David Jourquin’s childhood was steeped in the gentle spirit of his mother, swirling in warm, oriental fragrances, and the strong character of his grandmother, who insisted that everything be done just right.

Every morning, his mother would slip into her leather coat before kissing him goodbye and dashing off to work. Invariably, her perfume would mingle with the magical scent of the supple hide, casting a magic spell over the first few moments of his day.

His radiant grandmother welcomed him day after day into the aura of her shiny waxed wood floors, amusing him with her habit of sprinkling a few drops of Saint-Michel Eau de Cologne on the cushions of her easy chair.

Somewhat withdrawn but still attentive, his father smoked cigars and sometimes brought David to the market in Pointe-à-Pitre where the young boy reveled in the sweet, powerful array of spices. His step-father took him on unforgettably redolent escapades in Morocco…. Amidst this fragrant mosaic, David Jourquin grew up believing that smells had meaning, they gave structure to his life and spoke only truths to him.

Still today, he remains filled with the scent memories that made him who he is. The scent of waxed wood floors soothes him; patchouli reassures him. He cannot forget the familiar scent of leather, dazzling spices, wafting cigar smoke…. They are his mirror image, his roots, the many facets of his inner self.

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