MEMORY LANE COLLECTION

“With our move to Grasse in the Villa Primerose, a magnificent house from 1886, I decided to dive back into my memories and into the memories of this witness of the Grasse perfumery.

I wanted to pay tribute to the emotional power of perfume, its tremendous ability to trigger past memories and also to forge future ones.”

Jean-Philippe Clermont

VILLA PRIMEROSE

In the origins of perfumery, the most beautiful flowers were used to perfume the leather gloves worn at the time by aristocratic ladies.

These elegant flowers then came to hide the tenacious and animal smell of the leather of the gloves. They represent also the first steps in Grasse’s «savoir-faire» in materials of exception such as the delicate rose.

Atelier Des Ors pays tribute to this «savoir-faire» of exception and reinterprets this Rose-Leather duo making this contrast of scents a creative line that enhances both.

In this opposition of notes a singular duality is created, between delicacy and power, masculine and feminine, past and futur. A play on materials where the rose will no longer be there to hide but to reveal the leather.

A reinvented rose leather...

BLUE MADELEINE

Intimately linked to emotions, olfactive memory has the ability to revive deeply buried memories with intense vividness. A simple inhalation of a familiar scent can transport you instantaneously to a precise moment in your past, evoking long-forgotten sensations, emotions and experiences. Perfume, like the most powerful of all memories, awakens the olfactory memory that makes us suddenly and intensely relive those moments.

"...I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. (…) A delicious pleasure had invaded me, isolated me, without my being able to grasp its cause. (…) And suddenly the memory revealed itself." »

Extrait « Du côté de chez Swann » – Marcel Proust.

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