Showing posts with label pigment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pigment. Show all posts

Monday, September 20, 2010

Paint and Perfume: A Visual Analogy

I’ve ordered a few cosmetics recently, and gotten gift-with-purchase scent samples. These are mainstream fragrances from big companies. They smell like chemical stew: “fruits” and “florals,” all alike, all repellent, at least to me. (I mean, DKNY, what can you folks be thinking?) 


Another new thing: the ingredients are listed on the card, lest anyone die of Tris- paramethylhydroxypiperidinol poisoning: “Hey,” the lawyers can claim, “It wasn’t our fault, it was right there on the card for God’s sake!” 
Did I say they all smell alike? They do.
Did I say they all....oh, never mind.
I’m a painter, and, like perfume, modern paints are made mostly with synthetics. The reasons for this are similar. They’re cheaper, easier and sometimes safer to manufacture, and, as in perfumery sourcing, the companies don’t have to deal with materials that are difficult to obtain -- a lot more difficult, in the case of paint, whose natural pigments must often be mined in some really iffy places, like, for instance, Afghanistan.
Artist-quality paint is a lot like perfume. Once, all pigments came from natural sources. Some of these natural pigments were unstable. One can only guess, for example, what the real colors of many Renaissance paintings might have been -- all those browns and blacks could have been blues or greens. So why not just make all paint from synthetic recreations of natural pigments, as the mainstream perfume industry is doing?
Take, for example, the two blues on the left. One is a pure “organic synthetic,” Phthalocyanine blue, the “modern” cool blue. The other is Prussian Blue, classified as an “inorganic synthetic,” whose chemical name indicates the presence of iron. It’s a classic color, available since the 1720‘s, but it can be testy; when applied thickly, for example, it sometimes gives off a coppery sheen, and cheap grades of it can fade. Phthalocyanine blue was intended to replace it. But all the paint companies still make and market Prussian Blue. Why? Because it works well with others, while phthalocyanine bulldozes everything in its path.
Geek that I can be, I did an informal experiment to illustrate this. The colors at the top are pure, 100%, just as they come out of the tube. I began adding white, first at 20%, then 40, then 60, then 80. (I judged these amounts visually, as I don’t have a scale capable of weighing them. So I suppose you’d have to call them estimated amounts.) Anyway, I don’t have to tell you what this phthalocyanine blue does to white (and every other color). I had to add four times as much white as phthalo blue to see any difference!
Meanwhile, take a look at the Prussian Blue. It’s a little greener out of the tube and, when mixed with white, produces a subtler, more muted blue. Fine arts painters tend to prefer this kind of latitude, and the paint companies, unlike the big fragrance companies, are willing to accommodate them.
Now take a look at the reds. Almost all reds are “fugitive” -- meaning they can fade over time. But a cool red is essential to even the most minimal palette, and has been made throughout history from the roots of a plant known as “madder.” The cool, dark red once made from madder is called Alizarin Crimson. 
Not so many years ago, the industrial paint industry came up with the Quinacridones, which  produce stable reds. However, like Phthalocynanines, they’re bullies. The Quinacridone-based red I used, Gamblin’s “Alizarin Permanent,” is a quinacridone red, muted a bit through the inclusion of Ultramarine Blue, another older pigment. The other strip is real Alizarin Crimson, from the French company Sennelier. They’re like two different colors! The pinks made with the Sennelier version are much more appealing, at least to me.
Again, the paint companies all make Alizarin Crimson, which, in reality, is semi-synthetic; some time ago, the components of madder root were replicated successfully as a coal-tar based dye. Still, it comes with a warning: it may not last forever. (Well, what does?) Artists who prefer its working qualities are willing to take that risk.
Here’s the point. The paint companies, and there are many, seem to respect their customers. Even the toxic leads, cadmiums and cobalts are easily available. They come with a warning label. “Yes,” you may say, “but you’re not spraying them on your skin.” Well, no, but it’s just about impossible to paint with any enthusiasm without getting paint, often mixed with solvent, on your hands. Here’s the thing: that’s left up to you. Wear latex gloves or barrier cream, or take the risk; you’re a grown-up. “Hues” for each of the toxic colors are available, too, and they’re much cheaper, but, like the blues and reds I used here, they have completely different working properties, and there is no true substitute for them.
In the perfume samples I’m receiving, there may be some classic ingredients, but I certainly can’t tell. If they’re there, the synths have knocked them aside. I still believe that synthetics have their place in perfumery -- added longevity, for example. But by the time the cosmetics companies do their “voluntary compliance” thing with the IFRA regulations, meanwhile bending backward to please the apparently growing universe of perfume-o-phobes -- well, this is what you get. Chemical stew, comprised of cheap synthetics fighting each other in the bottle, guaranteed to get no-perfume policies passed in every office on earth.
I’d like to see the fragrance companies put out a top-tier line of their great classics, made as close to the original formulae as possible. As we don’t eat paint, we don’t drink perfume. We have, in other words, brains and judgement. Concerned about liability? Slap on a warning label! That’s what the paint companies do. Price point problems? I’d pay more for real Shalimar. Wouldn’t you?
Hey, anybody want a “New Coke?” 

