Bring on the animals! In perfumery, “lions and tigers and bears, oh my” turns into “deer and beavers and furry rodents,” with a strong whiff of goats and horses as well. It’s quite another world, one where the materials in their concentrated or raw state smell very different from how they end up in a fragrance bottle on the store shelves. This is Mother Nature in her stinkiest, most feral, most natural form, though the skank sometimes feels like Mother Nature is on steroids.
Beaver glands, the basis for Castoreum in perfumery. Photo: my own.
What was so special about AbdesSalaam’s perfume course was the opportunity to smell some truly rare materials, to actually hold them in our hands, smear them on our skin or, in one rather disconcerting incident, even taste them on our tongue. From fossilized African hyraceum to Ethiopian civet anal sac paste and muskrat genital glands, each bore a scent that was truly like nothing that I’ve ever encountered in perfumery. Their aroma was so alien from my every day existence that I lack the olfactory vocabulary to convey the full extent of their aroma, but I shall try to do my best. Ultimately, like everything else in AbdesSalaam’s perfume course that I’ve written about so far, there is no substitute for personal experience and my posts can only convey one-tenth of what it was like. The animalics are just one part of why his perfume course is so unique, as well as why it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that you should experience for yourself if you have the time, means, and opportunity.
Siberian Musk Deer. Source: Summagallicana.it
One of the most momentous aspects of the course for me was the chance to explore deer musk glands from the near extinct Tonkin or Asiatic deer, making it an experience that very few people in the world can have today, sadly enough. AbdesSalaam obtained his deer glands from Kashmir, more than 20 years ago, and they are essentially museum pieces of a sort more than anything else. Despite protections against hunting and bans on the use of the musk in perfumery, the animals have been targeted by poachers, and AbdesSalaam said only a few are left today, perhaps in Siberia.
Tonkin deer musk glands in a jar. Photo: my own.
The male deers have a gland under their belly that produces a pheromonic musk which they use to mark and establish their territory, in addition to attracting females. Unlike several of the other animals whose pheromones we explored, the sacs are outside the body, so hunters technically do not need to kill the animal to obtain it, but they usually do so anyway. AbdesSalaam saw the size of the glands offered for sale decreasing in size, meaning younger and younger males were being killed because the older ones were no longer easily found. It’s a truly sad state of affairs, and one which added both meaning and weight to the glands we were privileged to hold.
In general, the glands are filled with tiny, seed-like pellets that the deer drops to scent mark his territory. AbdesSalaam had a glass bottle filled with unopened glands, and one open, empty one. They were so old that they weren’t heavily or powerfully redolent with scent anymore, but there were still whiffs of something earthy, musky and very furry, along with a sharply ammoniac odor. I’m afraid my photos aren’t great and are occasionally a little blurry because I tried to capture as much close-up detail as I could.
Deer musk glands in a jar. Photo: my own.
Inside a 20-year old Musk Deer gland from Kashmir. Photo: my own.
My classmate, Salman, sniffing the deer musk gland. Photo: my own.
We didn’t see any of the pellets that fill the gland in an earth-like mass, but, on AbdesSalaam’s website, he has some great photos showing the full extent of the contents. There, he also talks about the olfactory history of the scent going back to the time of Marco Polo, while the page for his sandalwood-based tincture adds other details, like how perfumers saw the musk as a “magical” ingredient that worked as an aphrodisiac. Ultimately, though, these are all words, and they fail to convey the enormity of what it’s like for a perfume lover to be able to hold one of these things in their hand and to experience it concretely for themselves, knowing that the animal may soon disappear from the face of the planet entirely. There is a sense of history involved, a feeling that I can’t properly describe, and that you won’t really understand unless you take the class yourself.
