BEAUTY - Conjuring paradise - The minimalist master of perfume, Jean-Claude Ellena, aims not to capture nature but to perfect it.
GRASSE, FRANCE — On a warm autumn morning, Jean-Claude Ellena emerges from his glass-walled villa perched on a wooded hilltop in the Riviera backcountry near the village of Cabris. Dressed in gray slacks and a crisp white shirt, he is quietly handsome with a ready laugh and a mischievous glint in his eyes. At 60, he carries about him an aura of Cary Grant.
Although Ellena rarely gives interviews, today he is happy to talk. After four decades in Paris and New York creating more than 100 fragrances including bestsellers such as Van Cleef & Arpels' First, Bulgari's Eau Parfumee au The Vert and, more recently, Terre d'Hermes, he is finally where he wants to be: hidden away in a Provencal pine forest where he can explore his inspiration.
One of the most accomplished perfumers in France, if not the world, Ellena considers himself less a nose (as perfumers are referred to) than a "fragrance composer," a fitting sobriquet considering the chain of melodies that he's recently scored for his newest employer, Hermes. Minimal yet evocative, simple yet complex, Ellena's fragrances continue to be unconventional.
"I have no interest in trying to reproduce nature," he says, explaining his philosophy. From a big wooden desk in the living room, Ellena mulls over his formulas while taking in a view of the forest and the Mediterranean in the distance. "I want to transform it, create olfactory illusions. Perfume isn't only about the scent of flowers. I can add molecules to make a fragrance harsh, soft, dry, fresh, bubbly, light, cool and warm."
His latest illusion in the Hermessences collection launched this month and is called Brin de Reglisse, which translates to "a bit of licorice." To create it, he felt he needed a little help and turned to his colleagues at an independent perfume lab in Grasse. He asked them to slice natural lavender into 50 distinct groups of molecules, sniffed them all, discarded five and reassembled it. "My lavender had a much purer, cleaner smell," he says, comparing it with the natural scent. "Then I had to find something to dress it up that would be a little unusual. I chose a touch of licorice."
His laboratory is a small, sunlit back room in the villa that Hermes acquired especially for him (he lives a short walk away), with a table and a stainless steel carousel filled with 200 tiny glass vials of synthetic and natural odors. There are two scales to weigh samples to the exact milligram and a mini-fridge to store pricey undiluted essential oils. Rose oil, for instance, sells for almost $8,500 for a little more than 2 pounds.
