"...I then became infatuated with these--my 'odorifics.'"
She went over to the boxlike machine and attached a small hose with a sort of oxygen mask at its end.
"Ever heard of these, Harold? Of course, this one I built myself. A young Sioux in a commune gave me the basic blueprint. Here, hold this."
Harold held the mask while Maude fidgeted with the dials and pump. "
Have you noticed that art ignores the nose?" she said."It's true. So I said let's give the old schnauze a treat. Have a kind of olfactory banquet. I began first on the easiest--roast beef, old books, mown grass--then I went on to these."
She picked up the metal cylinders and read off their titles: "'An Evening at Maxims,' 'Mexican Farmyard.'
Here's one you'd like, 'Snowfall on Forty-second Street.'
She took the cylinder and screwed it into the box. Then she helped Harold adjust the mask over his nose. "Ready?" she said and threw the switch. The lights went on and the pistons began to pump.
"Okay. What do you smell?" Harold closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. "Subways," he said surprisedly. Maude grinned. "Go on."
"Perfume ... cigarettes ... cologne ..." He became more and more excited. "Carpet ... roasting chestnuts .... Snow!"
"Oh, yes." Maude laughed and turned it off. "You can put together any number of them."
--Colin Higgins, Harold and Maude
In Italian with English subtitles, but you just have to see Maude's fantastic Wurlitzer of a magical machine and Harold's face as he recognizes the smell of snow on 42nd St.
What seemed like a dream and something only possible in the fantastic world of Harold and Maude became reality when a man named Christopher Brosius began to capture and bottle a number of off-the-wall yet evocative scents including laundromats, bonfires, and yes, after many years of tinkering, snow.
After building an extensive library of these memory triggering accords for Demeter Fragrances, he turned his attention towards something larger, more cinematic. His company CB I Hate Perfume elevates the work of perfumer to artist. He has exhibited his rare creations with the allure of alchemy in galleries and museums. His perfumes tell stories often drawn from his own memories: the smell of frozen earth as it smelled to a boy in the Winter of 1972, a first edition book from a London bookshop (with maybe a faint whiff of mildew), or the aged, smoked wooden rafters in the kitchen of the farm where he grew up. The experiences are his alone but the scents will evoke a whole kaleidoscope of memory (real or imagined) for each of us. Enjoy the trip.
At The Beach 1966
Imagine it’s about 4 o’clock on a golden summer afternoon and you’ve been at the beach all day rubbing yourself with Coppertone suntan lotion – but Coppertone as it existed in the 60’s, not quite as it is now... You walk into the surf as the waves break on the shore and, bending down to touch the surf, you notice the smell of your warm skin and of the salt water that seems so cold by comparison. It has just the faintest hint of watermelon rind…
Burning Leaves
"Not everyone has your passion for dead leaves." Jane Austen - Sense & Sensibility
Do you know what a leaf fort is? It's simply a huge pile of fallen leaves carefully raked up, on top of which a group of children sit defending the pile against another group. Battle is joined by gathering up armfuls of said leaves & pelting the opposing party until all concerned are worn out, have twigs in their hair, crumbled bits in their socks & underwear and all the leaves are once again thoroughly spread over the lawn where they belong in the first place. Obviously this was great fun & every autumn when I was small this is just what my cousins and I did. Sadly there came a day when raking leaves was no longer anticipated with delight - that's the day when I was TOLD to rake them. Suddenly it was a chore. Still there was something after the raking was over to look forward too - burning the leaves with my father. I loved watching them crinkle up in the flames while the smoke swirled up my nose and made me sneeze. Now in the fall I sometimes gather a handful of maple leaves and burn them in the fireplace just to remember...
Mr. Hulot's Holiday
Mr Hulot and I have much in common. We're both rather shy and tall with a tendency to stumble. We also both love the sea the sound of the waves rolling on the beach, the feel of the sand crunching under the bum while gazing out across the deep blue water, the smell of the air and the driftwood. This is a perfect vacation. Mr Hulot's Holiday is one of my favorite films. It is beautifully photographed and perfectly charming and funny. It too is a perfect vacation and I encourage you to watch it at once. Pay attention to the gorgeous clouds and the beautiful shots of the Mediterranean. The perfumes come in oil or water form and are available now at the Le Train Bleu apothecary as well as in our Portland store.
