Fairchild & Moondance by Anya’s Garden : Perfume Reviews

Seasoned perfume lovers will already have a pretty good idea of what to expect from an all-natural perfume, but even they are set to be surprised by Anya McCoy’s creations - and that’s a promise. Anya is a pioneer who daringly reaches new frontiers by using the most unusual notes: rutting billy-goat hair will grant her creations a strong touch of cruelty free animalic musk, while toasted seashells beautifully render the scent of the ocean spray sans calone. With seven perfumes produced under the brand name Anya’s Garden, Anya truly has something there for everyone. Last week she was kind enough to send me tiny samples of her precious perfumes to test. Today, I present to you my two favorite ones.

Fairchild: Fairchild opens with a strange animalic potency that is quickly overtaken by a bracing, beautifully awakening blast of citrus. I personally find this strong opening incredible as it feels like a powerful jolt of energy that fills me with a positive outlook. Definitely something I’d love to start my day with. After a while this almost superlative burst calms and the perfume transforms into a smooth lemon note enfolded in gorgeous sweetness spiced with accents of pepper. I can’t help but reiterate my feeling that this is the perfect morning scent: Fairchild feels to me as though it produces light. As the heart notes bloom on the skin, the gorgeous sweetness intensifies with the beautiful scent of white florals: jasmine and lemon blossoms are the ones most perceptible to me. Despite their indolic nature, here they both project an image of brilliant white purity - like a wedding bouquet. Sweet ylang ylang gives this perfume a perfectly light expression of tropical bliss. Slowly but surely the base notes begin to emerge bringing the full animalic glory of this perfume to the fore. Gorgeous ambergris bathes the skin in its softly sweet animalic glow, while sun-baked seaweed adds extra naughtiness. The scent of toasted seashells in turn brings with it the calming sound of rolling waves. This is a beautiful animalic citrus-chypre, very much in the same vein as the original Philtre d’Amour by Guerlain, but beautifully suffused with intense light. Some time ago Anya and I had a conversation about whether all-natural perfumes can render light in the same way that synthetics can. With this, a last note: Congratulations, Anya. You’ve created light.

Moondance: If you love violet, then you must try Moondance, as it opens with one of the most interesting and fabulous violet notes I’ve had the pleasure to smell. Lightly sweet, pastel in color and velvety textured like the skin of a ripe peach, the violet in this scent sings with melodious clarity. At first its scent is accompanied by an almost fougère herbal feel, as though it’s underscored by lavender, but after a while that impression subsides as the violet intensifies and deepens. The texture too changes, from velvety to buttery and the sweetness intensifies. An almost fruity, vaguely apple-scented note emerges, perfectly balancing the otherworldly, beautiful melancholy of the violet with its childishly innocent cheer. Two more complementary notes emerge: The buttery character of the violet is beautifully complimented by hints of carrot seed, while the sweetness of the light apple scent is amplified by orange blossom water. At the heart of this fragrance we find the most ethereal whisper of tuberose. Light and diaphanous (and no, I never expected to used these words to describe tuberose either), the infamously sensual blossom manages to retain all of its femininity and guile while shedding all of the qualities that tend to be perceived as overbearing and demanding by many. The base is a sweet symphony of mellow amber and sandalwood, peculiarly lanced through by a slightly bitter resinous vein. Glorious!

Images: via Flickr by alexdecarvalho and Memotions

Perfumed Thoughts : Natural Perfumery

Today I want to touch on a subject that is slightly difficult for me to broach, not only because of its slightly controversial nature, but also because, admittedly, I am not as well informed as I would like to be. Still, it is something that has been on my mind for over a week now and I would rather take the chance to share my thoughts with you while they are fresh, rather than wait. Today’s little piece is not a mandate, but indeed just my own personal thoughts on the matter, hoping to raise consciousness, provoke thought, consideration and hopefully discussion.

I was recently reading an article titled “The Scent of the Nile”, originally published in the New Yorker by Chandler Burr. The following excerpt (referring to Jean-Claude Ellena) quotes part of that article:

“(...)Even though Ellena’s perfumes often evoke the smells of nature, he believes that scents containing only natural materials are not, fundamentally, perfumes. The art of perfumery, Ellena believes, is the art of gracefully combining different chemicals, some natural, some synthetic. The first perfume synthetics were created in the nineteenth century.(...).”

I couldn’t help but find myself having an immediately negative reaction to this statement. Surely this can’t be right? What are the implications of this statement? That natural perfumery is not perfumery at all? That someone who composes all natural scents is not actually a perfumer? That whether creative expression can or cannot be considered as art depends on the medium used? I just couldn’t accept this... I just couldn’t validate this statement. Burr mentions that the first perfume synthetics were created in the nineteenth century; I would like to draw a parallel to express my feelings about this issue. Before the 15th century, painters worked mostly with egg paints, otherwise known as tempera. However, in the 15th century there was a revolution: European painters suddenly started using oil paints, popularizing the medium and changing the face of art as we know it. Suddenly hues that were never seen on a painting before materialized. Textures became so realistic you could immediately tell whether you were looking at velvet or silk. Candlelight reflected differently on silver than it did on crystal. Pearls shone softly. The eye saw in the painting, what it saw in real life. A whole new world was opened up for painters worldwide. You see, egg paints pose numerous limitations: it is hard, or nigh impossible to play with the elements of darkness and light when painting with tempera. There is no way to render light of different intensities. Painting different hues takes not only incredible skill, but these almost never appear realistic. Same with water – there is no way to paint water that appears natural with egg, and it is incredibly difficult to show objects submerged under water or behind a gossamer veil, because egg does not lend itself to see-through expression. Still, despite these limitations, wonderful works of art were created with just egg paints: simply being confronted with the skill of master visual hagiographers who managed to paint the legs of John the Baptist submerged in the river despite the aforementioned difficulties, is enough to bring tears of awe to one’s eyes. And despite the fact that painters can indeed do so many more different things with oil, egg painting is not a lost art. Just like natural perfumery, it is a craft that is not as conspicuous as oil painting, however, it is still very much alive. It takes many painstaking years of studious, extremely disciplined apprenticeship to become a master visual hagiographer today. Even though these artists are limited not only by their medium of choice, but also by the techniques that identify this art form, they still manage to tell their own story, express their own creativity and impregnate each individual piece with their signature. It is a mysterious form of art: the more you know about it, the more you can appreciate it.

I guess what I am trying to say is this: You cannot judge art by the medium used: Whether the medium is marble, steel, or scrapheap salvage, the result is still art, and the creator a sculptor.

Image: commons.wikimedia.org