LAUNCH ALERT: HER will be available to Purchase here, Thursday, November 6th at 5:30pm CST.
The Artist: Raven McDonald is a salon owner/operator, a hardcore fashionista, writer, mom, wife and friend. Artist is a title frequently given to her by others throughout her lifetime, but has always considered presumptuous to say of herself.
Raven won her first art award in first grade winning a Mona Lisa painting competition and continued to win awards throughout her school years painting, drawing and writing. Her works in recent years are generally mixed media. Her art displays curiosities, innuendo, parallels and dark humor. Centered around the struggles of being a proper southern lady, never truly fitting in, mental health issues and commentaries on societal norms. Raven’s art tries to shoulder the heaviness of it all in the funnest way possible.
The Candle: HER is an elevated and complex scent—a tribute to the woman who effortlessly navigates the multiple currents of her daily life. This sophisticated blend merges the grounding strength of the earth with the crisp clarity of the sea, perfectly mirroring the multifaceted octopus woman.
The scent opens with a burst of Crisp Marine Air and Zesty Orange Peel, cutting through a lively trio of Ginger, Cinnamon, and Clove. This vibrant, energetic start captures the initial hustle of her day.
The heart of the fragrance softens the initial spice with an elegant aquatic accord of Sea Salt and intoxicating florals like Freesia and Jasmine. Balancing this lightness are aromatic notes of Sage and Lush Green Leaves, representing the constant movement and growth in her world.
It settles into a rich, deep base, a foundation as strong as her resolve. Nostalgic Patchouli—blended with the sophistication of Teakwood, Cedarwood, and luxurious Oud—anchors the entire experience. Hints of Warm Amber and Tonka Bean add a comforting, refined finish, creating an enduring scent that is both free-spirited and utterly timeless.
Scent Profile: Earthy Floral | Aquatic | Woody Spice
The Story of HER: My very first night out in New York City I went to a dinner with ladies that, other than my precious best friend, were completely different creatures than myself. I dressed in my most impressive vintage Alfred Shaheen duster, leather pants and wedges. I had often fantasized what I would wear out in the city I’d longed to visit my whole life. Here I was, finally at a snazzy Greek dinner with items on the menu I’d never heard of. Bottles of wine that cost more than I make in a week flowing. I tried to talk about what I did for a living, selling vintage clothes and the history of this garment I had worn to dinner. I tried to peak their interests by talking about my salon, my life of never leaving the south and having a family. My best friend and I ended up on this trip through a mutual acquaintance who suggested we go on one of her many trips to NYC to spend a weekend with her friends. After trying most of the meal to engage and being met with disinterest, the thing that got the girls going was how wowed I was by flying into LaGuardia. It was funny to them that I felt my chest tighten up when my eyes first saw Lady Liberty from the sky. I’d only seen her in photos and films. I was dining with ladies that made me feel silly, with of course the exception of my bestie. They made me feel dumb that walking through Times Square for the first time in my 30s was a moment that took my breath away. I felt the embarrassment and shame flush into my cheeks. I blamed it on the wine. I had not grown up with the luxuries girls with fine families and or confident young beauties end up with. I had worked and fought my way all the way to this moment when I could afford and be invited into a social moment like this. It took me til 30 something to be a successful and put together lady. I tried to laugh it off. At that moment the waiter served grilled octopus directly in the middle of the table. The first thing I had recognized that had come to our table the whole meal. Long tentacles with the charred suction cups still attached lay before ravenous women. We had not eaten all day. These ladies all clearly suffer from eating disorders. I am hungry and have always been hungry. I had watched my weight for months leading up to this trip and still had at least 25 lbs on all of these women. Another suddenly shameful fact. The idea of now eating a creature that I so blatantly recognize and know so much about turns my stomach. I’m literally starving, but there is no way I’m eating this octopus tentacle. The ladies chalk it up to my lack of sophistication and being a resident of rural Alabama. I paid $150 for my portion of a meal I didn’t enjoy on any level. A meal I had waited to have my whole life. I walked down Broadway after dinner feeling a little out of sorts from the expensive wine, my few bites of mystery food and the sadness that my magical first night ever in NYC was anything but so far.
Octopuses, even though I think they should be considered octopi in multiples, have three hearts, three brains, eight arms, no skeleton and blue blood. They can regenerate arms, they “ink” as a defense mechanism and have insane camouflaging capabilities. All are venomous and one species is particularly deadly to humans. There are over 300 varieties of octopus and counting. They are considered by many the world’s most intelligent creature. There is evidence of them existing as far back as the thought of time. There are surrounded in endless lore and legend. Rumors swirl of kraken taken out entire fleets of ships and giant squid as large as the Empire State building. While no proof exists of any of this happening, no proof exists that it isn’t true. I find of all of God’s creations, no one else has fascinated me more than her.
As a young girl I had an irrational fear of space aliens. Space in general still is a little freaky to me if I think about it too hard. Something in me always likes to push it when it comes to how much knowing is actually too much. If I’m uncomfortable with something, like aliens, I’ll read as much as I can handle before freaking myself completely out. Sometimes this actually cures my fear. Half of being terrified of something is not understanding it fully. I came across a theory that octopuses might actually be aliens. You can research that one for yourself, but it made a lot of sense to me. It also in some bizarre way comforted me. Imaginative people, like myself, can often make sense of what others consider nonsensical. I dove into, no pun intended, NASA’s exploration of the oceans and how little we actually know about sea and space. I wonder why it’s considered crazy that I think it’s logical that octopi could be space aliens and maybe unicorns once actually existed, when real life creatures like the anglerfish and his bioluminescent appendage on his head legitimately live at the bottom of the ocean. No one questions the existence of a critter such as the anglerfish? I understand the science, but the logic and science is no more complex than the hypothesis behind aliens and octopuses DNA not matching anything else’s on earth.
I’ve always viewed things differently. As a little girl and even most of my young life it isolated me. I learned to filter my thoughts and ideas early on. Even as I edited who I was, it still read to others as weird, strange and my favorite peculiar. It would be YEARS before these words evolve to edgy, interesting and cool. My research into her, the octopus, changed the vocabulary I had around how I saw her. She was ugly and scary when I knew nothing of her. A terrible blob of alien terror. Then as I learned her behaviors, abilities and the characteristics of specifically female octopuses, my wonderment grew. I found her architectural, dynamic and resourceful.
As a woman, I too sometimes feel like I have eight arms doing eight things at once. Maybe I’m aimlessly swimming through the vast ocean that is my life. I’m fascinating to some and abhorrent to others. I am content in my solitude, but enjoy the safety of a “octopolis”. Maybe I am not really from this world and belong back in the heavens. That I would die for my child to be here and thrive. I can be mysterious and have so many things happening beneath the surface, squeeze into tight spaces and make it look easy. I too, can adapt to my surroundings to make myself comfortable, even if it’s not who I really am.
On my first night ever in New York City, late in the evening with now just my best friend and I, we grabbed a .99 cent slice of NYC cheese pizza and a Pabst Blue Ribbon. The joy of having a slice of what I really was in my hand along with the company of someone who always shares my enthusiasm for any and all things was such a relief. We then laughed loudly for blocks through the city and back to the hotel room where thankfully just she and I stayed. We cackled of how ridiculous dinner was, how silly we are to ever let anyone make us feel small and unimportant. We share affirmations on how thankful we are to just be who we are. We happily swim through the rest of our trip to outer space, I mean New York City, all eight arms grasping the experience up as much as we can. Blending right on into the aquarium that is New York City, our short time there left a huge impact on one of my hearts.
