by Justine Crane
I don't get it often, that perfumer's block. In fact, I don't believe I've ever really had it. What I get, usually, is perfumer's anxiety. First things first; are there enough of diluted essences A, B, C, D, E, F and so forth to create this olfactory masterpiece? Second, if not, are there enough dilution bottles in stock to make them? Third, if so, how the hell long is that going to take? Fourth, four days later, when all these tasks have been completed to fruition, do I have any damned energy left to formulate?
Jesus said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "Don't stress on tomorrow because today is stressful enough." (Matthew 6:34)* To me, the reference to "tomorrow" can be fifteen minutes from now, when I'm checking volume levels in dilution bottles and realize I have to "whip up" a few extras. Why trip now? I usually call this next step "procrastination". To defer action. To put off till another day or time.
So this is how this creative thing usually goes down: I build a brief or one is handed to me. I think about it a while; a few days, a few weeks, a month or two. I write notes. I dream on it. I might sniff a few bottles. I write more notes. I write a bit of poetic prose to go along with the brief, to liven it up, give it breath, and then I think about the creation some more. I sometimes talk about it to my peers, or to someone I don't know while bagging my groceries at Winco. I discuss it with the Jehovah's Witnesses who come to my door every other Tuesday at 9:30 am sharp. We make trades. I hand them scent strips and they hand me The Watchtower. For the first time in history, they're the ones stepping away from the door hoping I'll close it on their faces.
I converse with my mother's ass as she's face down in her garden pulling weeds. I ask her ass the delicate questions; issues of using champaca golden vs. davana or magnolia. "Patchouli essential oil or absolute, mom?" I ask after explaining their differences. Her ass does not reply.
"Mom?"
She lifts her head from the weeds and says, "When are you taking that damned mimosa tree? Every time I look at it, I just want to weed whack it." Her anger toward mimosa's fragile flowers falling on her carefully manicured lawn shows in a flash. She continues pulling at the weeds. I do not get my answer.
I speak about the newly formulated in my mind perfume with my daughter, sharing scent strips drenched in heart notes. "How is this?" I ask.
"Smells like pickles," she replies. And I remember that this is her patent answer for every scent strip thrust under her nose. In teen-talk it means, "Leave me alone. I'm not the least bit interested in your hobby."
I chase down my grown live-in son, the perfume whore, in hopes of finding a partner in crime. "How's this?" I ask, spritzing his arm as he cringes.
"'S' okay," he says, noncommittally.
"Okay good or 'just' okay?"
"It's okay. Now will you get out of the bathroom? I have to wipe my butt."
So after all this research, writing, and trial formulating, I finally have it. The finished fantastic product. Three years after I started.
*The real verse in King James reads: Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
The old medieval model is dead - it's time for the great renaissance! We are freed from the chains of the inquisition!
Showing posts with label Justine Crane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Justine Crane. Show all posts
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Museum Pieces
by Justine Crane
My first experiences with antique and vintage oils came by way of packages shipped from Berkeley, California, from the studio of avid Natural Botanical Perfume aficionado Lisa Camasi. Over those first few years of working in perfumery, I received little 5/8th dram bottles of vintage rose geranium, old cedars, smooth spices and antique sandalwoods, among other vintage oils, gems to hoard and dilute in minute amounts and formulate with sparingly. Then came the real booty. We both managed to get our hands on some rare antique resins and swapped samples. From those transactions I acquired a gorgeous oakmoss soluble resin that knocks me out when I open the bottle for a waft. It's richness and mossy darkness are many more times intense than its modern counterpart. It's what those vintage chypres were made with ~ velvety and smoky, sweet and deep and hinting at loamy black soil and warm fungi. Along with the oakmoss there was tolu balsam the color of dried blood and reeking of black pepper and mint, cinnamon and vanilla and lush jungle flowers. Even after diluting to 10%, the dry brown-red blood color and dense peppery-minty-floral-cinnamon scent persists. Tenacious. The antique olibanum ~ indescribably lovely. There are no lemony top notes to this vintage, just a slight edgy resinous pitch with surprising warmth and softness. Then came the galbanum. Lovely, green, heart of Vent Vert galbanum. Sweetly green with none of the prickly sharp pine resin tones. Then the benzoin, the sweet, vanillic, honeyed, lickable benzoin. No modern benzoin I've ever smelled comes close to the sugary, nearly edible quality of this antique benzoin. The antique styrax is crisp and clean and floral. Yes! Floral! The vintage labdanum smells much like modern labdanum, but perhaps a little denser, a bit richer, more substantive, with smooth edges and little of the prodding bitterness some labdanums possess. The heart of amber.
The real jewel of the haul has to be, and is, undeniably, the antique orris resin. None of the contemporary samples of orris I have used are comparable to this orris resin. Sweet and soft and powdery with fruity notes and flashes of sweet violet and raspberry marshmallows and boronia . . . wonderment. Museum worthy.
