The Scent of Steel: Through the Nose of a Metalworker

You know, I used to think artists must have some kind of magical transparent paint for those glassware paintings, like some hidden paint that made light pass right through. Yeah, in my head that sounded stupid, but it’s one of those things, you don’t know until you know. One afternoon I tagged along with my friend to one of her art classes, where I asked how they did it. She explained that it’s not about “transparent colors” (obviously) but about layering different shades that light touches to mimic the effect of transparency. It’s like a visual puzzle where every piece is a shade or reflection. She told me to just look closely at the painting, and voilà, the colors revealed themselves. It’s not like mixing paints to create a new color family; it’s more like assembling a team of hues to act together convincingly.

Why am I telling you this? Because it’s exactly how I felt during a recent project I volunteered for.

Some classmates and I signed up for a side project . It was a project to work with a sculptor from Paris. It’s titled “Steel Life”, a name inspired by the Dutch still life . She’s creating a wall sculpture that fuses steel, porcelain, drawing, and scent. The piece explores how work impacts the body of a metal worker; physically and socially; rooted in the history of perfumer-glove makers. Imagine welding gloves turned into porcelain sculptures, infused with a metallic scent evocative of skin brushed by metal. And, this piece of art is to be displayed at the Perfume Capital of the world, at the International Perfume Museum (MIP) in Grasse.

So, our mission was to create a metallic accord to go along with the piece. It’s not as straightforward as it sounds. Metal doesn’t actually have a scent. It’s not like a lemon, happily squeezing out its juices when you press it, or a flower willingly giving up its soul to distillation. Metal just sits there, cold and unbothered, until it meets human skin and releases molecules we associate with its scent. So we decided to create a metallic accord.

If you’ve never heard of a scent accord, think of it as Hollywood casting. You take a bunch of different “actors” (compounds), mix them together, and hope the final product convincingly plays the role of whatever smell you’re going for. For instance, a rose accord isn’t a rose, it’s a carefully blended cast that smells like one. But, creating a metallic accord, is as complicated as trying to paint transparent glass with solid colors.

The casting comes with a lot of sassy actors. In this case, let’s call them, Aldehydes. They had diva-level theatrics. While we still wanted them to be the star of the play, they completely drowned out the influence of the supporting cast. So, we had to keep introducing new characters, quiet yet strong ones, to tone it down and keep them in check. After what felt like an eternity of tweaking and sniffing, we finally landed on something. It’s not the scent of pure metal, but it’s close, like the smell of a metalworker’s gloves after a long day.

What I loved most about this project was its purpose. Steel Life resonated with me deeply. Before this master’s program, I worked for a programme that focused on improving the vocational education system in Ethiopia. Where, I visited metal workshops, met craftspeople, and saw firsthand the artistry and effort that go into their work. That program aimed to uplift these often-overlooked trades, and I loved being part of that. This project felt similar; giving voice to a craft but in a louder, more artistic way.

Being part of it, even in a small way, was an honor. And honestly? It’s pretty cool to say I was part of a work that helped create a scent inspired by welding gloves.