The Gift of Jasmine

An ounce of Jasmine grandiflorum CO2 extract sits inside a rosewood box. Protected by a black velvet pouch, the essence rarely sees daylight. A French perfumer gave it to me as a gift before I left New York. One whiff and I instantly remember what he said when he gave it to me, "This is jasmine of Grasse from Chanel's Fields. You will never smell any other jasmine like it." A short moment of silence transpired as the perfumer migrated from reverie to speech, "Treasure it. The vintage is sublime and not so easy to get."

The cosseted lilt of his French accent was infused with the sweetness of dark honey and a hint of mischief. There could be no doubt that what he said was true; I could smell the fruity floral essence of the fragile white petals accompanied by an indolic trace that spoke of leather, musk, sweat and skin. It was written in the soft undercurrent of fragrance that followed the path of his hand as the bottle left his jacket pocket and found its way into my fingers.

No wonder there are tales in jasmine-lore about farmers who keep their young daughters out of night blooming jasmine fields for fear they might be seduced by roving lotharios. Jasmine does not impugn, but she does not ensure chastity where she breathes.

Jasmine CO2 has a rich amber color and contains the complete concentrated essence of the flower. When combined with rose absolute a familiar olfactory pairing emerges. It’s the smell of every woman who has worn a classic luxury perfume; an intimate smell that is more about presence than the boudoir. The marriage of jasmine and rose is legend in the art of perfumery as each ingredient accentuates the beauty of the other. It is said that there isn't a fragrance formula that jasmine can't befriend.

Much has been written about the rose in the English language, but far less of jasmine. Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai wrote about the flower's fragrant persistence which he shares in this poem:

The jasmine came upon us, as always, from behind

when we were drunk and vulnerable.

All evening we spoke about the armor of perfume

that will be pierced by pain, the security

candy provides, about brown

chocolate insulation,

about old disappointments that become

the hope of the young

like clothes that went out of fashion

and now are worn again.

At night I dreamed about jasmine.

And the next day jasmine penetrated

even the interpretations of the dream. 

Amichai, Yehuda. "Jasmine." The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai. California: University of California Press, 1996.154. Print.

The perfumer who gave me the jasmine knew how complex jasmine could be and planted a seed as he advised, "Even after you have learned the Jean Carles Method of perfumery, and have memorized similar and contrasting ingredients with your nose, you must continue your studies privately. You should try smelling a single raw material before you go to sleep once or twice a week. Don't analyze it. Just smell it and let it work through your senses. You will be amazed at what happens when you wake up."

I took the perfumer's advice a few times, first with bergamot, then with lavender and finally with frankincense. These essential oils are known to inspire relaxation and continue to be studied in the lab. The story of jasmine and its preciousness made me hesitate. If jasmine was capable of marrying so easily in perfumery where would it nest in my consciousness?

For three consecutive evenings I smelled jasmine before bed. The first two nights I smelled the essence on a perfume blotter. For the third and final night I applied a small amount of jasmine in the hollow at the base of the throat (known as the suprasternal notch in classic anatomy). When applied in this manner the aroma diffuses evenly as you breathe.

All of these smelling exercises produce an effect that is similar to reading a book before you go to sleep; you remember the details of what you've experienced with incredible clarity upon awakening.

The jasmine effect was more intense when the fragrance was worn to bed and found its way into a dream. I woke up that morning and spent a good part of the day making paper flowers out of wide perfume blotters for an olfactory class I was scheduled to teach. I needed a device to support a slender fragrance blotter for smelling and the dream inspired by jasmine allowed me to create it.

As I formed each paper flower the perfumer's words echoed in my mind, "You will never smell any other jasmine like it." His words still ring true. I have smelled many varieties and vintages of jasmine in my work, but never anything like the Jasmine grandiflorum CO2 ensconced in a rosewood box...

Notes:
The waxy and herbaceous floral aroma of Jasmine grandiflorum includes facets of; green pear, banana, cinnamon, tea leaf, bee's wax and tobacco leaf.

Aftelier Perfumes sells a gorgeous jasmine absolute (grandiflorum) and a beautiful Turkish rose absolute. A few drops of each diluted in jojoba oil or perfumer's alcohol make a beautiful perfume. They are truly a perfect pair.

