Walt Whitman refers to the essence of self as a perfume - intoxicating, comforting and constantly evasive.  In death, we are confronted by the perfumes of others and, as we attempt to piece together the deceased and their fragments, we find ourselves. These perfumes, these parts that never quite make a whole, are psychologically ever-present in the living; the dead are immortalised and make alchemists of us all.  The bird motif - the carrier of souls - runs through the work, pulled apart and reconstructed as a reminder of mortality.