|Rosso Plastica - Alberto Burri (1964)|
When I tried Mon nom est Rouge for the first time, I was with Majda and Cécile and what instantly striked me aside being a sillage monster, was a familiar aroma that I couldn't recognize at first. The magic of perfume lies also in this: it tells everybody an intimate story and therefore unique. While I'm trying to identify what's the familiar smell, Cécile explains me she used spices to render the idea of red and oriental and that the orange I get comes from a good amount of elemì, a powerful resin I like for its discrete peppery tone and for its texture always making me think of the white glueish sap of certain trees. I clearly detectthe medicinal facet of cinnamon, pink pepper and cardamome while I barely get turkish rose just because of the metallic glares it radiates so overloaded by geraniol. The mineral sparkle of C12 MNA aldehyde on top though already announces the weft of this tapestry will tighten with a bit of cruelty in the thick knots of incense and cashmeran wrapped in a slightly retro animalic tobacco cloud.
|Couple at the Tabarin - M. Dudovic (1901)|