Sonnet I and Dior

In order to indulge my love of scent and poetry in one fell swoop, my new blog project is to attempt to match each of Shakespeare's sonnets with a perfume. Hopefully once a week, or more or less frequently as my muse will allow. So without further ado, let the games begin!


Sonnet I

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy Spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

Shakespeare chose to write his first Sonnet about beauty, vanity and self-obsession and a plea to leave something substantial in this world before death. How pertinent this poem is for our youth-and-beauty-obsessed times!

Christian Dior Miss Dior seems to carry this theme in it's composition. Created in 1947 by Paul Vacher based on a formula by Jean Carles, this perfume is young and sophisticated, and perhaps a bit too conscious of its beauty. Fresh, haughty topnotes of gardenia, galbanum, bergamot, and clary sage give way to the 'beauty's rose' in the heart, blended with the 'gaudy Spring' of jasmine, narcissus and neroli. The base is comprised of deeper, cautious notes of patchouli, oakmoss, labdanum, and sandalwood.

I see in this perfume a beautiful young girl, dressed to the nines in Dior's post-war 'New Look', cool in the assurance that she'll be young forever, 'feeding her light's flame with self-substantial fuel'.

All that's missing is the red carpet and the paparazzi....



Photo c. 1952 by Horst for Vogue

Happy Fourth!!!

WWI Poster

Have a listen to Aimee Duffy (she's known as simply Duffy) , a young Welsh singer with a great new album called Rockferry. Shades of Dusty Springfield, no?

I saw a photo of myself three weeks ago. I was 22. I'm 5'8" and I weighed 118 pounds. Alas, the march of time.

I've been dieting. Quietly and without fanfare. I've discovered that I'm just not the type to need support groups or partners or message boards or public weigh-ins by a 'coach' or the latest book. My regimen has been the Common Sense Diet: veggies, fruit, lean protein and lots of water is good; cookes, processed foods, corn chips and fully loaded baked potatoes are bad.

Luna Bars have been my secret weapon. Do you know about Luna Bars? 10 grams of protein work wonders when your energy is lagging. I eat one for breakfast along with a piece of fruit. I'm just not a breakfast person but I know it's important not to skip.

Exercise is good too. I do 40 minutes of brisk walking on my treadmill 6 days a week. It helps me to sleep better. I watch Days of our Lives while I'm walking. So okay, this diet isn't contributing to my intellect, but it passes the time and it beats the hell out of watching the news. The news makes me want to curl up into the fetal position and hook myself up to an ice cream IV.

My goal is 20 pounds by the end of the summer.

I'll never look like that again...but I am a hell of a lot smarter now.

Alice

The patron saint of Strange Girls must be Alice.

I think there are many reasons why she holds a special place in the hearts of women. Her hair is messy. She does things she really shouldn't do, and goes places she really shouldn't go. She talks to strangers. She recites poetry and she likes riddles. Nothing stops her...not pools of tears, not crazy hatters, nor insane monarchs with tendencies to call for beheadings. She tolerates hookah toking and peppery soup and grinning cats. She isn't above tending to a pig or playing croquet using a flamingo.

4 July will mark Alice in Wonderland's 143rd year of publication. Thanks to her, we're all a little more fearless.



Photograph of Alice Liddell, 1858, by Lewis Carroll

"There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, (`which certainly was not here before,' said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words `DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters."

Illustration by Sir John Tenniel

"She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else."

Illustration by Tim Burton
"Once, said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, I was a real Turtle. These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of Hjckrrh! from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and saying, Thank you, sir, for your interesting story, but she could not help thinking there MUST be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing."

Illustration by Arthur Rackham
"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!' said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, `It WAS a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it's getting late.' So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been."

Photography by Annie Liebovitz for Vogue; Natalia Vodianova as Alice and Oliver Theyskens as Lewis Carroll.
"She was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass WAS beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist."

Illustration by Mervyn Peake

"The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well."

Illustration by Bob Dob

Carlin

The Hosting of the Sidthe

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away.

William Butler Yeats

There is no better time and no better poet at Midsummer than Yeats.
Be sure to watch for the Faeries tonight!


Fantasy photography by Dave Windham

A couple of nice summer wines for people who think they don't like wine.

So you're all invited, my house, 3 PM, spicy cold shrimp and crabcakes. Bring a dish and wear something colorful!


Saracco Moscato d'Asti. Very low alcohol, sweet little mouthfuls of peach, pear and white flowers, ever so slightly fizzy. All that's missing is a palazzo overlooking the alps, a glint of sunshine on the Po River and watching beautiful Italian men from behind a dark pair of Gucci shades.

Barefoot White Zinfandel. Subtle, light and sweet flavors of strawberry, melon and just a hint of apple. Imagine a vineyard in Napa, a hammock, a good book, and the smell of honeysuckle.

"Oh Goddess, Source of Gods and Mortals,
All-Fertile, All-Destroying Gaia,
Mother of All, Who brings forth the bounteous fruits and flowers,
All variety, Maiden who anchors the eternal world in our own,
Immortal, Blessed, crowned with every grace,
Deep bosomed Earth, sweet plains and fields fragrant grasses in the nurturing rains,
Around you fly the beauteous stars, eternal and divine,
Come, Blessed Goddess, and hear the prayers of Your children,
And make the increase of the fruits and grains your constant care,
With the fertile seasons Your handmaidens,
Draw near, and bless your supplicants."
- Orphic Hym to Gaia
The Way to the Temple, (1882) Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema