Magnolia, Iris butter
Musk, Castoreum, Civet, Patchouli, Sandalwood, Cypriol, Tonka Bean, Vanilla
Perhaps with boldness, I wanted to venture into a territory even more dangerous than the pure expression of personal instance translated into perfume, i.e. offering my own interpretation of the “raw” materials – the building blocks of a perfume composition as well as the crucial pillars of the history of perfumery.
The result of this adventure will certainly be ephemeral, since my positions and ideas on certain raw materials are multiple and changeable over time.
These interpretations are certainly not to be considered a realistic reconstruction, but the result of a transitory artistic vision.
In the myriad of possible meanings, with Unspoken Musk I wanted to define what Musk evokes in me.
I didn’t look for the realistic rendering of natural musk, which is where the inspiration comes from.
Moreover, if natural musks cannot be used in perfumery, the varieties of the synthetic ones embrace the most disparate olfactory categories.
From “clean” musks in the “laundry-fresh” direction (not arousing any artistic imagination in me, however pleasant in its mere functional use) to the “dirty” ones that reached some interesting interpretative excesses, these two extremes define a very broad “musk map”, where anything is possible.
Unspoken Musk is the fruit of my fantasy: despite being undoubtedly inspired by the natural musk, it is enriched by the stratification of memories, suggestions and readings on this mythical ingredient, which has inebriated human beings for centuries.
And while developing this fantasy, its symbolic character was strengthened in my mind: Humanity, gentleness, intensity, passion.
Perfumes there are as sweet as the music of pipes and strings,
As pure as the naked flesh of children, as full of peace
As wide green prairies — and there are others, having the whole
Corrupt proud all-pervasiveness of infinite things,
Like frankincense, and musk, and myrrh, and ambergris,
That cry of the ecstasy of the body and of the soul.
Charles Baudelaire, Correspondences
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