Another incredibly cool experience was being able to touch, hold, and sniff Hyraceum, also known as African Stone. Again, AbdesSalaam has a really interesting, detailed piece on his website that explains things further, but I’ll try to do my best here. Hyraceum is the fossilized remains of the urine from an adorably furry African rodent called the Hyrax (or Dassie). I’ve written about the animal and its hyraceum in several past reviews, but there were a lot of things that I never realised or knew until the course. For example, did you know that the hyrax’s claim to fame is that it is the closest, living, genetic relative to the elephant? (You should read AbdesSalaam’s description of its funky anatomical oddities on his website, because I really did blink a little.) The other points I never knew were that: the hyrax pees a jelly; that they live in large colonies; that the colonies choose the deep recesses of caves high within the mountains; and that they turn that cave into a communal public toilet!
The Hyrax. Photo via Fragrantica.
A hyrax cave. Photo from AbdesSalaam’s website.
There, hundred and hundred of these furry rodents pee their gelatinous urine as a form of pheromone communication. Messages of identity, as AbdesSalaam put it. Over thousands of years, as the sun and heat hit these caves, the accumulated layers of jelly “messages” in the communal bathroom slowly turn into a hard, dense mass. Scientists estimate many date to around 10,000 years. The information amazed me; I had thought the hyrax lived in the African desert and simply peed all about like regular animals, so I had never understood the mechanics of how precisely people had found the remains of what I thought was basic urine. Nor did I know that the hard mass was so incredibly ancient. Well, caves high in a mountain certainly explains how the material would stay untouched long enough to turn into a fossil! What happens then is that archaeologists break down the strata with hammers, yielding large black chunks which perfumers have begun to tincture or turn into essences. Tinctures are basically a more delicate, lighter, alcohol-based, extracted form of a raw material, containing a lower level of the substance in question and steeped over a period of time. (More on tinctures much later.)
Hyraceum. Note the tiny tuft of a grass-like material to the right. Photo: my own.
The scent of the hyraceum rock was interesting. It was sharp, earthy, and intensely pee-like, but its true scope came out in the tincture that AbdesSalaam provided each of us in our Kit of Animalic Essences. To my nose, it smelt like stinky, raw leather at a tannery that had been covered with musky horse sweat and goatiness, then drenched in urinous ammonia. Unexpected hints of grass and hay lingered at the edges. In a nutshell, it was the “animal” part of the word “animalics,” though it was actually milder than I had expected when sniffed in the bottle. That’s because tinctures have a weaker, more delicate aroma than essential oils.
Beaver glands, the source for castoreum. Photo: my own.
Castoreum also had a bouquet of raw leather in tincture form, but it’s different. Castoreum is the perfume name given to the soft paste inside the glands of a male beaver. The glands are black globes marbled with the thinnest white veins, and in the shape of testicles or pears. Because the glands are inside the animal, the beavers do have to be killed to obtain them, but modern efforts target the animals only as part of culling for population control. Like several of the other animalics we smelled, the castoreum’s aroma is also like musky, raw leather, but I found it to be substantially softer than the hyraceum. More importantly, it lacks the same degree of sharp, concentrated ammonia, though, to my nose, the tincture had a slightly similar grassy undertone to its earthiness. In perfume form, I find that castoreum’s scent can be golden, musky, velvety, leathery, like a man’s perianal area, or some combination thereof. In contrast, I think hyraceum in perfume is more generally limited to smelling of urine (particularly the cat kind) or, in some extreme cases, of badly soiled, ammonia-heavy, cat litter boxes.
Muskrat glands. They are significantly smaller than this close-up would make you believe. Photo: my own.
Muskrat glands were next. According to AbdesSalaam and his website page on the tincture, the animal has scent glands in its genital area. They were tiny in comparison to everything else that we’d examined, roughly the size of a thumbnail and, my word, did they reek! They smelt like dirty leather and the very worst of stinky, dirty shoes. Oddly enough, they also bore a whiff of something that, as Manuel put it so well, resembled the left-over sediment in a bottle of very aged red wine. Yet, that doesn’t really convey the totality of the odors. Honestly, I don’t have the words. Nothing I saw will adequately convey the sheer rancidness of its hideous reek. Suffice it to say that, as the glass container was passed around the room, there was a domino effect of people physically recoiling with full body shudders, one after another. Not even the aged civet paste which followed triggered the same amount of revulsion. You simply have to experience it for yourself.
