The Collection
Six candles. No more.
The collection is composed, not curated. Each candle was written for a specific hour and a specific weather. Read in order, or jump to the one that calls.
Marais
A salon at midnight, after the guests have gone.
Marais opens like a cut flower kept too long in warm water — sweet, then turning. The smoke arrives slowly, the way conversation does after the second glass.
Hôtel Bleu
A balcony in the off-season. Salt on the iron railing.
A cold blue candle. Salt and stone, cut with iris. The kind of scent that makes you reach for a sweater.
Fig & Linen
Sheets dried outside, in a garden someone forgot to prune.
Greener than gourmand, milkier than green. Fig leaf is the centre — bruised once, then left alone.
Vesper
The hour the city forgets itself.
Vesper is a held breath. Resin and amber wrapped around a single vanilla pod, slow as a long exhale. Our most-loved.
Jardin d'Hiver
A glasshouse in January. Breath on the panes.
A floral that feels like something just before it opens. Narcissus held back by frost, with a green stem you can almost smell breaking.
Atelier 6
The room where the candles are made.
A portrait of the atelier itself — birch tar from the wax pot, suede from a coat over the chair, vetiver from the floorboards.