s

SmellyBlog

Spice Pirate

Épice Marine arrived after much anticipation (it's about 4 months late) to the Hermès boutique on Burrard & Alberni in Vancouver. The name alone, suggesting a study in contrasts, promised intrigue; and ocean being one of the greatest sources of inspiration for me, I was very much looking forward to experience Jean-Claude Ellena's take on it.

The first imagery that the fragrance conjures for me is that of a spice pirate ship with an unusually scrubbed-clean deck. The distinctive character of calone gives a metallic backdrop to warm, diffusive spicy notes of cumin and cinnamon. It's as unexpected as the lime and cloves combination in coke; but unlike the beverage - there is no sugar to mediate between the two edges; and the feeling is of two separate entities - rolling in heaps of warm, powdered spice against the a sharp and cold stainless steel blade. Lemony notes of bergamot combined with Szechuan pepper come to the fore and give temporary relief from the fishy odour of calone, but not for long. Spacious hedione combined with slightly indolic jasmine notes, and accentuated by a distant breeze of seashore at low tide contribute another point of intrigue. But only long enough for me to figure out what it reminds me of...

The piracy goes deeper than that briney scene at the deck: the composition is a mirror image of Edmond Roudnitska’s first perfume for the company (and now sadly discontinued) - Eau d’Hermès. It is no secret that Jean-Claude Ellena is infatuated with this Roudnitska creation, and in Terre d’Hermès it was explicitly stated. Of course influences are fine - especially when the nose in question was the student of the great master. Besides, being an Eau d’Hermès lover, why should I care if there is a similar perfume offered by the same house?

The reason is, that there is something a bit off about this scent. It does not feel balanced, the use of calone make it smell generic and lackluster. And to me this feels almost like a mockery of the original, rather than an homage. 

Once the confusing impressions of this perfume's opening lines fade away, I'm left with a very generic marine scent that sort of has a presence just enough to distract me occasionally, but never to delight or intrigue any further. And by the time we get to the dryout, it is very faint already. The notes chosen are not the issue. It's the composition and the harmony - if only there was more room for the seaweed absolute and oakmoss to speak up, the saltiness of the dryout would have been more prominent, evocative and memorable. Seaweed absolute is an extremely difficult note to work with, but I still wish it had more presence. It would have made this truly a piece of art, rather than a conceptual, light and crowd pleasing fragrance. 

I realize this is not the style that Ellena is after with the Hermessences,  but in this particular case it feels like a missed opportunity. Épice Marine is perhaps the only perfume that's truly intriguing in this collection, telling a story that can be relatable to others besides the creator and with fascinating raw materials to paint that picture. It has all the making of an interesting perfume, except that it doesn’t work. 




Top notes: Cinnamon, Cumin, Calone, Bergamot, Szechuan Pepper
Heart notes: Hedione, Jasmine
Base notes: Seaweed Absolute, Oakmoss

Lightshed

Coal Harbour by Ayala Moriel
Lightshed, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.
This thought provoking sculpture by Liz Magor is a great inspiration to me. It's a puzzling piece of the landsacpe that whenever I pass by I ask yourself questions. At the same time, it's very realistic looking - yet it's obviously completely impractical. There is no chance that people actually live there, unless they are stuck inside forever... It's sort of a 1/3 size model of sheds that used to be scattered along this harbour when it was used for harbouring ships... But not quite: It's complete with barnicles and all - and is all silver. In fact, it is made of aluminum, even though it looks like wood. I pass by it a lot in my morning walks in Coal Harbour - sometimes without giving it even a second thought. But now that I'm getting deeper into my perfume inspired by this place, I am finding that in a way it relates to what I'm working on beyond the location.

In my perfumes, I often times need to create an illusion of a certain scent, using completely different material. The natural perfumer's palette is not nearly as versatile as I would like it to be and when attempting to express a concept such as the contract between city and nature (a recurring theme in my perfumes - for example: Hanami) - it's difficult to portray the man-made materials, minerals, etc. without the avant-guarde advantages of modern synthetics. I'd use galbanum as a representation for freshly cut grass (in combination with other notes, of course); vetiver for evoking wet wooden constructions; and who knows what else to emit the scent of hot metal, wet pavement or dusty concrete, rusty iron, or abrasive aluminum.

Creating the impression of something from something else is a challenge. And when there is a challenge I think there is also creativity at its best. I would (metaphorically) open the paint tubes of colours I don't really "like" or gravitate towards: seaweed absolute, fossilized pine resin, even galbanum didn't really used to be a favourite to be honest until I really learned how to use it. So I hope through this experiment I will learn how to embrace the nasty fishy smells of seaweed absolute and the evasive burnt grease notes of fossilized pine resin, and turn them into the beauty that I find in the contrast between the glass towers of the neighbourhood's new developments, the greasy marina and struggling sealife, and the pretty green spaces alongside the seawall, which are full of water-gardens in concrete and encourage the passers by to reflect and relax.

Harbour Green

Harbour Green by Ayala Moriel
Harbour Green, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.
Well, I just went through a lot of trouble typing out a whole blogpost, only to have it entirely deleted by a Flickr hiccup... It was about my Coal Harbour perfume experiment which I unearthed from last year's archived mods.

What originally smelled as rather skunky and morbid, even (the seaweed absolute is an extremely difficult note to work with, and smells like decomposing bodies of seashore lives - seaweed, clams, crabs...) has turned out to be, what I was hoping for.

I place a drop of essence on my wrist, and like a seed in fast-forward motion it sprouts and grows into this luscious garden - Harbour Green, to be precise: fresh cut grass on a summer's day; kelp growing on the rocks underneath the docks; daisies and fuchsias alongside the trail; and somewhere in the very background the whiff of summer-blooming trees - linden and elder; Oh, and is that aquaplane in the background taking off or landing?

And just like the original blogpost, the formula is entirely lost. I have searched high and low and the temporary lab recording card must have slipped out of my formulae sketch book and has grown feet of its own that took it away from all its like-minded friends...
So I will have to wait a long long time before I know if my attempt to revive the Coal Harbour experience is successful or not.
Sigh... The woes of a perfumer's life.
Back to the top