Jasmine flowers at night. It is believed that florigen, a plant hormone, builds up in the leaves when the plant is exposed to sunlight. This signaling hormone travels towards the flower buds where it causes them to bloom at night. Florigen's chemical identity is being researched via molecular genetics.

The perfume of jasmine, like many fragrant white flowers, is more noticeable at night as these flowers attract night pollinators. 

Joy by Jean Patou is a wonderful example of the alchemy of jasmine and rose. According to legend there are 10,000 jasmine blossoms and 28 dozen roses in a 30ml bottle of Joy perfume.

A la Nuit by Serge Lutens is inspired by singular aroma of jasmine. Though other ingredients are used to support the fragrance the effect is intensely jasmine. 
 
Though there are no online examples of the fragrance charts used to study the Jean Carles Method of perfumery, you can purchase an article I wrote for Perfumer and Flavorist in May 2007 which contains the Jean Carles charts. The article is called "Exposing the Perfumer". Glass Petal Smoke is of the opinion that universities would benefit greatly from teaching the Jean Carles Method of Perfumery as part of sensory curriculum in science and the arts.

It is not uncommon to find jasmine fields in Grasse that are exclusive to fragrance brands. Le Domaine de Manon's Jasmine grandiflorum fields are proprietary to Christian Dior. Diorama, a Christian Dior perfume created in 1949, is a stellar example of a beautiful execution of jasmine in perfumery by perfumer Edmond Routnitska. Like many classics it has been subject to reformulation and has lost some of its complexity. It is still a beautiful perfume and is available exclusively at Sak's Fifth Avenue stores. 

Graphics designed by Michelle Krell Kydd. All rights reserved.

Inside the Olfactory Mind of Serge Lutens

When you ask Serge Lutens a question don't expect an answer that panders or intimates; his lines are clear and sharp, but highly unpredictable. Known for his steady talent as a designer (fragrance, fashion, beauty and a few other domains) he thrives on the subtle trace of chaos latent in a fleeting moment. Lutens creates in the present, detached from influences that tempt many to drop anchor in the past or project wildly into the future. Living in the fulcrum of creation he will happily sacrifice socially accepted notions of balance, even his own preconceived notions, if the end result forges a new way of seeing.

Perfume lovers adore his fragrances because when Serge Lutens makes something he means it. His vision is not predicated on the evaporation rates of base, middle and top notes. Each fragrance he designs (in collaboration with perfumer Christopher Sheldrake) follows an olfactory narrative arc subject to the moment's choosing. For Lutens "Perfume is a form of writing, an ink, a choice made in the first person, the dot on the i, a weapon, a courteous gesture, part of the instant, a consequence." 

When reading Lutens' responses to the Glass Petal Smoke "Sensory Questionnaire" it's evident that this artist doesn't clutch his olfactory passport like a tourist enamored with nostalgia and vogue. Forthrightness, ambiguity and collision are his ports of call, qualities you will find in every bottle of perfume with his name on it.

1. What does your sense of smell mean to you?

My sense of smell is connected to others. If it were detachable, it would be anomalous. Smell is an important sense because the nose is primarily an evaluator. Originally, it allows one to be on guard, to hate or to love. It is not used to buy perfumes! It permits an evaluation relative to a given sensitivity. It is also interesting to note that from birth to death the olfactory cells are the only cells in the human body to be renewed approximately every 30 days; the only ones to do so!*

2. What are some of your strongest scent memories?

The strongest is primarily related to a situation, not the olfactory memory itself. A smell cannot be isolated from its context, but it’s often the odor that we thought we had forgotten that comes back violently, like a poison or a paradise. Vanilla can be a delight for some and hell for others. For my part, I remember the smell of the earth’s burning breath after rain or recall the warmth of my scarf on winter days when I would bury my nose in it.

3. What are some of your favorite smells (things in nature, cooking & / or your environment)?

Whatever instantly affects me. If I'm hungry, it may be the smell of something cooking. Contrarily, after eating, odors of this type disgust me.

                                   

4. Do you have any favorite smells that are regarded as strange?

I'm not sure. I love the smell of rubber when it's hot, or even that of olive oil, but it can also make me sick. In my home, like in every man’s home, nothing is fixed. If we are fixed, we become stupid!

