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Very helpful Review
Purgatory Is a Place on Earth
Creating perfumes is a bit like abstract art. Scents are mixed in various quantities to form a holistic work, where the individual components lose their independence and create something new. It is up to the observer to interpret and decipher the beauty. Often, one can only distinguish between different nuances ad hoc, but subjective perception will always change. Like a painting by Pollock, the effect will always be different, and that is certainly intentional and to some extent also beyond one's control. One must let go, for the work now belongs to the observer.
In contrast to contemporary fragrances, Bois d'Encens expresses itself like a Renaissance painting, in accordance with the age of its inspiration. It is clear what it is and what it wants to be. The intention does not escape anyone. It creates nothing unprecedented but recreates what is already all too familiar. Here, one cannot endlessly analyze, but only criticize the craftsmanship and execution, for the meaning is laid bare.
The top note is hyper-realistic, freshly ground black pepper, but not the industrial, one-dimensional spice of everyday life. Like high-quality Kampot pepper, it has many underlying facets that manifest through mint and eucalyptus, accompanied by a citrusy bite. I am continually fascinated by how authentic the prelude is.
As the imposing fireworks settle, the altar boy swings the censer down the aisle, the pastor preaches about redemption and the blood shed for our sins. One kneels in self-pain on the narrow, uncomfortable wooden bench. Hands are folded, some clench them tightly. Eyes closed or directed towards heaven, although the imposing masonry obstructs the view, as if Peter has closed the gate. The stained glass breaks the light, and the incense leaves an ominous haze in the air. The older the pious followers are, the more intensely they seem to pray. One can read the Our Father from their restless lips if one has forgotten the words.
And time and again, the black pepper reveals itself amidst the ceremony before it flees again. When it appears, it stings like a knife wound, yet it is so soothingly warming and does not judge us. Like a blasphemous comment, it makes us doubt, directing our gaze to the oven beneath our knees. Is it the temptation we are warned against? After all, Lucifer was also an angel before he fell like rain from heaven.
The memory of the Sundays one was dragged to church is like a waking dream. Although my prayers were never answered, the existence of the purifying purgatory was for me, and I lost all faith, Bois d'Encens still captivates me. The question for me is not whether I want to smell like a Christian sermon, but whether I want to celebrate the craftsmanship. Form takes precedence over function, and the execution is masterful.
In contrast to contemporary fragrances, Bois d'Encens expresses itself like a Renaissance painting, in accordance with the age of its inspiration. It is clear what it is and what it wants to be. The intention does not escape anyone. It creates nothing unprecedented but recreates what is already all too familiar. Here, one cannot endlessly analyze, but only criticize the craftsmanship and execution, for the meaning is laid bare.
The top note is hyper-realistic, freshly ground black pepper, but not the industrial, one-dimensional spice of everyday life. Like high-quality Kampot pepper, it has many underlying facets that manifest through mint and eucalyptus, accompanied by a citrusy bite. I am continually fascinated by how authentic the prelude is.
As the imposing fireworks settle, the altar boy swings the censer down the aisle, the pastor preaches about redemption and the blood shed for our sins. One kneels in self-pain on the narrow, uncomfortable wooden bench. Hands are folded, some clench them tightly. Eyes closed or directed towards heaven, although the imposing masonry obstructs the view, as if Peter has closed the gate. The stained glass breaks the light, and the incense leaves an ominous haze in the air. The older the pious followers are, the more intensely they seem to pray. One can read the Our Father from their restless lips if one has forgotten the words.
And time and again, the black pepper reveals itself amidst the ceremony before it flees again. When it appears, it stings like a knife wound, yet it is so soothingly warming and does not judge us. Like a blasphemous comment, it makes us doubt, directing our gaze to the oven beneath our knees. Is it the temptation we are warned against? After all, Lucifer was also an angel before he fell like rain from heaven.
The memory of the Sundays one was dragged to church is like a waking dream. Although my prayers were never answered, the existence of the purifying purgatory was for me, and I lost all faith, Bois d'Encens still captivates me. The question for me is not whether I want to smell like a Christian sermon, but whether I want to celebrate the craftsmanship. Form takes precedence over function, and the execution is masterful.
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3 Comments
You describe incredibly authentic scent images!
Well written.