For Christmas 2023 I treated myself to three books. The first, you won’t be surprised to hear, was a wonderful book about contemporary collage artists.
 

The other two books were about perfume and clothes.

Personally, I don’t find these strange bedfellows. One reason I will always be an analogue rather than a digital collagist is because I want to engage all my senses (well, maybe not taste!) when I’m making art. I love the different textures of the various papers and other elements I use, and – odd as it might sound – the smells of old books, old paper. The sense of smell is one of the most powerful for evoking memories and associations, for good or ill.

Art isn’t just about pictures hanging in galleries, or sculptures in glass cases. Art is there in so many areas of life, from the design of the household goods we buy to the clothes we wear.  We make choices about how we want our houses and ourselves to look. Fashion suggests something ephemeral and trivial, but clothes can also be a wonderful means of self-expression. For me, it’s about having fun with how I present myself.

I approach clothes much the same way I approach art. Ninety per cent of my wardrobe is second-hand, mostly sourced from charity shops. In my twenties I often bought genuine vintage pieces, but these are more difficult to track down at sensible prices these days, so I tend to go for modern clothes with a vintage vibe.  With an unlimited budget, my dress style would be full-on 1920s/1930s, a mash-up of Liv Lisa Fries in the role of Charlotte Ritter (Babylon Berlin) and the ‘secretary chic’ of Pauline Moran’s Miss Lemon (Poirot).

Niche perfume house Azzi has created a scent called Old Books which, according to the website, evokes “The memory of picking up that old book in grandma’s attic, and watching it fall apart”. I don’t find this at all an odd concept for a perfume.

I rarely bother with makeup these days, other than a swipe of lipstick, but I feel undressed if I leave the house without perfume, even if I’m only nipping to Tesco.

My earliest scent memories are of the perfumes my mother wore: Coty L’Aimant, Aqua Manda (Goya) and Je Reviens (Worth). She would only wear scent for an evening out, never for day wear, so whenever I see one of those old perfume bottles I picture her in a long evening dress holding her embroidered black clutch.

As a young teenager, my introduction to the world of scent was rosewater cologne. The scent was weak enough that it could be splashed on pretty liberally without being overwhelming. From there I graduated to patchouli oil. The merest whiff of patchouli is enough to bring back memories of the long-haired boys in leather jackets emblazoned with Motorhead patches over whom I broke my heart.

During my later teens I graduated to ‘proper’ perfumes, but even then I avoided the big names. Not because I’m snobbish about scents, but because I didn’t want to smell like everyone else. In the same way, I’d never wear Dior’s J’Adore because it’s my mother-in-law’s perfume, and I’d never wear Penhaligon’s Halfeti because that’s my daughter’s.

My first perfume love affair was with Dans la Nuit (Worth), which always made me feel I was about to embark upon a romantic adventure in Paris even if I was actually going no further than the local youth club which was housed in an old Nissen hut.

It became a tradition for me to receive a bottle of perfume from my parents for Christmas (together with a bottle of some sweet, sticky liqueur like Cointreau or Tia Maria). For many years, that perfume was Paloma Picasso. As with many perfumes, you’re not just buying a scent but an aesthetic experience, from the stylish bottle to everything you might associate with the Picasso name and Paloma Picasso’s personal style.
 

[Image source: https://stylecaster.com/fashion/celebrity-looks/522978/paloma-picassos-style/]

I can conjure up memories with the merest ghostly whiff of scent. The sadly discontinued Narcisse by Chloe is the holiday in Paris I had in my twenties. It evokes backstreets sweet with the oily smell of cooking doughnuts; a half-understood conversation in Harry’s Bar; a stupid argument in the gardens of Versailles that soured a whole day.

My most recent obsession was to find a perfume that perfectly evokes the smell of an old, damp, gothic church, to which end I’ve been sampling lots of scents that are heavy on the incense. My current favourite is Encens Roi by Histoires des Parfums. I’m also re-reading Patrick Suskind’s novel Perfume; obviously I would never murder anyone in the pursuit of the perfect scent, but I understand the obsession to find the perfect scent. I’m much the same way with making art: the endless search for the perfect composition, which must be futile, otherwise what would be the point in carrying on?