Notes on a Wet Leaf, Unwanted

There is a note in autumn that the great houses have long ignored: the smell of a wet leaf stuck to the underside of a paw. It is cold, green, rotting and slightly sweet, like a salad that has been told bad news. We spent six weeks on it, in the garden of the Atelier, standing in puddles and thinking.

The result, Wet Leaf, Unwanted, is a small experimental edition of only 200 bottles. It opens with cold earth, drops into a bruised apple, and ends in a faint scent of indignation. At $88 it is not cheap, but then neither is the experience of stepping in a puddle on the way to a nap. Each bottle is numbered. Each is accompanied by a very small towel.