The seamless world

I am always astonished by the connectedness of things. Nothing is discrete. Every action, thought or sensation is embedded with all others. The work of consciousness is selecting which connections to value, which to ignore.

Today I went hiking after a heavy rain, and when I returned to my car I found that a wolf spider had taken up residence in the cup holder of my car. I suppose she was looking for a dry spot. I like wolf spiders, so I let her stay and she rode around with me all day. I went to a violin lesson, made a grocery run, met Dave for coffee, drove the 40+ miles back to my house--and the spider stayed right there in my cup holder. A couple of times she climbed up to the edge and waved a leg in my direction, but mostly she just hung out at the bottom of the well, happy with her new home. I won't be surprised if she's still there in the morning.

My new buddy seemed to beg for a blog post, so I went looking for a spider poem, but couldn't find a good one that seemed appropriate. The way she hitched a ride made me think of hitchhikers, so I switched to searching for hitchhiker themes, and found the outstanding Diane Wakoski work below. One of the reasons it caught my attention is its recurring image of the mountain ash tree. I recently had an exchange about the fruit of the mountain ash--also known as the rowan tree--with Olfacta at her blog.

I love that perfect circle of event, art and memory.

They burn you
like the berries of mountain ash in August,
standing by the road,
clearly defined,
Autumnal brilliant, heads
scorched from waiting
in the sun.
How can
you pass them up?
But you do,
and dream each night of a hell,
where you are a hitchhiker,
and no one will ever stop to pick you up....(more)

From "The Hitchhikers" by Diane Wakoski, 1977. Complete text at Poetry Foundation.



Photo of wolf spider carrying her young on her back by Clinton and Charles Robertson, from Wikimedia Commons.

Measured resistance

Fights between hawks and crows are usually noisy and brutal. Crows generally gang up to attack a lone hawk, and I find it disturbing to watch, even though I know the crows are only defending themselves. I can't help identifying with the predatory hawk, just trying to survive, all alone against the mob. ...(more)

Blogging the Madinis: Ambar Gris and the white florals

Chaya's up first this week, with a meditation on one of her favorites, Ambar Gris. Join me below for a quick run down on a passel of florals.


Chayaruchama: It’s a mystery to me…and that’s the way I like it.

Madini tells us that ambergris is a natural panacea, harvested only from material washed up on Atlantic shores; that it inspired John Singer Sargent to create his masterpiece, Fumée d’Ambre Gris. Ambergris --“grey amber”--is aged sperm whale vomit. Every year that this dubious flotsam lurches upon the waves, it acquires added character , depth, and value. There are multiple descriptions of its odor: animalic, salty, rosy, marine, sweetening over time.

Madini’s version is a smoky, viscous wonder, tenacious beyond your wildest dreams. I am mad for it, beyond all reason. I could wear it solo, or layer it all day with classic perfumes, cheapie deals, other oils.

It’s broodingly dark--in scent, substance and hue--and literally so thick it wrestles with the rollerball. I don’t perceive this as animalic, not like civet, real musks, or castoreum; but it stirs the collective unconscious, reeking of primeval fires, ancient rituals, and honeyed, burnt wood, rich with resin, more conifer than birch-like.

It’s spicy, but not redolent of cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, or ginger. My nose suspects a drop of fine coriander essence. There is very likely labdanum and/ or frankincense [both are characterized as possessing spicy, “old woody” terpene balsam/ resin properties.] These contribute to the sweet, scorched, sylvan effect that characterizes this fragrance.

Ambar Gris is a polarizing aroma; either you’ll adore it, or you will detest it--but you won’t be indifferent to it.



BitterGrace: With the exception of Fleur de Nuit, the Madini white florals are all simple, single-note creations, so I’ll just give a quick thumbnail impression of each. (Four Seasons, a lily scent, could have been included on this list, but I think it deserves a real review. For my thoughts on Azahar, go here.)

Narciso: A glorious, shrieking narcissus. Do not expect the subdued gentility of Je Reviens’ narcissus, nor the smoldering mystery of Narcisse Noir. I happen to enjoy the feeling that someone has just dumped a truckload of daffodils on me, but if that thought does not appeal to you, avoid Narciso.

Gardenia: A sweet, old-fashioned, clean gardenia—basically, a corsage in a bottle. The skunky tang that many people hate is mostly absent, but it’s still a fairly aggressive scent. There’s no trace of modern wateriness, and it’s much heavier than Yves Rocher Pur Desir de Gardenia.