5. Describe one or more of your favorite cooking smells.

I eat very little. I like cumin as its smell can touch me, that of clean skin slightly warmed by life. For the rest, I am led to a kind of asceticism, the only condition for ultimate creation.

6. What smells do you dislike most?

Those that immediately do not please me. You know, you can hate the best perfume worn by someone you dislike and instead, appreciate ordinary scents on loved ones. This is an ensemble linked to a sensibility, a context, which is judged. The nose alone, without sensibility, remains a nose!

7. What did you smell first dislike, but learned to love?

I never "learned” to love a smell. However, I allowed myself to be “invaded”; childhood prefers to be lulled rather than to discover. Thereafter, an odor that seemed pungent at first, like civet, musk, castoreum, once settled on the skin, becomes a true paradise!

8. What mundane smells inspire you?

If they do I am not aware of them as they are common and affect me without my knowledge. Water has a smell. Earth and skins also have a smell. It is there! This reassures us as a presence but fails to get through to our conscious, like a child who sees his mother around him. This is unconsciously recorded in us. 

9. What scent never fails to take you back in time and why?

All odors, not one particularly! As you know, everything is recorded in us by age seven - the age of reason - once done, we do not discover anything; we rediscover!

10. What scents do you associate with memories of loved ones?

None. I cannot define the smell of love. It’s variable.

11. What fragrance(s) remind you of growing up?

I am not a criminal returning permanently to the place of his assassination to smell the blood. As for the stories of grandmothers, jam ... not for me! I still prefer the criminal; it distracts! 

12. What fragrance(s) remind you of places you visited on vacation?

I'm never on vacation. I am always doing something with my head or my hands. To answer your question, however, even if you've never been to Morocco or Japan, you will be amazed, because the smell from the origins of the earth has been moved by winds, rivers, bees, etc., you will find them in their original form or another. As you can guess, the scent of tourism is not my thing at all!

13. Describe a piece of sensory literature that is very magical for you?

There are numerous pieces of literature, but they are more about how to convey emotion rather than a simple olfactory evocation. Actually, it is almost in the entire masterpiece that we find a perfume. As we say in French, the scent of a novel, the scent of a film, the scent of a person. What remains! I find this fragrance in the works of all authors that I love: Proust (of course), Baudelaire, Mallarme, Genet, etc. Like incense they are burned into memory! 

Notes:

The perfumes of Serge Lutens are naturally drawn to the landscape of skin, inspiring an addictive derangement of the senses wherever they dress the air. If you have never owned a Serge Lutens fragrance you may want to prime your nose with Féminité du Bois, Ambre Sultan, and Fleurs D'Oranger. Glass Petal Smoke's favorites are always changing. These are currently at the front of the fragrance wardrobe: Vitriol d'Oeilette, A La Nuit, L'Eau Froide, and Un Lys.

*Smell sensory neurons in the nose live for approximately 30 days after which they are replaced by new cells. New cells are generated by adult stem cells located in the olfactory epithelium.

Thanks to perfumer Christophe Laudamiel of DreamAir who assisted with the French to English translation of Msr. Lutens' Sensory Questionnaire.

Image Credits:
Micrograph of human smell receptor by Professor P. Motta, Department of Anatomy, University of La Sapienza, Rome, from the Science Photo Library. Rights revert to owner

Photo of Cumin by Rebecca Siegel via Creative Commons limited license.

Photo of steaming pot on a stove by J. Cliss via Creative Commons license.

Photo of "The Unsubmissive Plant," by Remedios Varo.

Photo of antique pharmacy perfume bottle by Michelle Krell Kydd. All rights reserved. 

Ottoman miniature of doctors instructing a pharmacist from the University of Istanbul.

Micrograph photo of aspirin crystal by Annie Cavanaugh via Wellcome Images. Rights revert back to the owner.

Photograph of woman with lace veiled face from Serge Lutens. 

Photo of text from Edgar Allen Poe's "Mask of the Red Death" on the window of Antoinette's Patisserie in Hastings on Hudson. Created by Clem Paulsen. Rights revert back to the owner.

Photo interpretation of distraction through trees by Michelle Krell Kydd. All rights reserved.

Photo of Atlas Mountains in Morocco by French Self Catering. Licensed under Creative Commons.