The civet. Source: focusingonwildlife.com
Civet was next. It’s a small mammal that looks like a mix between a cat, a racoon, and perhaps a mongoose. Both males and females secrete a strong-smelling musk (which is also called civet) from their anal glands. Most perfumers use synthetic civet due to animal cruelty concerns, though there are some Ethiopian farms where civets have been domesticated and are raised with kindness. I don’t know the source of the first paste that we smelt, but it was about seven years old.
My initial notes on its aroma read as follows: “aged vomit leather with warm fur, living skin, and pee.” You know the smell of stale, dried vomit? Imagine that slathered over raw leather in a tannery, which is then doused with a cup of the smell of an animal’s sweaty ass. Finish that up by layering the aroma of dirty animal skin, urine, and warm, musky fur. That’s the aroma of aged civet paste. Manuel, my table mate and partner for the course, summed it up as “fetid yak butter,” to which he later added the word “rancid” as well. That sums it up, too. (Believe it or not, I think that all of this is still better than the aroma of muskrat glands!)
Aged civet paste. Photo: my own.
Close-up inside the jar of 7-year old civet paste. Photo: my own.
To my disbelief, AbdesSalaam then asked us to taste the paste. Throughout the seminar, he’d said something to the effect of, “a perfumer should be able to eat and drink his products and, if he can’t, then that says something about the ingredients he uses.” That’s all well and good, but eating aged civet paste seemed to be going a step too far, and I think the expression on my face mirrored my horrorified feelings because the entire class burst out laughing. Like something out of a car wreck captured in slow-motion, I put some on my finger, raised it to my tongue, swallowed, and waited for the ensuing nightmare.
I know it will be hard to believe, but the paste actually tasted better than it smelt, at least relatively speaking. The first and main sensation was butteriness, something a little like Vaseline in texture, except significantly oilier. There was a leathery taste but, also, to my confusion, a definite floral aroma. Don’t ask me to describe it because, just as with all the other animalics that we explored with AbdesSalaam, I don’t think the olfactory vocabulary has yet been invented to adequately, fully, and completely describe the aromas we encountered.
Fresher, 1-year old civet paste. Photo: my own.
AbdesSalaam later brought us a younger civet paste to smell. It was only a year old, and its aroma was simultaneously better and worse than the seven-year one. I can’t really explain it but, it was fresher, rawer, milder, sharper, and more ammonia-heavy. The older one felt smoother, deeper, richer, but also more rank. More “vomit leather,” if you will. We did not taste the fresher one. (Thank God.)
Finding the right words is difficult in large part because your senses become overwhelmed by the intensity of the alien, unconventional odors that are not only far from your every day life, but also rarely encountered in such concentrated form, let alone one after another. It’s a deluge of wildness that you have to experience for yourself at AbdesSalaam’s hands in order to understand just how raw and primordial it really is.
Matthew up a tree. Photo: my own.
All I can say is that the cumulative effect on one of us, Matthew, was so intense, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was suddenly beset by an explosion of energy and restlessness, so AbdesSalaam suggested that he run it off during the break. When that failed to alleviate Matthew’s state, he went and climbed a tall tree, much to the horror of the hotel staff who were undoubtedly having visions of litigious Americans suing them if he fell and injured himself. Thankfully, he did not, but Matthew’s reaction lends some weight to AbdesSalaam’s belief that animalics have a powerful effect on our senses and body, whether we actually like them or not.
We also dealt with ambergris. In a nutshell, it’s the actual vomit from a sperm whale, and there are various types or colours of the substance, from gold to grey, black, and beyond. I don’t know the technical classification for the hardened piece that we had; its colour seemed to depend on the light, but was also different when cut into pieces. In essence, though, it looked brownish and had tiny black, grey, and white bits. AbdesSalaam said it weighed roughly 50 grams which, at today’s prices, would cost about €1000.
