Some commentators praised and some complained that Encre Noire lacked a scent. This may be true from a diachronic point of view: After five hours on the skin, this fragrance still smells as it did shortly after it started; somewhat quieter, but basically almost identical. Real shifts in perception actually only occur synchronously and more or less spontaneously. So while many other perfumes resemble a play or medieval historical painting (the story develops from left to right), Encre Noire is closer to certain trends in modern painting. Or a Rorschach test. Similar to the works of Russian Suprematists or people like Mondrian, a uniform, immovable scent impression stands before us on the surface, which is initially no more than it is. Pure, uninterpretable matter.
Only with longer, not even particularly concentrated duration of perception, changing associations emerge in me, only to sink again soon. Wet forest soil, bark mulch on playgrounds, asphalt, rubber tires, ink (actually!). In fact, the picture field as a whole - at least for me - is a rather dark one, but without the emotional force that stormed me a little at "Eucris" by Trumper. It seems as if the perfumer in this composition has tried to work out the pure performing ability of the vetiver - and this has certainly succeeded. Pure representation, silent showing is cold and the question is, as with modern art, whether it pleases.
But here the picture goes wrong: this question is of course not simply a question of taste in great art; rather, the value judgement here feeds on a wealth of other considerations. With consumer art this is something else and the question whether I like the fragrance is not easy to answer. Intellectual satisfaction through the new, respect for the composition: Yes! Pure "like": I don't know. Therefore, I will abstain from a rating for the time being. Mondrian's too, by the way. To this day, I still value his pictures more as "symptoms", in a sense purely from a cultural science perspective. As an expression of time. Internally, however, they leave me cold.