…a bookmark found in a library on Avenue Montaigne. A fragment of wood with an almost unreal fragrance. For decades, it had absorbed the notes of suede from the bookbindings, the vanillin from the paper, and the scent of beeswax rubbed on wood. Tucked between two pages like a secret, this perfumed stick, chosen by chance, was the first clue.
I am a perfume publisher. A seeker of flashes of insight, a watcher of signs, I create by serendipity: ideas find me when I stop chasing them. The world speaks in hushed tones; I simply listen.
Chance encounters brush against each other, light slices through the air, damp wood holds its breath, and suddenly a fragrance is born. Each scent is a fragment of life, captured in the turn of an encounter, a rain shower, a silence. I fabricate nothing: I welcome what the world chooses to reveal.
A single unexpected moment is all it takes for beauty to emerge. So I edit it, with the precision of a craftsman and the fervor of a romantic. Those who surrender to it will understand that some coincidences are not accidents, but self-evident truths, and that they are to be breathed in like the beauty of the world.
Cyrille,
founder