Nardo: First, a clarification: Contrary to Talisman’s website description, spikenard and tuberose are not the same plant, though both are used in perfumery. I’ll leave it to the sticklers for accuracy among you to decide which is the source for Madini’s Nardo. That said, most people would recognize this as a tuberose scent, and it might make a nice tuberose for the Fracas-phobic. It’s potent but never shrill, with an odd but (to me) delightful nut-like note that is also present in Bourbon French’s Tuberose.

Honeysuckle: Very sweet, slightly green. Not quite true to the flower, but still very pleasant and soothing. Takes on a slight powdery quality as it fades.

Jasmine: A true, fairly powerful jasmine. Smells like a combination of J. grandiflorum and J. sambac. Definitely not funk-free, but not the most indolic jasmine I’ve ever sniffed. Very good lasting power, and quite linear.

Fleur de Nuit: I would call this a blend of plumeria and jasmine. It’s sweet and slightly soapy. There are faint indolic notes, but if you are in the market for a “clean” jasmine, this might fit the bill.



Fumée d'Ambre Gris, John Singer Sargent, 1880. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Narcissus illustration from Gottorfer Codex by Hans-Simon Holtzbecker, c.1649-59. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

I'm a little swamped at the moment

But I promise there's a Madini post with Chaya's review of Ambar Gris coming up, along with a few words about the white florals from me. I will resurface shortly.


Photo of a humpback whale by M. Buschmann from Wikimedia Commons.

Random Rave: 1905, Detaille

I remember seeing an entry for Detaille on the list of perfumeries at Now Smell This, and thinking their traditional fragrances were probably just my sort of thing. But Paris is far away and I try to resist unsniffed lemmings, so I promptly forgot about Detaille--until last week, when I opened a Mardi Gras gift from our friend Jean, and it turned out to be a bottle of Detaille's 1905. Jean was in Paris with her husband recently, and since she's seen what I'm like after a binge at the New Orleans perfumeries, she thought a bottle of something from the Parisian equivalent might be appropriate for me. Good woman, that Jean. In addition to being a sweet, thoughtful friend, she also turns out to have a great nose. 1905 is a beautiful fragrance, and as I suspected, just my sort of thing.

It opens with a violet note, tinged with galbanum, but there's no grassy harshness--just a sunny green wave that lifts the violet's earthy sweetness. A bit of aldehydic fizz helps in that task but never threatens to sear through the tender flower. The heart is a perfectly composed floral accord, which Detaille's website catalogs as iris, rose, jasmine and ylang ylang. I detect all those, but the shifting notes also suggest hints of lily and peony. "Classic" is the only word for the character of this scent. It brings to mind a host of great florals: Quelques Fleurs, Evening in Paris, Caron's French Cancan, even vintage L'Air du Temps. It has a brightness all of those lack, however, which I think comes from the lingering green note and an exceptionally tame, almost creamy jasmine.

The base is light moss and sandalwood, with no resinous notes and only the tiniest hint of musk. It reminds me a little of Caleche or VC&A's First, though it's much higher pitched than either of those. The bottom notes are surprisingly dry after the abundance of flowers in the heart. Happily, it completely lacks that rain-on-a-rusty-lawn-chair aura that modern florals often take on as they fade. 1905 doesn't pull any surprises at the end, just quietly disappears with a ladylike discretion Edith Wharton would have admired.


Enabler's note: If you're not planning a trip to Paris, I believe Detaille perfumes are available at Takashimaya.

Portrait of Elizabeth Drexel, Giovanni Boldini, 1905. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Fair use and abuse

While searching for a Mary Oliver poem mentioned in a comment to Saturday's post, I came across this recent account of a website being forced to remove Oliver's poems for copyright infringement. While there seems to be no doubt that the website owner was in violation of copyright law, she makes a persuasive case--to me anyway--that she is really operating to the benefit of the writers whose work she posts.

The whole copyright issue is something that isn't discussed much among bloggers, but it probably should be. There are precious few blogs that don't break copyright laws on a regular basis. For instance, except for images in the public domain, all photographs or artworks are covered by copyright. You are supposed to get permission to use them. If you lift an image from a site that doesn't expressly allow sharing, you are technically breaking the law, even if you link back to the source.** I'm always amused by bloggers who go to the trouble of putting up a copyright notice to protect their original content, and then slap "stolen" images on nearly every post. (FYI, stuff at Wikimedia Commons is usually released under a Creative Commons license, which means it's fine to use it as long as you attribute it. That's why so much of the stuff on this blog comes from Wikimedia.)

