“The smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, and the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.” – Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way
I first saw Mad et Len candles at Pitti Uomo in Florence. I walked by, then did a double take, attracted by the black brushed iron cases. They were pointedly anti-luxury. I walked back and took a whiff of the Black Fig candle. Instant love. I examined the other scents. Incense. Tobacco. Amber. Leather. Pot-pourri made from lava rock. It has never occurred to me before to put the words “dark” and “scent” together. I made a mental note.