Bowmakers D.S. & Durga 2012 Eau de Parfum

I wanted to wrap myself in silence regarding Bowmakers. No word should escape my lips, no sound from any of my strings, and no letter from the ribbon of my iPad should slip away.
My Bowmakers.

But the winds blow as they do, and today the moment blew in.
So I washed all three hands, and here they stand ready:
The current impressive cylinder with hip NYish understatement label: BOWMAKERS,
the relatively new light-oily variant for the modern pre-Corona traveler (or Travelline)
(The name would have pleased me too. Back then.),
and the myth-enshrouded "Old," which thus remains the eternally better one beyond any discussion, the much lamented perfume, in the elegant flat flask with the truly beautiful white flower illustration,
So, on my left arm now comes from the block of clear glass,
on my middle left arm from a felt-covered tube oil,
and on the least left arm wafts the more delicate retro version.

The left-radical olfactory impression is the strictest. Yes, it can even become sharp at times. It is woodier. More resinous too; and from both: more sacred.
Here, in darkness, my very personal central Bowmakers image shines and sparkles: Darkness, dark darkness. Wood. Dark brown-black furniture. Benches... Prayer benches. A deep Italian crypt beneath the (yes) string ship with some ancient prayer benches. The walls are also partly dark wood, almost black, centuries soaked through with holy polish and permeated by incense and faith. Worked lacquer, "prayed through," "prayed over," "be be te te ta ta taaaa"... Here resides fervor. And a few slender candles of hope and longing that emphasize the darkness.
And even if he is centuries old, this left-radical, he can certainly stay longer: He clearly has the strongest longevity of the Three Graces.

Now a leap!
The retro Left - il Grande Originale* - is smoother. And yet hefty. Softly hefty. Linoleum. Floor. For a moment at the beginning, I even thought I detected an earthy patch.
The smoother one makes more instrument associations, is less overwhelming and awe-inspiring, less dark in scent, indeed rather reddish-brown, like the powerful cedar here, and like splendid old string instruments. La Musica sta guarendo. It is healing. Yes, and there is also something medicinal in the scent, also gentle.
Is it really gentler, mossy-bearish? Or is it just that the head is a bit tousled and unkempt due to its life traces, and the edges smoothed, like some body part of a much venerated saint statue? No one lives forever.
My crypt is already here too, but later, a more distant hint, gentler. The music is already brushing.

To the riddle... il grande mistero: The difference between these two is delicato, subtle.
No reason for theatrics.
Anyway not.
Silence!
Silence in sound, silence after sound...

Now to my middle left hand (which also has its own Parfumo page * *, rightly so). Weaker. Is this the sorcerer's apprentice, the junior? Or the? Something here is almost lemony fresh, after a while a bit more woody... It's the cypress!
Interestingly, I find here the much-praised colophony nuance most readily. Brava, apprendista!
It is brighter, not only in appearance but also in scent. Flatter too. But, uh, high-flat. Something is flying. A bright Botticelli UFO?
Not particleboard-flat. But also not a black church bench. Not a double bass either. A summer travel violin! Great, also lovely. I’m already looking forward to it. But, when despite climate change it’s just not summer, and a flask fits in the backpack, then this one here is probably the most dispensable for me... * * * ...the middle left arm. Which also makes some sense.

(* * * Which is more than relative, as I would never part with any of my Three Graces!)
Besides: "There is no middle," says the Left ;)

Grazie oscura Durga per le dimensioni di queste fragranze, e viva la musica!