I have mixed feelings about the issue. I think we should respect an artist's proprietary interest in her work. As someone who occasionally writes for money, I've felt mildly annoyed when I've seen my articles reprinted in their entirety on blogs. There's not much of a reprint market for what I do--I've sold exactly one article that way; but still, I do own the stuff, and it would be nice if the bloggers bothered to ask before making my creation their post-of-the-day. At the same time, I realize that as long as the article is properly credited, they're kinda doing me a favor. The whole point of writing the stuff is to have it read, preferably by as many people as possible.

As far as my own blogging goes, I try keep within the bounds of fair use, while realizing that I am often operating in a gray area that an author could challenge. I never print a complete poem unless it is in the public domain or I have permission.*** What I generally do is print a brief portion of a poem, and link back to a source site that does have permission. According to my reading of "fair use," that's legal for me to do on a non-commercial website, but I'm not at all sure I'd win in a court of law, especially for posts that don't have any critical content.

I will confess to posting pictures without permission and then providing a conscience-salving link, but that trick backfired on me when an attentive website owner checked out my blog and demanded that I remove both photo and link. It seems she did not wish to be associated with some of the content here. Can't imagine why. Anyway, the run-in with her pretty much cured me of the practice.

Questions about exactly what's okay and what's not are complicated by the fact that copyright laws have become increasingly restrictive, so that a work can remain under copyright for what seems like a ridiculously long time. The other problem is that people sometimes try to claim copyright where none exists. For instance, some museum and gallery sites still try to say that all their images are under copyright, though the Supreme Court says otherwise.

It will be interesting to see if Ms. Oliver's watchdog Googles his way to my little snippet of "Wild Geese." Of course I'll take it down if I'm ordered to, but in the meantime I'll leave it up for y'all to enjoy.


**UPDATE: I should have said that's the situation under U.S. laws. Copyright law actually varies a lot between countries. The rule may be different elsewhere.

***Oh, and looking over my poetry posts just now, I do see a couple of complete poems from the early 20th century that may not be in the public domain. So, mea culpa--I'm as guilty as everybody else.

Catullus Reading His Poem, Stepan Bakalovich, 1885. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

"You do not have to be good."

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

From "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. Read the rest of the poem at Poet Seers.


El descanso de la modelo, Antonio Cortina Farinós (1841-1890).

A note to the Madini lovers

For some strange reason, Wednesday's post on Hanane and Fougere lost its identity. It was displaying on the home page of the blog, but the permalink produced just a blank screen. Weird. Anyway, if you tried to link to it and failed, it's back now. Apologies.

Also, I think Chaya and I are going to do some solos. She'll do Ambar Gris, and I think I'll work on the white florals and some of the girlier blends like Aicha Aicha. Stay tuned.

Hawk watching

It's been a good week for hawk watching. Like the rest of the birds, they're pairing off and getting ready to nest, so they're out and about a lot. The thing that always impresses me about hawks is their incredible agility in flight. They do wild contortions as they swoop down on their prey--wings askew, legs splayed, head tucked and turned; and yet, if the intended victim evades them, they effortlessly recover and fly off. How do they stay airborne? I've never seen one crash, though it must happen occasionally....(more)

Blogging the Madinis: Hanane and Fougere

Chaya and I are doing our doubles thing again this week, with a pair of Madini's unisex creations. I made a point of not looking at Chaya's review before I scribbled down my thoughts, just to see how much we'd agree on these two scents, which we've never discussed. We turned out to be pretty nearly in sync. Me first:

BitterGrace: The phrase that comes to mind for Fougere is “sweet and clean.” I don’t mean in the contemporary sense, a la the Philosophy Grace line; Fougere has the clean sweetness of cold spring water, the rich purity of a woodland breeze. It opens with a heavy dose of Madini’s signature smooth lavender, which lacks any hint of herbal bite. Within a few minutes the lavender is complemented by a birch note, which then gives way to a soft balsam and sandalwood accord. There are very faint hints of anise and honey. Fougere has the perfectly rounded quality of that great oldie, Canoe, but to my nose it completely lacks Canoe’s lemony opening, thus saving itself from olfactory association with the barber’s chair. The final dry down has a slightly powdery quality, with a touch of vetiver and (is this just my wishful thinking?) tonka. All in all, a scent for those days when you want to seem charming and unchallenging.