Ambergris chunk. Photo: my own.
Ambergris chunk, 50 grams. Photo: my own.
Its scent was simultaneously salty, sea-like, horse-y, musky, and leathery. We tried a tincture that AbdesSalaam had made that was more than 5 years old. I thought it smelt of pure horse leather, like the heated leather of a saddle that has absorbed the aroma of a horse’s body after riding, though it wasn’t a sweaty odor, per se.
Tincturing can be done for practically anything, from goat hair to seaweed or even dust. A tincture is an alcohol-based liquid with a lighter, more delicate, less concentrated odor than essential oils, because it contains a lesser quantity of the raw materials. You’re basically extracting the aroma of something by using alcohol to absorb it after steeping it over time. Tinctures come in different percentage concentrations. For example, a 1% tincture means (I think) that 100 mls of liquid contains 1 gram of the raw material.
AbdesSalaam showed us how to make an ambergris tincture. He chopped up the 50 gram piece into powder and small slivers, then poured it inside a large 1 liter bottle of alcohol.
Chopped up ambergris slivers. Photo: my own.
Getting ready to tincture. Photo: my own.
Alcohol for tincturing. Photo: my own.
After that, he heated it repeatedly with a torch burner in order to melt the larger pieces. He said it is important to continuously shake the bottle every few hours on the first day, then several times a day thereafter for the next few days.
Emptying the ambergris powder and pieces into alcohol. The liquid is initially black from the suspended ambergris powder within. Photo: my own.
Heating the bottle to melt the pieces of ambergris. Photo: my own.
Tinctures are usually left to steep several weeks or for about six months, but AbdesSalaam leaves his for at least five years and never filters them. He added that ambergris tinctures are usually 30 grams per liter of alcohol. Because ours contained 50 grams, it was stronger.
The ambergris tincture after some time. Photo: my own.
Initially, the colour of the liquid was black, because the powder was in suspension. However, after several hours, the hue began to change as the powder sank and began to be absorbed into the alcohol. Eventually, after a day or so (I think), we saw the liquid slowly turn into a dark red.
We also got to touch and sniff resinoids, though the materials technically weren’t animalic in nature. According to the Lawless’ book that I talked about in Part I, resinoids are basically the hardened, extracted form of dead organic material, as opposed to previously living tissues like botanical plants. The usual source material for resinoids are resins or gums — like amber, Peru balsam, frankincense, or benzoin — and they’re used as fixatives in perfumery.
AbdesSalaam showed us benzoin and frankincense resinoids. The benzoin smelt much as it does in essential oil form: vanilla-ish, warm, and with a small, cinnamon-ish undertone. In the photos below, the lighter piece is the frankincense, while the darker, more solidly coloured, brownish one is the benzoin resinoid.
Frankincense in resinoid form. Photo: my own.
Benzoin resinoid. Photo: my own.
After that, we got to play with different types of frankincense, in addition to burning a wide variety of materials on coal beyond just the incense. For example, labdanum absolute versus cistus absolute, and even a tree or neroli oil, if I remember correctly:
Frankincense pieces. Photo: my own.
Somali Frankincense. Photo: my own.
Somali frankincense. Photo: my own.
Omani incense. Photo: my own.
Omani frankincense being burned. Photo: my own.
Photo: my own.
That’s it for today. Next time, in Part VII, I’ll take a brief look at olfactory psychotherapy and distillation, before concluding with some final thoughts on the course.
Fascinating, Kafka. Thank you for taking all those photographs. It must have smelled awfull from time to time. Did you work afterwards with tinctures as Well ?
I am still intriguied by THE difference between labdanum absolute and Cistus Absolute as I have not been able to find any information about this elsewhere. Arctanders Book is quite expensive now on Amazon so I am afraid I can’t read anything there. What did you experience by smelling it to be THE difference if you tried both and can still remember it.
As you know I am quite enjoying this series !
We worked with the animalic tinctures as well, adding them to vials of scents that we had previously made to see the difference that resulted.
