hortus conclusus

  I find it very interesting that Mary Magdalene is the patron saint of perfume. Her legend is so multifaceted, so sensory, and so deeply complex that I have to concede that she makes a perfect object of contemplation for the perfumer (and the lover of perfume, of course!). Her status (erroneously attributed to her in the sixth century by the ubiquitous  Legenda Aurea     or  The Golden Legend i n English) as a reformed prostitute landed her squarely in the world of the sensual, and her ritualistic, emotive actions subsequent to her conversion only enhanced this reputation. For example, Mary Magdalene was believed to have washed Jesus’ feet with her penitent tears and a whole box of spikenard; perfuming them, if you will, with the liquid of new-found holiness. The passage is so super-sensual I’ll include it here: Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair; and the house was fille...

what a wonderful world, full of smells and sounds and sights, and wonders beyond reckoning. Let's rejoice in our perception of our lives. that we are creatures of this world, alive today, fresh with wonder, wild with pain, breathing. tomorrow, who knows.... =Sketch by Hans Holbein the Younger of Lady Meutas, made about 1536, black and coloured chalks on pink prepared paper, from  http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lady_Meutas.jpg

I found this on Wikimedia Commons, and I think it is interesting that the fragrance of the lotus is the god’s primary weapon against demonic evil. I cite the comments on the image in full since I think they are very interesting: “This work is reproduced and described in Martin-Dubost, Paul (1997). Gaņeśa: The Enchanter of the Three Worlds . Mumba i: Project for Indian Cultural Studies. ISBN 81-900184-3-4 , p. 73, which says: "Attired in an orange dhoti, his body is enitirely red. On the three points of his tiny crown, budding lotuses have been fixed. Gaṇeśa holds in his two right hands the rosary and a cup filled with three modakas (a fourth substituted by the curving trunk is just about to be tasted). In his two left hands, Gaṇeśa holds a large lotus above and an axe below, with its handle leaning against his shoulder. In the Mudgalapurāṇa (VII, 70), in order to kill the demon of egotism (Mamāsura) who had attacked him, Gaṇeśa Vighnarāja throws his lotus at him. Unable to ...

Looking at these images of people from many different historical periods interacting with scent makes me think about the ways in which thinking about people of the past smelling things makes their lives seem somehow more real, but at the same time, it makes them seem more exotic.    For example if we were to smell the contents of that Egyptian pot, I’m sure we would feel at home, comforted by the recognizable smells of frankincense, lotus, or rose.  But also, the figures’ attitudes, their ritualistic poses, their very alien appearance, makes the content of that pot seem somehow untouchable, distant. A few Centuries Later…. we can imagine how that swag of citrus and laurel behind this religious tableau smells. We can even imagine the sweet musty smell of Mary Magdalene’s perfumed hair interacting with Jesus’ dirty, sweaty feet.  but we are also distanced by the exotic foreignness of the characters’ gestures, by the knowledge of this as a foundational myth, a...

For your viewing pleasure--or displeasure, as the case may be-- a gallery of beasties traditionally used to produce perfume civet cat, for civet. from Lloyd's Natural History: "A hand-book to the Carnivora. Part 1, Cats, civets, and mungoose", uploaded to Wiki Commons [1] by Richard Lydekker Sperm Whale, for ambergris. Sperm whale and Bottlenose whale by Archibald Thorburn Musk deer (and other musk-producers) for musk. William Daniell, “Musk Deer, And Birds Of Paradise”, courtesy of artrenewal.org Beaver, for castor. “North American Beaver (Castor canadensis)”, Painting by John James Audubon, 1854, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

I’m trying something a little different for the Scents of the Mediterranean Blogfest—in honor of Ines, who, I know, loves fiction, I have written a little story about the perfume trade in the Mediterranean in the 13 th century… Let me know what you think. Thanks to Ines of “All I am-a Redhead” and Elena of “Perfume Shrine” for organizing this fun party! The sun—God’s candle, some call it—shines on a busy scene in the 13 th century northern Mediterranean port city. Ships pull close to shore, and a multiethnic population of sailors, merchants, and dogsbodies energetically heave large chests out of the wooden ships’ great bellies. You can almost imagine the laden ships breathing a sigh of relief as their month-long indigestion is suddenly, finally cured. “Finally, that sharp point in my belly on the left side has eased off” your imaginary sentient ship declares to the larger more gruff neighbor to the west in the bay. You laugh indulgently at your private flight of fancy, a moment o...

