I adore fog.
Dewy droplets veiling the ghostly shapes of an urban landscape. Drowsy summer meadows waking to a rising mist. Coverlets of cloud over a slow-running river. Dark roads wrapped in a silent shroud.
I love fog’s various names – dew, wisp, brume, murk, vapour, miasma, mist, smoke – and its colours and textures – pearly grey, cotton-white, a bank of slate or a silvery shimmer. I relish the sight of a glassy lake kissed by early-morning swirls, and – although it can be rather perilous – driving in a dense fog. I love how it softens the view and blankets sound and makes me feel as if I’m the only living thing around.
It’s deeply primal, this damp, ephemeral stuff, and whenever it appears, my imagination rises with it in a shiver. Recently, I stepped out the door on a quiet December evening to find the night completely “socked in” by a thick blanket which hung like a pall for miles around. I stood for a while breathing it in, letting the chill air sting my nostrils and enter my lungs in a cool flood. Suddenly, I became aware that this fog had its own peculiar scent.I inhaled some more, testing the mist on my tongue, trying to parse out its components, and quickly realized that not all of them were what we’d typically call smells or aromas. There was dampness, of course: the scent of rain. There was also an organic hint of earth and evergreen, probably due to the grass and pines growing nearby. And an elusive, moist sharpness that I could only describe as a cool pungency – something along the lines of peppermint. There and then, I resolved to try to capture these atmospheric elements – and the magic of that foggy night – in a perfume.For the past few months, I’ve been attempting to formulate a series of natural perfumes for my shop, blending essential and fragrance oils with a carrier such as fractionated coconut oil. I know what I want the perfumes to be (I’ve even got labels for the bottles ready to go), but the process isn’t as easy as one might think: top, middle and base notes must be mixed in the correct proportions so that they work together and unfold over time in a pleasing, wearable “story”. They must be strong enough to last, yet not so overpowering as to clear a room or give the wearer – or anyone else – a headache. And, in keeping with the theme of my shop, they need to invoke nature: wood, water, flowers, herbs … and, now, fog.
I already had some ideas as to what should go into this misty blend, but I’ve also researched what other people’s interpretations are. (Not to steal their ideas, natch, but just to get a general idea!) I’ve found some products which claim to invoke a London fog or the heathery mist on a Scottish moor, containing such elements as bergamot or Earl Grey tea, ylang-ylang, birch, and even ozone, leather and smoke. I do wish the internet had Smell-o-vision! So far I haven’t quite settled on my own perfect combination, but I’m getting close.
If you could describe mist or fog in a few words – what it looks, feels, tastes or smells like – what would they be?
That’s my last post for 2016. The past six months have been a blast! See you in January, when my theme will be Things that are white. Have a wonderful, safe, healthy and happy New Year!