jean-Claude Ellena would do with such an intriguing raw material as massoia bark: a rarity in the world of naturals, offering an extremely milky, lactonic odour reminiscent of toasted coconut and melted butter. It would have been the perfect accompaniment to sandalwood - highlighting its milky, creamy qualities, especially the Mysore kind which is practically non existent. This would have helped, I thought, to create a similar quality even in lesser varieties from, say, Australia or New Caledonia.

Instead, I get a watered-down, vaguely woody rendition with hints of peppery spice - sort of a cross between Iris Ukioye, somewhat violetty tea-like hints like Osmnathe Yunnan, and a very subtle wink towards Poivre Samarcande (but with non of the piquant originality of the latter). The sandalwoodiness of it is practically a reflection of a reflection of a clear water pool in a mirror; and the milkiness is more reminiscent of cold milk that one would gulp to wash down a very dry and neutral flavoured shortbread. Maybe if this appeared before any of the above scents did, it would seem original. But being the tenth fragrance in the collection, I desire for something more, something original and surprising. Which haven't happened since the launch of Vanille Galante, and only happened again with Épice Marine (the 11th in the series). This is very thin and linear, which is unfortunate, because neither sandalwood nor massoia are. It left me lukewarm and wanting much more.

Au Delà - Narcisse des Montagnes is a limited edition "flanker" of sorts to the perfume Au Delà by San Francisco-based visual artists and perfumer Bruno Fazzolari. In addition to the perfume, Bruno created numbered, limited edition silkscreen prints of narcissus flowers that accompany the first 50 bottles sold. While online the print looks beautiful, when I unwrapped the poster-tube, it took my breath away. What is it about all things handmade? Perhaps the intimacy, knowing that human hands have created an object. Perhaps the design itself. This kind of quality is inimitable. It's something that is felt beyond the technical terms and defies explanation. And that precise quality is also felt in a perfume that was created in that fashion. There is no substitute to that, even if the formula is followed to a T, and even if the exact same colour swatches are reproduced. Not only is it not going to look the same. It is not going to feel the same if it's produced in any other way. Not only is the media the message; also the method is the message.

Even the box for the perfume is hand-collaged with striped black and white paper. Again, the kind of thing you might not be able to really see online or even from the shelf. But once you touch it, it's an unmistakable quality - texture, and the minute visual details that give off that human warmth to an inanimate object.

The perfume itself opens with heart-aching green notes of narcissus, iris and galbanum, and resembles the great No. 19 by Chanel. It unfolds as an entirely different flower though: if No. 19 is a cold and angular steel flower, Au Delà - Narcisse des Montagnes is a velvet flower with round, plush petals. And it only becomes more warm and round as it wears on the skin. Sweet, cedarwood-like violet unfolds and gives the perfume a voluptuous body and presence. And from it emerges a sunny, shimmering amber, like the glittering light upon the sea at sunset. The amber is very much the same as in the original Au Delà, reminiscent of the underlining amber accord in Obsession*.

That amber is even more apparent here than it was in the original, and lingers for several hours. But don't let this prevent you from experiencing the dryout, which holds some surprises, albeit subtle: a  woodsy, almost incensey dry down, with hints of vetiver and also a bit of bittersweet coumarin note (but not nearly as much as in the original).

Ida Meister has described it even better than I could, on Fragrantica:
"This perfume begins afresh, anew, étincelant: the premier flush of spring. Jasmine and orange blossom wing their way close upon the heels of bergamot and narcissus…the sun is eclipsed by darkness. What was brilliant and glitteringly green is now muted by shadow—slowly at first, then gaining momentum until we are submerged, engulfed in the depths of moss, resin, mood. Narcisse des Montagnes has claws: she burrows into your psyche with the intention of taking up residence."
Top notes: Narcissus absolute, Bergamot, Galbanum, Neroli
Heart notes: Jasmine, Orange Blossom, Ionones
Base notes: Amber, Oakmoss, Vetiver, Incense, Coumarin

* By the way: I have a vintage of the extrait, and it is stunning. You'd be hard pressed to believe it was a designer fragrance, once upon a time, and it is about as dietary as Shalimar ever was.

Palimpsest is the literary equivalent of a double exposure: the layers of an old scripture overlapping with newer texts (though probably still rather ancient). Old scrolls or parchamanet paper were either rinsed or scraped to remove the old content, likely for economic reasons. Or perhaps the old text had to be concealed? The reason might always remain a mystery. The result is rich, textured and ultimately fascinating - like playing hide and seek with history. The top layer is interrupted by the older layers, which can never be completely erased (and in some cases, over time the ink's pigments intensify after they have been supposedly erased). And the bottom layers obscured both by the purposeful wiping off, and because of the dominance of the newer layers.

The perfume of that name, the newest from Aftelier, opens with a burst of fresh, juicy citrus notes of yuzu and wild orange. They are simply bursting with life. But underneath it you can already feel there is much more going on. A mysterious, woody-floral note makes itself known from the start, the haunting and strange fire tree, reminiscent of lilac, dried ink on a charred-edged paper. Animals notes of indole, leather and woods steadily proceed to the forefront, with a finale that is identical (to my nose) to the surprisingly fecal odour of mammoth bone, almost sickly-sweet and strangely floral.

I love how layered and rich and multi-dimensional this perfume is. And also how Mandy Aftel's creations have become both more conceptual and highly personal over the recent couple of years. You can see it in the names, which no longer refer mostly to the ingredients; but also to the perfumer's own fascination, and her personal experiences.

Top notes: Gamma dodecalactone, phenyl acetic acid, yuzu
Heart notes: Jasmine Grandiflorum, Peach, Ylang Ylang
Base notes: Firetree, Vanilla, Ambergris