As for cistus vs. labdanum, Arctander says that they have different scents and, if memory serves me properly, AbdesSalaam found the cistus to be woodier and greener, more aromatic, fresher or more herbaceous. But that is a mere memory, it may be faulty in the midst of all that was going on, and I can’t speak for him, so please don’t quote me.
AbdesSalaam has made Arctander available to all his students in PDF form, though, and there are pages on the different forms of extracted labdanum but says this in the entry for “cistus oil”:
He has a whole other section for “Cistus Oil (True),” then sections for each type of labdanum material. For example, he writes:
One could go on for days, but I think much of that is overly technical about differences in extraction methods, what parts of the plant are eliminated or retained, and the *QUALITY* of the product that results from such different extraction processes. There is a huge focus on quality, above all else, but there is some discussion on how the scent varies from one type of extracted labdanum to another. For example, Labdanum Absolute from Resinoid – vs- Labdanum Absolute from Concrete – vs – Labdanum Gum or Labdanum (Crude), etc. etc.
From looking at some of the entries, I don’t think the scent differences appear to be all that monumental, but that’s my personal impression. I’m sure they matter more to an actual perfumer. Some of the entries make no sense to me because of how overly detailed, complicated, and technical they are between all the different types.
To me, and to my nose, the Labdanum Absolute smelt more like what I’m accustomed to when I encounter “Labdanum” in perfumery, while the “Cistus Absolute” wasn’t. It wasn’t as sweet or ambered to my nose, not as toffee’d. It was drier, too, if I recall but, again, this is just a memory from more than a month ago. Plus, I didn’t use the “Cistus Absolute” in a blend, so I have no idea how it would manifest itself in an actual fragrance. I also didn’t try it on the skin. Those things make a huge difference, because there is only so much one can detect from paper scent strips.
I wish I could be of more help, Esperanza. You should take the course for yourself. LOL. 😀 Seriously, I think someone like you find it to be truly educational and interesting, so I hope you consider taking it next year.
Thank you very very much, my dear. I really enjoy Reading the (Maybe only slight) differences and would love to smell them in person to notice if and how different they are and what kind of effect they have. You have very much been of help with your explanation. I am considering the course, but do not know if it would not be too much in one week, both for my body and mind. My impression is That no information was hold back at all from you which is quite rare in this industry. Hope you are ok and the Kaiser as Well !
Oh my goodness, I got nauseous just reading about tasting that civet paste. I consider myself an adventurous foodie, but that’s over the top. I could not do that no matter how much I paid for the course! You are braver than me for sure. Fascinating learning all about these animalics. I cannot even imagine going into a cave with all that gelatinous and then hardened hyraceum. Sounds worse than bat guano and that’s really awful… I looked on the website at the details about the course. The place where it is held looks amazing- love it! But smelling all that stinky stuff would likely be too much for me. I’ll think about it for the future 🙂
Heh, I still say the civet paste was better than the fermented stench of muskrat glands! 😉 😀
Funny as I’m wearing Vierges et Toreros today and reading your post makes me find it even more animalic and crude. This is the part that I was most anxious for and I read it all in 5 minutes! Amazing! I think I need to dig up my vintage sample of Shocking and indulge for the rest of the evening! Have a great week ahead 🙂
You, too, Alex! Enjoy your vintage Shocking. I know you’ll smell wonderful.
I’ll read this at least twice more; there is so much to absorb that is all so fascinating! Your Salome review was indeed a great segue way to Animalics.
When I looked closely at your photo of “fresher” civet paste, I had to gulp at that one. Ugh
I had to laugh at the smell of muskrat glands. My father has a lake with muskrats and beavers and are definitely cuter than they smell! I wanted to ask you if after taken this course, have you noticed you smell perfumes or anything else differently. That probably could have been phrased better. Just curious.
It’s really sad that the To kin deer are near extinct though they needn’t be killed. At least
the civet and hyrax look quite happy. It’s hard to believe the elephant is the closest relative to the civet
though.
