syn·aes·the·sia
/ˌsɪn.əsˈθiː.zi.ə/ noun
The subjective sensation of a scent other than the one being stimulated. For example, a sound or scent may also evoke sensations of colour.
There is a green that comes in winter: you can find it on the frost-limned needles of a pine tree, in the depths of moss, holly’s dark gloss and the silken shine of sun through ice. It is deep and inked - a darkling green - and at the edges, silver.
When we think of the season, this colour presides. And so for Winter 23, we set ourselves the challenge: could we turn colour into scent? Could we bottle winter green?
We began by selecting ingredients that carried a cool, blue-green facet: peppermint, rosemary, lavender and tarragon - the aniseed sparkle of tarragon recalling the iciness of winter air.
For the element of rich, blackish green, we turned to woody notes of balsam fir and cedar, layering these with spicy oakmoss, clove and patchouli - the dense hues of a forest in midwinter.
The combination of these ingredients did indeed evoke green - and a dark green at that - but it also felt a little flat. It was as though the scent required more layers, more mystery. After all, the winter solstice is a time when folklore and magic abound.
To find this elusive quality, we turned to two new ingredients we have been experimenting with over the past year. Ambrette seed is a warm, ambery, pear-like note with a naturally musky edge. And osmanthus, a precious blossom prized for centuries in China, brings a blush of peach and apricot, with quiet echoes of tea.
We were delighted with the result. These two ingredients conjured the enchantment we were seeking - a shaft of sunlight through the canopy, illuminating the winter green.