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02/01/2019
Hirondelle
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Hirondelle
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22
Luthier
I want to start and I'm so surprised that I really don't have the words! Sometimes life (or the wonderful people in it) leads us to unusual places that were previously reserved for us, but which - how could it be any different - can still be remembered by their smell despite a short stay, carve themselves into their own wood, become part of one, in connection with the memory of this person. I was fourteen or fifteen, and an old building door opened! She took me to the violin maker (as a child I thought of a farm with loud violins in the stable), on the way we listened to the radio in a dark green Ford Fiesta and she let me guess the composers. All this time, immersing yourself in the scent of wood, colophony dust against the light, wood coming to life. She just wanted to do a little something there. But this smell of resin, any tincture, which should stink, but enchanted me with all its amber tones. So is this perfume. It smells as if I was breathing warmly on the wood of my cello or as if the sun was filling its own odour in the room. At that time it was a violin maker, but after a few minutes this perfume develops into a gentle, amber-like perfume, the incense made me almost devout, no, it must be my own violin maker, too round, too feminine (although quite wearable for a man!). A wonderful composition, how fitting that I am unpacking my cello again just these days and its gentle resinous smell rises to my nose again, my dear good old and faithful friend. This amber scent makes me dream, so much happens so unbelievably, suddenly and unexpectedly. My God, I'm so glad there is such a thing
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