Do think you can stretch this out, say, 5 more installments?? :O haha
P.S. To kin = Tonkin 🙂
The elephant is the closest relative to the hyrax, not the civet. Slip of the fingers/mind connection, I’m sure. 🙂
In terms of how the course may have changed how I see perfumery, I think I have even less tolerance for extremely synthetic aromachemical bombs than I did before — and you know how much I loathed them even then. It’s been a real struggle to wear some fragrances, including several new releases like Amouage’s Opus 9 and one that I know others (and you) like quite a bit, the new Ryder from Ex Idolo. I think it’s got a *VERY* high degree and amount of synthetics, and I find the opening to be rather abrasive on my skin.
Hryax! I really do pay attention. Animal mix up.
I wore Ryder, liked it quite a bit and received some compliments on it. One thing I noticed about it is being linear. Amouage 9 was in my last batch of samples that I tested a few days before you left on holiday. Upon initial application of Amouage, I really liked it, but then something harsh radiated from my skin, giving me a headache
I don’t know what it was for you that made it difficult to wear, but I was glad to shower it off. I believe that had some positive reviews.
In that batch were Mortal Skin (like) and 4 Villoresis.
Last week I finally broke down and purchased a bottle of Calligraphy Rose by Aramis, based on all the rave reviews, but I’m glad it was greatly discounted because it’s not what I had hoped it to be; rather an “old lady” rose, powdery with some honeysuckle. A bit sweet for me.
Oh well. I did buy 2 fragrances based on Basenotes reviews: Montana Black Edition, Midnight in Paris by VC&A and Kenzo Power. I’ve also been looking into some rose-y perfumes & oils from ASAQ, plus other Arabian brands. I’ll follow your suggestion about AbdesS’s bespoke rose too! As you can see I have been industrious in the perfume sector. 🙂
I suppose after working with high quality naturals has left you even more sensitive to nasty synthetics. Speaking of synthetics, with my Calligraphy Rose order I received a sample of Jaguar Classic for men- it’s all harsh white musk. Blechhh….
Awesome!!
Thank you. 🙂
Love this! Love you! I haven’t had time to start reading this series of posts until now but they are fascinating. Thanks!
You’re very welcome, Megan. I hope you’ve been well and had a good summer, my dear.
No, no, no, to tasting civet paste. Good God, no. I just couldn’t.
How adorable is that hyrax! I want one.
Didn’t Captain & Tennille have a song called Muskrat Love? This gives a whole new perspective on it for me. I don’t recall the song other than the title but I’m going to look it up again.
I’m loving these posts. This one was especially interesting. When I worked at the shelter and the vet I had my share of critters blow their anal glands all over me. I find it amazing that anyone ever considered putting something that smells that bad in perfumes.
You know how people often wonder who was the first person to pick up a certain strange-looking thing — like, a seemingly rock-like chunk that they later called an “oyster,” or perhaps a prickly sea urchin — and then decide that it would be an excellent food item? Your comment REALLY reminded me of that, and you’re so right! Who on earth first decided to scrape inside a civet’s anal glands for any reason at all, let alone eventually putting it in perfume many centuries later?! Once you start to think about it for many of these animals — the inside of a beaver’s glands, or a fossilized chunk of stone — it really does seem strange and makes you wonder.
As for eating the civet taste, I don’t know why the taste was better than the scent since the two things usually go hand-in-hand together, but it was a definite improvement. Some of the others seemed to have no problems eating it, or marveled at how “buttery” it was!! What can I say, perfume people are crazy. lol
PS — I think the Hyrax is absolutely adorable-looking, too!!
::: shudder ::: you are one brave person for TASTING civet paste!
You were all exposed to the same substances at probably very similar levels so I am (rhetorically) curious as to why Matthew’s reaction seemed more intense.
As I just wrote to Poodle, we all tasted it and, you know, some people seemed to have no issue with it at all! I think it would have been very different if the muskrat were involved, because I insist that one is far worse. (Talk about shudders. Urrgh.)