My first experiences with antique and vintage oils came by way of packages shipped from Berkeley, California, from the studio of avid Natural Botanical Perfume aficionado Lisa Camasi. Over those first few years of working in perfumery, I received little 5/8th dram bottles of vintage rose geranium, old cedars, smooth spices and antique sandalwoods, among other vintage oils, gems to hoard and dilute in minute amounts and formulate with sparingly. Then came the real booty. We both managed to get our hands on some rare antique resins and swapped samples. From those transactions I acquired a gorgeous oakmoss soluble resin that knocks me out when I open the bottle for a waft. It's richness and mossy darkness are many more times intense than its modern counterpart. It's what those vintage chypres were made with ~ velvety and smoky, sweet and deep and hinting at loamy black soil and warm fungi. Along with the oakmoss there was tolu balsam the color of dried blood and reeking of black pepper and mint, cinnamon and vanilla and lush jungle flowers. Even after diluting to 10%, the dry brown-red blood color and dense peppery-minty-floral-cinnamon scent persists. Tenacious. The antique olibanum ~ indescribably lovely. There are no lemony top notes to this vintage, just a slight edgy resinous pitch with surprising warmth and softness. Then came the galbanum. Lovely, green, heart of Vent Vert galbanum. Sweetly green with none of the prickly sharp pine resin tones. Then the benzoin, the sweet, vanillic, honeyed, lickable benzoin. No modern benzoin I've ever smelled comes close to the sugary, nearly edible quality of this antique benzoin. The antique styrax is crisp and clean and floral. Yes! Floral! The vintage labdanum smells much like modern labdanum, but perhaps a little denser, a bit richer, more substantive, with smooth edges and little of the prodding bitterness some labdanums possess. The heart of amber.
The real jewel of the haul has to be, and is, undeniably, the antique orris resin. None of the contemporary samples of orris I have used are comparable to this orris resin. Sweet and soft and powdery with fruity notes and flashes of sweet violet and raspberry marshmallows and boronia . . . wonderment. Museum worthy.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Reprint: Horse Chestnuts
Horse Chestnuts
by Lisa Abdul-Quddus
It happens often yet I still get amazed at how simple actions can spark inspiration and discoveries. Take, for example, a conversation back in January 2009 between Natural Botanical Perfumer Justine Crane and one of her Antiquarian Perfumery students, Pauhla Whitaker. Pauhla started a discussion about a subject totally different from where that discussion ended. Basically, she casually mentioned the smell of horse chestnuts and very briefly described what they were. Justine suggested she tincture them, and voila! The Natures Nexus Academy of Perfuming Arts students had begun a journey in horse smells. Pauhla generously supplied the students with horse chestnuts and there began the experimentation.
If you do a search for horse chestnuts you will most likely find links to Aesculus hippocastanum, a tree that bears fruit containing seeds or nuts, referred to as chestnuts or horse chestnuts. So to give a brief description of what horse chestnuts are for those unfamiliar, they are the soft knobbly bits or growths found on a horse above the knee area of the front legs and below the hock of the hind legs. They grow normally over time in layers and can be easily peeled or shaved off. If horse chestnuts grow too big they can be unsightly but cause no harm to the horse. Pauhla says think of them as toe nails. When your toe nails grow too long you clip them. If left alone horse chestnuts can peel and fall off on their own. Often though they are taken care of by a farrier during regular grooming. And being that they grow from the horse's body they carry within them a mildly horsey more leathery scent. As a bonus for those that use animal essences in their natural perfumes horse chestnuts are cruelty free.
When I evaluated the horse chestnut tincture I found it to be cool and actually somewhat fresh. It is rustic for sure, but not fecal. Definitely animalic, sweaty, but not like stepping into a barn where horse scents can be concentrated. A chestnut is but one element taken from a group of other horse related smells, most notably lacking the warmth or heat that I would guess comes more from the horses own body heat than anything else. In conducting my own experiments with this tincture I found it gives my blends a 'lift' and cuts some of the sweetness of various essences while adding an agrestic note. I found this happened when added to a blend that was dominant in jasmine sambac.
I randomly selected a few essences to test with horse chestnut tincture added and these are some of my findings.
Patchouli - 10% dilution - ratio 1:1 Patchouli alone has a warm earthy, woody scent. With the addition of horse chestnut tincture it became almost boozy like congac with a light leather. Over time, and as the alcohol evaporated the leather note became stronger.
Tobacco absolute - 1% dilution - ratio 1:1 Tobacco absolute is warm, sweet and smoky. Adding horse chestnut tincture gave this a lift with a faint animalic note that blends well with the richness of the tobacco absolute. Think a campfire, burning tobacco, leather saddles and of course the horses.
Cilantro - 1% dilution - ratio 1:1 Cilantro is fresh, bright and herbal, like drawing in the aroma of a fresh cut bunch from a garden. The horse chestnut tincture overpowered the cilantro at the 1% dilution, although the cilantro was still detectable. These two together made for a very fresh, cool combination that actually pulled a tiny bit of sweetness from the cilantro.
I've found that when added to heavier base notes the horse chestnut tincture takes a back seat but still makes its presence known. With lighter notes it can take over but will diminish over time letting the lighter notes shine through while still adding an animalic element to a blend. One must also factor in the dilution percentages of the essences being used as well as the strength of the tincture. For those interested in animal smells horse chestnuts are worth adding to your palette if you can obtain them. Experiment with various essences to see what this tincture can add to your blends.
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Lisa Abdul-Quddus, Owner of Blossoming Tree Bodycare on Etsy, Third-Year Student/Mentor NNAPA Antiquarian Perfumery CourseJustine Crane, Natural Botanical Perfumer, Owner of The Scented Djinn, Tutor for Natures Nexus Academy of Perfuming Arts
Pauhla Whitaker Consultant, AmimOils, essential oil therapy for animals, Third-Year Student/Mentor NNAPA Antiquarian Perfumery Course
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