The Charm of Time
Once, there was a time untouched by clocks. A time suspended in the hush of worn velvets, in the quiet gleam of aged mirrors, in perfumes that echo stories long forgotten.
It was a time that settled like gilded dust upon all things, illuminating memories and softening the contours of remembrance. That time returns each winter when the days grow brief and longing stretches into twilight.
We chose to narrate the relentless passing of time through three acts, three olfactory interpretations capable of guiding you toward a distant memory or something intangible, familiar, perhaps yet to unfold. The Past is a fragrance that burns slowly, like a memory unwilling to fade. The Present is movement: it runs, it burns, it invites action. The Future is icy and radiant, suspended between expectation and destiny.
Its fragrance lingers still if one knows where to seek it. Prepare to embrace it, instant after instant.
The three fragrances
Past
A Venetian salon draped in crimson velvet, where the golden light of candelabras dances gently across the dust-kissed frames of forgotten portraits. Time moves to the rhythm of a waltz, as a gloved hand emerges from the past, brushing against a love letter hidden within the pages of a book. Thus begins a tale steeped in nostalgia—like an opera evening that lingers, slowly, before its final applause.
Notes: freesia, coconut milk, powder, tuberose, wintersweet, jasmine, white tea, sandalwood, cedarwood.
Present
Behind the misted panes of a winter garden, the present reveals itself in silence. Light, softened by the glass, brushes gently against the remnants of a faded splendour: a table laid with ripe grapes and pomegranates, a detuned piano, candles nearly extinguished yet still whispering a final elegance. Upon a forgotten chair, a brass key lies in wait—awaiting the courage to begin anew. Time stands still, suspended between what once was and what might yet come.
Notes: pomegranate juice, bergamot, pomegranate accord, jasmine, rose petals, grape nectar, pomegranate wood, vanilla berries.
Future
In a library hidden from time, the minutes settle like golden dust, while sand slips slowly through a forgotten hourglass. Suddenly, a telephone rings—an echo from afar, bearing words never spoken, well-wishes suspended in the air. Before an antique mirror, the face dissolves: only thoughts remain, and visions, and possibilities. Thus, the future reveals itself: faceless, yet filled with a thousand voices.
Notes: geranium, patchouli leaves, cumin, undergrowth accord, leather, oakmoss, oud, amber, dark woods.