Photo, not that anybody would want it,  © Patricia Borow. All rights reserved.

Tech Specs from “The Artist’s Handbook of Materials and Techniques” by Ralph Mayer (ISBN 0-670-83701-6.) The white I used was Weber’s Permalba white, a mixture of Titanium Dioxide and Zinc White, and should definitely not be eaten, so don't eat it, okay?
The colors on the strips are: (L to R) (pure at top, then mixed with Weber’s “Permalba White” at 20, 40, 60 and 80% respectively):
Winsor-Newton “Winsor” (Phthalocyanine) Blue, a.k.a. Copper phthalocyanine a.k.a. PB 15:1.
Gamblin Oil Colors “Prussian Blue,” a.k.a. Ferri-ammonium ferrocyanide, a.k.a. PB 27. Don’t let the “cyanide” part scare you. This paint is not toxic.
Gamblin Oil Colors “Alizarin Permanent,” a.k.a. Quinacridone red b/Perylene red/Ultramarine Blue, a.k.a. PV19/PR149/PB29.
Sennelier “Alizarin Crimson,” a.k.a. PR83. This is the only one that is significantly more expensive, at about $20/tube list, than the others, which range from $7.17 to $15.95 per 37 or 40 ml tube.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Colors of Perfume

The other day I was reading some discussion on Perfume Posse about attributing colors to fragrances. One commenter decided that Mitsouko, for example, would be a bronzy-greenish gold. This inspired me to think some more about fragrance and imaginary links to color.

I’m studying abstract painting at the moment, and working somewhat reluctantly in acrylic, which is essentially pigment suspended in plastic. All kinds of issues come into play when painters talk about acrylic vs. oil. No one can look down their nose at acrylic like an oil painter, and yet there’s no question that acrylic is the medium of our age -- it’s fast, bright, relatively cheap, dries in minutes, and can be used with hundreds of substances, sold separately of course, to tart it up. But it doesn’t have that seductive linseed oil smell. It’s texture is, well, rather unpleasant; sticky, truth be told. It doesn’t dry with that gorgeous depth (which has something to do with the refractive properties of the oil medium.) But it’s fast. You can dash off a painting in the morning, frame it at lunch and sell it by dinner. Now, if that’s not modern I don’t know what is.

However, I digress.

If your perfumes had a color and -- oh, let’s add one more attribute -- if they were rendered in a paint medium, what would that be? I ran down a mental list of some of my favorites.

Shalimar: “Midnight” blue (Prussian blue) in oil
Bal a Versailles: Coral pink, in oil
Miss Balmain: a rosy amber/copper, in acrylic
Odalisque: Celadon, in watercolor
Amouage Lyric for Women: A deep, copper-tinged rose, in oil
Barbara Bui Le Parfum: A creamy white, in acrylic
Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille: dark brown (what else) in oil
Eau Parfumee au Te Vert: a soft, clear blue green, in watercolor
Rosine Poussiere de Rose: a cool blue-rose, in watercolor
Coty L’Aimant Eau de Toilette: a pinky rose, in oil
Chypre de Coty: dark foresty green, in oil
Chanel Coromandel: deep browny maroon, in oil
L’Air du Desert Marocain: bright golden amber, in oil

Color theory is far from simple; there are numerous color “systems” (roughly one for every painter who writes a how-to-understand-color-book). And pigments, like fragrances, tend to be based on synthetics today, with many of the same issues that fragrances have: the difficult sourcing of natural ingredients, and (not this again!) the fact that some of them can be, well, not exactly safe, like the cadmiums and cobalts. However, unlike the fragrance industry, the art supply industry hasn’t enlisted the help of a watchdog organization to do its nannying. Artists often like the natural pigments because of their working properties; opacity, transparency, tinting strength and so on. The synthetics tend to stomp all over everything else on the palette, so, if you’re using a natural like an umber, you have to use just a tiny bit of most of the synthetics in your mixes; otherwise, you won’t even be able to detect the natural pigment’s influence. So, like a perfumer, a painter not only has to understand the materials, but also the proportions at which they influence each other in varying ways.

What “color” are some of your favorite fragrances?



Image of the Munsell Color System-based color wheel from Wikimedia.