ZUT ALORS! It is time again for a riddling perfume bottle to sing you a little song! Who can it be this time? Kudos to the first to guess correctly: I’m the best of a lot of second rate spinoffs from a first-rate perfume house, I guess that’s the tradeoff when the bee-bottle people must needs pay the bills; they must create potions that give girls sweet chills of delight when they spritz my citrus elixir. They’ll think; it’s like breakfast, or perhaps in a mixer for cocktails, that juice, so sour and so ruby. That’s me indeed; I’m the fruit with the mostest, acidic and pulpy, I please every hostess-- on her skin, in her belly, it is all the same. By now I imagine you have guessed my name. If not, I’ll give you another sweet hint: I come in a bottle with a netting of glints of gold so special you’ll shell out the lucre for me though I’m named for a medieval genre of literature distinctly au passé now. You’ve guessed me, I’m sure, so I’ll take a bow ...

I love seasonal changes! In fact, I love them so much that I even teach a class about them at my university, called (admittedly a bit awkwardly) “A Midsummer Night’s Weirdness.” This class chronicles in particular the liminal moments of the seasonal year as celebrated in traditional societies, for long before Shakespeare wrote his play, strange things have been happening on the longest day of summer and the longest day of winter in Medieval European literature. Portals to other realms open up, lovers fall in and out of love, strange fairy women appear to choose a mate or a victim, and magic boats materialize at the shore, waiting to take an adventurous hero away on a voyage he’ll never forget—and from which he may never return. My class examines some of the texts which describe the otherworldly effects of these weirdest of nights, including Celtic, French, and Spanish romance, including works by Chrétien de Troyes and Marie de France, Sir Gawain and The Green Knight, British ballads, ...

The Phoenix , an Anglo-Saxon poem, tells the story of the Phoenix’s migration across exotic lands to find its special island, where it builds a nest out of exotic spices with loving and tender care, only to immolate itself in this fragrant nest/bier. The poetry is very beautiful. You can hear it being read out loud in Old English here. Bið him neod micel þæt he þa yldu         ofestum mote þurh gewittes wylm         wendan to life, feorg geong onfon.         þonne feor ond neah þa swetestan         somnað ond gædrað wyrta wynsume         ond wudubleda to þam eardstede,         æþelstenca gehwone, wyrta wynsumra,         þe wuldorcyning, ...

  In The Arc Of Your Mallet Don't go anywhere without me. Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me, or on the ground, in this world or that world, without my being in its happening. Vision, see nothing I don't see. Language, say nothing. The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me. Be the rose nearest to the thorn that I am. I want to feel myself in you when you taste food, in the arc of your mallet when you work, when you visit friends, when you go up on the roof by yourself at night. There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street without you. I don't know where I'm going. You're the road, and the knower of roads, more than maps, more than love. Translation of Rumi by Coleman Barks I am obsessed with Persia, and have always been, but alas, political tensions ...

Ok, it’s the second day of my monthly lunar insomnia, so here’s my second musing on the link between the moon and perfume. I was thinking about D&G’s recent attempt to offer a niche line with their generally disappointing tarot-inspired fragrances (what is with the naked models as tarot cards anyway?) and their interpretation of the moon tarot card with a rather insipid fruity floral/woody scent, La Lune . Of all things, this is just the wrong fragrance for this mysterious card. Not to get all new-agey on you (I’m not usually) but I have spent some time with the Tarot in my life—I am a medievalist, after all, and the allegory of the Tarot appeals to my sensibilities—and the moon is one of the most powerful and ambiguous cards in the deck. In the Tarot, the moon—the most powerful sign of mutability next to the Wheel of Fortune—has both positive and negative meanings. As you can imagine, it is associated with women, with their monthly cycles, and with their fertility. It ...