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Silences has been one of my all-time, absolute favorites, one of my "BIG LOVE, can't live without" perfumes since I first acquired it in 1981. I love it as much or more today as I did when I first sniffed it, and through the intervening years have always somehow managed to hold on to at least a sampler vial of it. It is one I've had to miserly ration or even only sniff the cap because there was no way to obtain more. In a much leaner time I was once *thrilled beyond measure to score a small handful of tester vials at an estate sale.
But, I do not wear it as often as one might think, what with being so madly in love with it. And that has caused me a great deal of self-reflection over the years. I don't wear it as often as others even though I love it more than some in my regular rotation. At times I've even second-guessed my commitment to it. There are other perfumes that are similar, and I have them and love them and wear them, but they are not Silences. It is special to me for reasons I can not fully articulate.
The initial blast of crisp and cold - no, icy - galbanum is like no other and must be what it is that hooks my heart. The hyacinth and hint of rose that follow and unfold is what sets that hook and the oakmoss reels me in.
Silences is deliberate, straight-forward and no-nonsense. It is sleek. It is high-speed and low drag. It is retro-contemporary architecture in the genre of Frank Lloyd Wright, with Milo Baughman and Russel Wright furnishings, a Modigliani hanging on the wall and a Henry Moore out in the shade garden. It is Dave Brubeck. It is Ansel Adam's black and white photography. It is a chilly, grey, early spring day.
It so perfectly conveys a part of me, and I wish to never be without it.
24 January, 2012