I don’t know why Matthew had a reaction that we did not, but it must be an individual thing or related to personal sensitivities. It’s probably just like in music, where a classical piece can bring tears to one person’s eyes, while another simply sits there calmly. Matthew is a person who shows his emotions overtly and outwardly in almost every way, whether they are big or small, so that has something to do with it. Yet, on the first day of class, the intense wave of scent in the classroom combined with the sheer scope of new information made one of the most reserved people in the class state bluntly that she felt she were “having an out-of-body experience,” so we were all impacted in some way or another by different aspects of the class.
Wowwww! I have a couple animalic samples that I purchased from The Perfumer’s Apprentice, but to have smelled and seen the raw form of so many of these … all I can say is “wow!” again. I’m not surprised your classmate climbed a tree. Did anyone have to fetch him down to get him to smell the rest of these stinky things? 😀
One of my favorite perfumes I’ve ever sampled uses hyraceum (Carmine by House of Matriarch), so I really enjoyed hearing about the hyrax and how that product is collected. I didn’t imagine them living in caves, either, and also wondered how its secretions were collected.
Would love to have seen your face when you had to taste the civet paste! 😀 Another terrific installment, Kafka.
Ha, Matthew eventually climbed down from the tree once the break was over, and was much calmer. LOL. If you love Hyraceum, Suzanne, have you tried Maai? Actually, I definitely and strongly recommend the new, upcoming Salome to you. It’s from Papillon and will be released in the US in the next 2 weeks. I thought of you at one point while testing and writing about it, because I remembered your comments on Serge Lutens’ MKK regarding how that is the scent of warm skin to you. Salome is a thousand times more so during its superb drydown, so I really hope you get a sample and try it!
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This whole series is so interesting. Like your blog, which I treat like a library that I keep returning to to re-read a review or an article, or “check out” something new that I haven’t gotten to yet, this series is something that I will visit often.
I’m really upset about the plight of the musk deer, and I’m glad you wrote about the near extinction of these beautiful animals. I’ve been googling more information on them since I read this latest post. The pictures you posted of the musk deer glands were fascinating, but I couldn’t help feeling sad for the poor animal who lost them. It’s obvious that you treated them with the reverence they deserve.
Thank you for these great articles–on to Part VII.
It’s very sad about the plight of the Tonkin deer, just as it is for any animal facing near extinction. (Don’t get me started on the poor white rhinos. It makes me so upset.) It meant a lot to have the chance to smell/hold the deer musk glands, but one definitely feels weighted down by the realisation of how we (humans) have contributed to their situation.
So I have read and reread this post more than the others in this series. Other than considering a hyrax as a pet (soooo cute), it inspired me to revisit fumes that last year I didn’t like. Thankfully I hoard my samples. I was initially repulsed by Maai at the beginning of this year, but now, the opening blew me away… But then it turned into what I think as soapy and clean. Huh? Tried again. Same. Ok. Maybe I have a sample gone bad in my bathroom cabinet. I turn to Onda. I LOVED Onda the first time around and have kept it in my bedroom collection far from heat and light. On it goes. Still as glorious (I enjoyed the Voiles d’Extrait more than the EDP but wouldn’t turn down a bottle of either). There it is. All lovely and….then…clean. Clean?!? Maybe I associate clean with skin and sex?! This certainly isn’t laundry clean or synthetic musk clean. Something much more organic than that. So back to the olfactory memory articles in Part I ….. so animals, pheromones… So I’m wondering if anyone knows anything about this? How these scents can be interpreted or experienced as skin “clean”? Has my nose gone screwy with all the sniffing? Have my samples gone ‘off’? Or this is simply how I associate to what someone else might call dirty or skanky or mossy? Maybe these aren’t the most animalic smells to be trying? Anyways. Waiting for Salome to waltz in her tiny vial like a genie who will hopefully reveal something. Happy to have commentary.
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i want to purchase civet paste
I don’t sell perfume materials and I don’t know where you can buy this aged civet paste.