The morning decision was upon me: "Which two fragrances shall I test today?". My organized sample folder quickly answered the question. First up was
Kashimire. Already at the first sniff, I lost interest, as it was reminiscent of a grandmotherly rose soap. "Today probably won't be that exciting," my nose thought. Next came a sample that was labeled in ballpoint blue with delicate handwriting "Liwa - Widian". Label the test strips, cap off, press the spray head.
What is happening here? A bolt of electricity shot through my back. My hair stood on end. Goosebumps. I gave my nose, but Liwa took over my entire body. Can a fragrance do this to me? Is it allowed to do this to me? Oh Liwa, how could I be angry with her. Just moments ago, I was reading about the aesthetic theory of perfumery (for example, here https://www.parfumo.de/Benutzer/Louce/Blog) and wondered to what extent perfume is art. How could I have doubted? The great shock, so rare in art today, happened to me, an inexperienced perfumista.
Only in perfumery do perfumes literally become what they are: a signature of reality through the air, leaving their traces on the damp skin. Watch a Marvel blockbuster or an arthouse film? Like Instagram pictures or wander through vernissages? Eat burgers or appreciate culinary arts? Forgive me the false dichotomies. Kitsch, mass products, or trash are liked by many. Liwa may not evoke general approval, for she is far too sublime. What signature does Liwa leave behind?
The second breath. A long-awaited kiss that made my eyes glassy. With each sniff of Liwa, my eyes widened. A tingling sensation urged me on, leading to the fragrance. Her sweet whisper grew louder. But where was Liwa? Where does she hide her body? I want to see her! And should I be blinded by her visage, it would be a just thing!
Liwa presents herself to one. How she appears contradicts her very essence. Like a spatial installation, she is intangible, no matter how long I explore her. Yet, she unfolds her sensual charms in my imagination, leaving me deeply moved. For me, it is the classic artistic experience of an ecstatic encounter, a transcendental experience. I would be at the mercy of Liwa, were it not for the price.
Had I not met Liwa, I could still be enthusiastic about
Supremacy in Oud. In direct comparison, the latter lacks finesse and comes off as artificial, even slightly piercing, which I had not perceived until now. Liwa knocks my dearly beloved Ganymede off the throne, for her saffron is even more sublime than that of this moon.
