By Ashleigh Airey
Main Image: Calanais, part of our Standing Stone range, at Calanais Standing Stones (credit: Helena Barnard)

When I began working with scent as part of my creative practice, I didn’t intend to reconstruct the past—I simply missed being in the field. During the pandemic, with excavations paused and access to collections limited, I found myself wondering whether it was possible to evoke an archaeological site without being physically present at one. Scent, with its strong ties to memory and place, offered a way in.

Layers

As archaeologists, we think in layers: reconstructing from fragments, interpreting what isn’t immediately visible. Working with scent is surprisingly similar. Each candle I make begins with research—archaeological site reports, environmental data, publications, and sometimes conversations with those who have worked the site firsthand. Where I haven’t worked myself, I visit the site when I can and pay attention to the landscape. What grows here now? What was it like in the past? What might it have smelled like after rain? Where would the smoke from a fire have drifted?

From there, I begin to build what perfumers call a “fragrance pyramid”: top, heart, and base notes. These are carefully selected to reflect the material, environmental, and imagined olfactory qualities of the site. For example, when creating a scent inspired by a Bronze Age roundhouse, I started with fresh top notes—bergamot and conifer—to suggest open air and greenery. The heart was woody and slightly resinous, aiming to evoke domestic structures and materials. The base brought in oakmoss and gentle smoke, gestures toward hearths, activity, and long-settled presence.

The process is iterative. Sometimes what seems plausible in theory doesn’t work in wax. Some essential oils and fragrances react differently when heated; some combinations overwhelm others. I test each blend repeatedly, logging burn quality, scent throw, and how the fragrance behaves over time. I try to keep the material choices sustainable: soy waxes, clean-burning wicks, and recyclable packaging. These decisions are part of the process too.

Label Artwork

Designing the label artwork allows me to fold in another layer of interpretation. I often use elements from my archaeological illustration practice—drawings of structures, artefacts, and imagined reconstructions. They’re not meant to be didactic, but rather to prompt quiet curiosity. A reconstructed site plan on a label might encourage someone to look a little closer, to ask what that place was like and who moved through it.

What I hope these candles do is offer a different way of connecting with the past. They’re not intended as exact reconstructions, but as sensory interpretations; one more tool among many for imagining how ancient spaces were inhabited. Scent can’t replace excavation or analysis, but it can complement them. It encourages slower looking, deeper feeling, and maybe a more intimate engagement with heritage.

I think of this work as a kind of gentle public archaeology or scientific communication. It meets people where they are, at home, in quiet moments, and invites them to think about the past not as something distant, but as something they can feel in the air around them.

If you’d like to know more about Ash’s work and her candle company, you can find her at ashwoodcandles.co.uk and @ashwoodcandles on all social media platforms!