Since I spend a lot of time with my soaps, I think of them as my friends. I give them different personalities and I thought you may like to see them the way I do. Meet Rose, my Rose Patchouli soap.
Setting up at the arts festival near the long wharf in Sag Harbor in eastern Long Island, Rose, her hair tied back in a batique scarf, surveyed her tent. As a well-known potter in the area, she took the time to carefully arrange her display of vases, serving dishes, ceramic jewelry, pitchers and cups and to use her sculptures as eye-catching centerpieces for the more discerning clients looking for just the right objet d’art for their summer home. Her distinctive style showed in the colors, shapes and designs. She was the image of the nature-loving Bohemian and her customers loved that about her.
Yet she was a true artist-as-businesswoman, and she wasted no time in getting her portable wheel set up to throw some clay and showcase the process as well as her deft ability with the medium. The truth was, she had always loved the feel of the earth in her hands. As a child, helping her mother in the garden, she collected dirt from the piles around the flowers and vegetables that had been freshly planted. With her pail full of soil, she would add water from the tap and stir it to just the right consistency to form a batch of mud pies. The coolness of the wet soil and its malleability soothed her in a way she could not explain.
Her fifth-grade art class introduced her to creating clay sculptures, and she turned out to be a natural at shaping the soft, moist earthy medium into a myriad of shapes and creations. As the mud or clay dried on her hands she felt it was stealing a bit of her soul, which went into her creations. But she didn’t mind. The earthy scent the process left behind was intoxicating, and she could not get enough of the sensuality of the experience. Rose felt lucky now to be able to make her living literally getting her hands dirty and using the clay to bring her visions down to earth.
Glancing at the clay caked onto her fingers as she shaped a rounded vase, she remembered that her favorite artisanal soap maker would be at the festival, as well, and she could replenish her supply of Patchouli Rose soap. It wasn’t just the delicious aroma of patchouli that appealed to her as she bathed, but the French clay in the soap that pleased her earthy sensuality. Clay–indeed, the earth– was in her soul, so, yes, she would not forget to stop by the booth and pick some up. Imagine–clay to get dirty with, and clay to get clean with—a soft, sensual, sexy clean. It could not get much better than that—unless, of course, she fulfilled her other dream of soaking in a mud bath in a private spa on the Riviera. Even so, she decided, she would still need her Patchouli Rose soap to wash it all off.
Patchouli Rose has a scent like a sexy dirty rose—very feminine with a little bit of naughty. French clay gives it an earthy, pink color—so it ties into the rose—and, well, we all know how romantic and sexy the French can be.
I hope you love Rose as much as I do.
Yours in Gratitude,