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12/28/2018
Konsalik
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Konsalik
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Leather concrete!
In my review of "Encre Noire" I didn't appreciate its pure power of representation, but tried to "represent" it in dry words. The uniform, "monoflore" (even though Vetiver is not a flower) wall of charcoal grey may have awakened associations, but they are to be regarded as rather distanced, as if the wearer were standing in the Museum of Modern Art: with the guide in his hand, he tries to comprehend what is happening, but this kind of indirectness has made inner comprehension impossible. In a way "Leather Blend" makes a comparable impression on me.
In doing so, he basically takes the opposite path. "Encre Noire" is almost pure abstraction, while "Leather Blend" is almost obscene concretion. To stay in the MoMA image: In the next exhibition hall there is nothing but a brand new leather bag in messenger bag style. It lies in the cone of light on the floor and people are standing around waiting for an event that is not coming. That's "Leather Blend"! As a declared, partisan friend of the great, old perfume classics (wherever you cut them), I don't know "leather" as a note. Of course it's not. Whenever a leather note was to be reproduced in fragrances such as "Knize Ten" or Farina's "Russian Leather", an aura was basically always created, a décor that necessarily required a leather object to be completed. Leather, then, as a "void" whose silhouette refers to precisely this and cites it as compelling.
"Leather Blend" will beat you up with a very durable, wintry-potent leather strap that will make you dizzy. It yells, "HERE!! LEDER! YOU WANT IT, DON'T YOU?! NOW WE CAN!" I wanted to, yeah. But being squeezed in with your nose like that for hours, without a great course worth mentioning? I don't know, I don't know. Minimal waxy floral cushioning at the beginning, somewhat slimmer, woodier, ok at the end. But that was it for my nose, too. I like the leather bag in the cone of light purely as a smell (not necessarily as perfume!) much better than the sister installations in the hall opposite: Here, the leather bag was thrown into a raspberry bush, almost forcibly and thoughtlessly. The feuilletons are already fabricating something from a bridge built by the artist T. Ford to the "Me Too" debate. Shaking his head, the visitor turns around so that he can once again take in the pleasant, pure smell of the lonely leather bag. Just arrived in the hall, he still sees the cleaner with the bag over his shoulder disappear into the equipment room.
In doing so, he basically takes the opposite path. "Encre Noire" is almost pure abstraction, while "Leather Blend" is almost obscene concretion. To stay in the MoMA image: In the next exhibition hall there is nothing but a brand new leather bag in messenger bag style. It lies in the cone of light on the floor and people are standing around waiting for an event that is not coming. That's "Leather Blend"! As a declared, partisan friend of the great, old perfume classics (wherever you cut them), I don't know "leather" as a note. Of course it's not. Whenever a leather note was to be reproduced in fragrances such as "Knize Ten" or Farina's "Russian Leather", an aura was basically always created, a décor that necessarily required a leather object to be completed. Leather, then, as a "void" whose silhouette refers to precisely this and cites it as compelling.
"Leather Blend" will beat you up with a very durable, wintry-potent leather strap that will make you dizzy. It yells, "HERE!! LEDER! YOU WANT IT, DON'T YOU?! NOW WE CAN!" I wanted to, yeah. But being squeezed in with your nose like that for hours, without a great course worth mentioning? I don't know, I don't know. Minimal waxy floral cushioning at the beginning, somewhat slimmer, woodier, ok at the end. But that was it for my nose, too. I like the leather bag in the cone of light purely as a smell (not necessarily as perfume!) much better than the sister installations in the hall opposite: Here, the leather bag was thrown into a raspberry bush, almost forcibly and thoughtlessly. The feuilletons are already fabricating something from a bridge built by the artist T. Ford to the "Me Too" debate. Shaking his head, the visitor turns around so that he can once again take in the pleasant, pure smell of the lonely leather bag. Just arrived in the hall, he still sees the cleaner with the bag over his shoulder disappear into the equipment room.
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