If you love galbanum (and I do dearly love it), then Hanane should be on your “must try” list. It opens with what can only be described as a blast of that wonderful super-green note, and somehow manages to make its briskness last all the way to the finish. The Talisman site describes Hanane as a balsamic-galbanum combination, but this is in no way a marriage of equals. I get barely a hint of balsamic sweetness, though I do get a mellower herbal/green note—sage perhaps?—and I would swear there is a gardenia lurking in there somewhere. In fact, Hanane reminds me very distinctly of the heart of vintage Ma Griffe, after the bergamot has mostly fled, and before the styrax makes itself known. Unlike Fougere, Hanane doesn’t develop much on me, just slowly fades to a pleasant tanginess on my skin. I’d call this a scent for green addicts only, though any perfumista with a respect for classic chypres might want to invest in it, given that the true chypre is rapidly going the way of the dinosaur.

Now, Chaya's turn:

Chayaruchama: Today ‘s Madinis are night and day...And which represents night or day is utterly subjective…

Madini Hanane is a scent I often overlook, simply because I’ve too many. This morning when I applied it, I was immediately stricken by its powerful resemblance to vintage Piguet Bandit, minus the leather. Not trusting my nose or instincts, I compared the notes available. To quote Madini: Hanane is “ an elegant Balsamic composition. A galbanum base carries tuberose, red rose, jasmine, clove, santal blanc, and patchouli with a hint of amber and musk.” Notes listed for Bandit are: galbanum, orange, neroli, jasmine, rose, tuberose, ‘leather’, patchouli, oakmoss, and musk. Nice to know you’re not being fooled, quoth I !

Hanane is very clearly chypric: elegant sophistication, ‘bon marche’. It opens up with a citrus-y top of what appears to be bergamot with a big dose of galbanum. The effect is very fresh and green, reminiscent of other great chypres: Y, Rive Gauche, Bandit, Scherrer. The rose and jasmine follow seamlessly on its heels. Clove is a sleight-of-hand, a parlor trick, barely perceptible. Tuberose is softly insinuated, more for its animalic quality than its floralcy, hence creating the illusion of a leathery note similar to Bandit.
The base is far more crafty--the santal blanc is as subtle as can be, cushioning only the barest suggestion of patchouli. Ambre is hinted at only when it all dries down, and then one senses whispers of musk.

Fougere is a completely different matter. Described on the Talisman site as “ferns, grasses and mosses. A fresh woodsy clean and dry composition.” I find Fougere to be woefully misconstrued. I’m certain, not on purpose. Perhaps there is a cultural perceptual variance at work. There is very little ‘woodsy’ about it, as I would recognize it. It feels very creamy and satiny to me, which I don’t associate with “clean and dry.” [Australian sandalwood is clean and dry; Virginia cedar is clean and dry, myrtle and pine are clean and dry!] Nonetheless, it follows a formula similar to classic fougeres: Lime or citron on top, lavender in the middle, and a vanillic base , laden with what smells suspiciously like opoponax to me. Possibly musks with tonka / benzoin , too. If the woodsiness is supposed to include patchouli, I find little olfactory evidence- but I suspect it must be in there, somewhere.

The closest cousin I recall is Guerlain’s Jicky or Mouchoir de Monsieur, except that they are far edgier, with a glorious dose of honking civet in the base. [Extremely animalic, verging on deliciously dirty, which I never perceive in Madini’s Fougere.] Caron’s Troisieme Homme is a distant relative, but it is very much MORE grassy and mossy, woody, and herbal/dry, due to the presence of rosemary, anise, moss, cedarwood, and patchouli. The top in Caron is bergamot--more commonly used--but the amber, musk, tonka and vanilla are in there, as well.

Bottom line: Whether you agree with the website’s definition or not, Fougere is a thoroughly delightful, lingering, creamy/spicy, softly herbaceous scent. It is delicate and comforting, although not complex, and wonderful for either gender.


Illustrations of fern and galbanum from Koehler's Medicinal Plants, 1887, via Wikimedia Commons.