Photo, creative direction and digital editing by a_nose_knows for Atelier des Ors Lune Feline
In each Orthodox monastery, the Patriarch (think something like the Pope, but sparklier and more local) has, reserved, ample personal quarters perpetually awaiting his arrival. Normally empty and always dark, they sit unused; daily, fervent pilgrims clean them while muttering prayers. Preemptively, everything is considered sacred and treated as already infused with divine influence: gazes are down, voices are whispered, steps and gestures are measured and minimal, as to not disturb the sanctity that might be. Needless to say, nothing was that sacred for the kid me—not even the painfully official, nationally-renowned, carefully-maintained Patriarch’s apartment in the middle of the Sinaia monastery. Neighboring it yearly on account on my father’s lifelong friendship with the head monk, I’d sneak the heck upon the walnut furniture which, having never been abused in such a manner, would often succumb under the wild pressures of my energetic jumps; plush carpets would groan with sticky stains, and the windows, dangerously wide and temptingly clean, would periodically need changing for reasons too evident to describe here.
The summer I turned 6 is wrapped in as much Sinaia memory as my mind then would allow me to store–and if I didn’t know better, I’d still be trying to find meaning to the otherwise benign signs of a banale cognitive leap of an otherwise hyperactive kid-me brain. Instead, allow me to share that, for precisely as long as we vacationed in the somber quarters of the absent Patriarch that summer, I decided to go sleepwalking.
© society6. Creative direction and digital editing by a_nose_knows for Atelier des Ors Lune Feline
The yard was round, kid-vast and made of cobblestone that bent and sloped at the edges, leaving the top point to be a small circle of bricks smack in the middle and right in front of the church steps. It’s where the priest would stand in most important ceremonies; it’s also where I woke up one night from my walking slumber, barefooted, and chilled by the most horrific yowls. Like in some sordid horror movie, right on the steps there sat a feral cat; it was mating season, and the cold stones of the prayer palace provided just the right echo for the profane feline to be summoning paramours.
Creative direction and digital editing by a_nose_knows for Atelier des Ors Lune Feline
I have not re-lived the rippling waves of filtered reality since my odd awakening that night, until I processed Atelier des Ors Lune Feline. All-enveloping and as strong as the mountain air, it gave me the same chills and the same odd feeling I’m not where I’m supposed to be, yet I’m partaking in a scene that, while not mine, per se, I can call myself lucky to have witnessed. The opening, thus, is invasive and sudden, unexpectedly thick, and real in ways that usually are only possible in dreams: sharp pepper, terpenic bits, some cold smoke, and green cardamom cut through wet wood, running amok. My nose was put in hyperalert by this phase; I was not expecting this sort of awakening, and definitely not this sort of cold—but the shock was exciting and refreshing.
The second bit is transitional and clarifying, like getting a lens in focus or like getting adjusted to the dark; life comes from both the fragrance itself (which starts to warm up with rounded resins and sweeter spices) and from my own expectations being met, as the formula divulges bits you’d want at this point: hard woods, salty stones, and open air on one hand, and fur, herb tea, leather handles, and potted plants on another.
The third wave, rounded and settled like a return to bed, is balanced and atemporal, just enough of everything to be both familiar and perpetually noticeable: the vanilla is just, the woods are finally polished, the balsams are mellowed and the spices ground. There’s also a faint floralcy that sometimes sings juicy to me, and sometimes, pulverulent like frankincense powder; the blend is gauzy in a photographic way… relevant through itself. Like a memory.
Official notes: cardamom, cinnamon, pink pepper, ambergris, woodsy notes, styrax, cedar, green notes, Tahitian vanilla, Peru balsam, musk
Other perceived notes: petrol, wet stones, geranium flowers, wax, sugar, metal, smoke
Disclaimer: Lune Feline provided by Atelier des Ors. Much appreciated, and right at home in my growing, curatorial vanilla collection. Thank you.
– dana sandu, Editor
Creative direction and digital editing by a_nose_knows for Atelier des Ors Lune Feline
Thanks to the generosity of Atelier des Ors, we have a 100 ml bottle of Atelier des Ors Lune Feline for one registered reader in the USA, Canada, EU or UK (you must register on our site or your comment will not count). To be eligible, please tell us what you enjoyed or found interesting about dana’s review, if you’ve tried any Atelier des Ors perfume before, and where you live. Draw closes 1/12/2021
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