Parfumjule

The seduction begins with a peppery teasing tingle. The lightness of bergamot immediately makes it clear that there is nothing solid here, just a sparkling romance in the moonlight.

Then, slowly, the long chalice of tuberose opens. For a moment, it is slightly green, almost innocent. In the next moment, aware of its power, the queen of the night becomes bolder. It lures and enchants, pulsating with a sensually sweet scent that attracts pollinators. No one can resist its hypnotic "come to me."
But there is competition. Lascivious and aphrodisiac, ylang makes its appearance. The sweet nectarine only arrives now, offering its juicy flesh while the dark sweet waft of tobacco unites all notes like a breath and slowly carries them away.

The heart notes, especially the opulent flowers, are very present for a long time. But here too, the longed-for release sets in. It is quieter and more intimate. It becomes slightly smoky, with warm amber whiskey, skin-like incense, and dry vetiver embracing each other in musk.

A stone old building by the roadside seems to invite me in. The heavy door creaks as I open it, and there is no sound from within that seems to respond. I step in boldly, silence.

A beam of light falls through a high window, drawing me further inside. It is the bergamot that, like pure sunlight, draws attention to itself and something in the room.
Only through the elemi do I become aware of the sacred function of the building.
On one hand, it is a relatively bright elemi that picks up the bergamot, giving it more depth; on the other hand, it already announces the coming incense.
I look around the empty chapel.
As the bitter petitgrain, which seems to flow from the branches on the few benches, fades, I imagine clary sage.
The citrusy beam of light fades, and I curiously follow to the spot it indicated.

Smoke is in the air.
In the depths of the room, it becomes dusty and dry around the old wooden lectern. An old book lies open, the writing is hard to decipher. Even here, in the heart notes, I perceive the wood.
Gentle flowers from a long-past devotion feel cold to me, but I often experience this with magnolia.

From the old stones, centuries-old incense flows and settles meditatively over the room. In the calm lies dry vetiver, my thoughts become clear.

The room is deserted, no warmth resides within it, curiosity draws us in. Only through works and materials do we uncover the function of the studio.

At first, we are surprised by the airy, cool atmosphere created by the fennel; without it, materials like clay cannot be processed according to their needs. The scent note of the fennel is also very bright, perhaps the skylight of a natural source?

Dust hangs in the air, is it from the mechanical treatment of a particularly fine marble or the powdery cool, abstract iris without soul?

The anise is not the cooking and baking spice; it is the fresh-cool, almost metallic smooth star anise. It wafts from the iron, chisels, and loops that were just used for material processing and then left scattered messily throughout the room. Always ready to be picked up again as soon as inspiration strikes.

This entire studio exudes a wonderful, damp earthy patchouli. It must emanate from the leftover, still moist clay on the wooden workbench and is the supporting note; for me, it is strongly present throughout.

This perfume is, subjectively speaking, the most accessible and artistically most accurately realized conceptual scent of this series.

During my school days, Greek mythology was so fascinating to me that I even once tried to reconstruct a family tree of the gods over more than 10 glued-together DIN A 3 sheets during the entire Pentecost holidays; I failed in the 3rd generation, the Olympians were too restless.

I don't need to go that far here, Uranus and Gaia, sprung from Chaos, the absolute void, were the beginning of the world, if I remember correctly. Gaia is the Earth, Uranus the Sky, later united as a couple, they had children who completed the world.

At the beginning, Uranus is still wild and untamed. As the sky god, he shows his unbridled and tempestuous nature. The storm he conjures before his first thunderstorm brings unpleasant aldehydes. They remind one of ozone-laden, metallic air. The chamomile is medicinally herbal, the neroli is slightly bitter. There is no sun and lightness in the scent.

In the second act, the sky unleashes itself, rain falls on his sister and mother of his children. Damp earth, slightly musty yet strongly synthetic geosmin allows the first flowers to grow. They start coolly reserved, the sun god Helios does not yet exist, their full splendor is still unimaginable. The rose is merely a shadow of itself, I hardly perceive the jasmine, the mimosa is frigid.

After this first stormy contact between heaven and earth, finally, some calm returns. The moldy accent recedes. Dry wood, washed ashore by the newly born Oceanus, brings peace in connection with musk and incense, along with the first warm notes.

Be kind to me, this is my first review. It came about only because I couldn't compress this story from my head into a short statement.