Drumbeats of rain thrum down to earth in the night with a dull persistence, the downpour drenching everything in its doldrum rhythm; the percussive purr of thunder roils and echoes in the distance. The grass crushed beneath my soaked shoes might have respired their last breath of life just about now. I wouldn’t be surprised, given the not inconsiderable span of time that has passed here in the rain, long past the scheduled hour, while I waited for my friend to show up at his own door. The conditions aren’t exactly favorable for the flooded lawn, either.
(...)
A variety of plant life blooms and flowers there, most of their colorful petals and foliage presently drooping under the weight of the rain showers. The red poppies and white poplar trees were at my request, as magical symbols and ingredients; the rest of them are not. I don’t recognize them, either.
Upon asking about them, my friend told me they were decorative. They aren’t bad looking, I suppose.
When I asked again later, he admitted that it was because someone once very dear to him had been fond of them. A sentimental thing, he said. A way of remembering.
So all in all about as decorative as someone who displays a portrait of a dead spouse in their drawing room.
It’s the same for the red poppy flowers, when I think about it. Once the symbol of Lethe, the river of forgetting—these days, when you see them you are more likely to find them intended to honor the memory of fallen souls, the memory of those who no longer are here in life. War memorials, and so forth.
The ancient images of forgetting, in the passage of time since, have become modern icons of remembrance.
How unfitting. Ironic, even. But I can’t deny there’s something poignant about it.
Words come to mind. Did I read them somewhere once, or am I making it all up now? All the same, the words are clear to me.
“Having been is also a kind of being, and perhaps the surest kind."An improbable sensation tingles down my spine, like a ghostly perturbation. Like the spectral waft of ozone in petrichor left behind, where blinding lightning had raced down and struck once in the rain. It passes in an instant—the blink of an eye—and it’s now dark again where it was once briefly bright; but the unmistakable waft of ozone is left behind all the same. At least, for a little while.
So for this little while, as I pass the time idly waiting in the rain and looking at the flowering plants my friend spends so much of his free time carefully tending in memoriam, I consider the portent of words I may or may not have read once upon a time.
There does seem to be evidence of their truth in my friend. He is bound by that which is no longer present, and yet still seemingly real. The vibrant flowers speak to that much.
He uses the word, loss. He also uses the word, absence.
But how can you experience absence? How can you experience nothingness? How can what is defined by the nothingness of being still nonetheless feel real, be real?
No, what he and others like him experience is not mere absence. It is the presence of an absence.It was there. It is there. All that has changed is the “where.”
That must be “loss.”
That's lovely, Dava! If you feel comfortable sharing I'd be curious hearing about yours too when it arrives
And thank you for the kind words! ;w;
Just a thought! And it's been fun seeing people ruminate on favorite notes for custom perfumes, I'd love to see more. This is a lovely thread and I'm so glad I found it!
Maybe if we get enough Basenoters who agree to it, we could have a Basenotes discovery set and sniff all of each other's custom perfumes! I know I'd pay to try that
Me too!
(And for the little it's worth in the short time I've been on Basenotes, @PStoller, you've been nothing if not thoughtful and observant!)
Really you made the perfume, I did not. You made it when you chose the ingredients and decided the most important ones.Me too!
On that note, I had put Arche on my scarf yesterday on a walk with my partner that ended up taking us to a local Japanese restaurant we frequent. (I didn't put it on my skin because there was no chance I was going to get to smell it that way underneath all those winter layers)
The waitress there is a friend and when she came to take our order she immediately asked me what that amazing smell was. In all the years we've known each other this has only happened once before. Even more notable is that she doesn't wear any perfume herself (she has a sensitive nose) and has never been interested in fragrance, until now.
She kept remarking in Japanese what a wonderful smell that was, and said that whoever made this was a genius
I was of course overjoyed to hear this and agreed and said I'd be more than happy to share some of Arche with her if she would like and she said, "You're already doing me such a favor by letting me smell it around you!" Haha.
My partner also agreed that it smelled amazing, but found it difficult to express in words, saying that verbalization of smells wasn't a strong suit. After some badgering on my part, my partner said it smelled very "flowing" and like flowers laid in water.
For my part I can't believe I neglected in my first and second posts on Arche to mention what a wonderful effect the Bulgarian rose and sandalwood have in here. Before going to bed tonight I'd rubbed some sandalwood oil on my wrists and it hit me---fragrant with hints of smoky green, the watery woody musk I was describing must have been coming more from sandalwood, not patchouli...oops! And the rose breathes through the other flowers and the clary sage, elevating and uplifting them somehow.
Perhaps it only makes sense given it was custom-made but Arche might actually just be my favorite thing I've ever smelled. Coming back from Scent Bar, as fun as trying some of the new releases and uncovering hitherto-unknown old gems was, only reinforced that in my mind all the more.
I'd requested an extra sample vial for sharing but wasn't sure if it was doable and was going to decant from my own bottle if not---but this is lovely, I love the presentation! The light transparent green color of the liquid in the vial is delightfully pretty to look at as well. Next time I go to the Japanese restaurant I will be sure to gift my waitress friend this and tell her who it was from.
Your fragrance sounds amazing. Jasmine and osmanthus definitely go well together.
Thank you for posting your thoughts. I am a big fan of Osmanthus and was thinking of getting a custom one with Osmanthus for myself, this is giving me new ideas, sans jasmine and mandarins
PStoller is thinking as a perfumer.
I am interested in having you compose one for my partner. I really have to think about what notes would be in it!
I answered privately.
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