‘In a minute or two her breathing became
more regular, her clasp of his hand relaxed and she fell asleep. The band of
silver paleness along the great east horizon made even the distant parts of the
Great Plain appear dark and near; and the whole enormous landscape bore that
impress of reserve, taciturnity and hesitancy which is usual just before day.’
From Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas
Hardy.
I studied Thomas Hardy at school and his novels and images have stayed with me for over 25 years. I was lucky enough to
have a teacher who was obsessed with all things Hardyian and the dramatic
chessboard of his Wessex countryside. She urged us to feel the weather, the
scent of harvests, apples and milk, straw and earth, the fecundity of Hardy's world. She made me realise the
power and persuasion of sympathetic backdrop. I was very affected by the surge
of dangerous sensuality on show as Hardy’s men and women grappled with hugely
complex themes of sex, death, emancipation and sacrifice.
In Far
from the Madding Crowd there is a chapter called ‘The Hollow Amid the Ferns’,
where the strutting sergeant Troy dazzles Bathsheba Everdene with flirtatious
and suggestive swordplay. The scene is beautifully written, aching with sexual
tension, both protagonists circling their desires like wolves around prey. Even
the chapter heading has subtext.
‘In an instant the atmosphere was
transformed to Bathsheba's eyes. Beams of light caught from the low sun's rays,
above, around, in front of her, well-nigh shut out earth and heaven-- all
emitted in the marvelous evolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemed
everywhere at once, and yet nowhere specially. These circling gleams were
accompanied by a keen rush that was almost a whistling -- also springing from
all sides of her at once. In short, she was enclosed in a firmament of light,
and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-full of meteors close at hand.’
I imagine the air alive with the rusty hay
heat of The Smell of Weather Turning,
Bathsheba’s skin moist with perspiration and excitement and Troy in scarlet,
like blood on the grass, wooing her by slicing the air and touching her heart
with his blade. Put the scent on your wrists and read the chapter. You will
see, smell and feel exactly what I mean. The oakwood, hay and nettle are all
aromas I imagine smeared across her skin. Mint and chamomile crushed between
her fingers as she trails her dress through the ferns, waiting for Troy to
symbolically pierce her reserve and tear apart her propriety. Bitter and sweet,
sensual and contradictory. Bathsheba shatters hearts and triggers so much
darkness. Like a sorceress, she manipulates the men around her for cruel
amusement and is led to enlightenment by terrible tragedy.
Hardy’s gift was the depiction of despair,
the eternal battle between the sexes, the love, hatred, need, sacrifice, the
often terrible role that fate plays in our destinies. His dramas played out
against dynamic backdrops of rain, wind, storms, heat, harvest, dewy gardens,
desolation, fecundity, earth, forest, stone and water. No one has used
landscape and the very fickle nature of British weather to mirror emotion quite
like Thomas Hardy.
Gorilla perfumes take their inspiration from
a eclectic range of sources: political confinement, the singer Karine Park, indoles,
Brazilian beach parties, French art-house cinema, Leonard Cohen, abandonment,
love and carnality. They all have a kind of signature, a trademark herbaceous
sweetness running through them, an afterburn of smokiness like someone trailing
past you with a vanilla soaked cigarette. They are published in anonymous black
bottles and waxen rub on formulations. The focus is very much on the juice. Luca
Turin (love him or hate him…) was mightily impressed by Breath of God and dropped it into his top 100 fragrances in a recently
published little tome of personally chosen scents. This means it sits in the
hallowed company of Diorella, Mitsouko by Guerlain, Bulgari Black, Angel, Après L’Ondée by
Guerlain, Sarrasins by Serge Lutens, Timbuktu by L’Artisan Parfumeur and Patchouli 24 by Le Labo.
But for me, the advantage The Smell of Weather Turning has over
any of the above fragrances is its raw emotion. I can be moved by the chill and
palatial froideur of Après L’Ondée and sensualised by the
earthy heft of Annick Menardo’s incredibly deep and biological work in the Le
Labo Patchouli 24. But The Smell of Weather Turning is a
different kind of experience, a personal storm. On the skin, the emotions
trigger a personal climate around you, feelings and desires sparking and
crackling. The rain falls as tears. Memories tumble and blur. That medicinal
rubbed mint rush is beautiful. You smile. Its all about the rain.
I started this post with a quote from the
end of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I
have always been haunted by the final scenes of the novel, as they come for Tess
in the morning mists, the sun breaking through the monoliths of Stonehenge. She
knows she is to die. The symbolism of the slab-like stones is painfully
obvious. The men wait for her to wake. It hurts to read it. The quiet
resignation and surrender to fate is crushing. This image of natural earthy
Tess is linked indelibly to this powerful and hypnotic scent and looped back to
my African storm, my teenage weirdness and isolation smashed by tropical
storms. My face turned up to skies, my mind saying over and over again… let the
rain take me, let the rain take me.
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