Sisyphos

Phtaloblue. At the moment, images of an art exhibition (abstract painting) pop into my head. And a swimming pool association also presents itself immediately. It steams neatly and from outside a fresh wind blows in, which mixes with the chlorine and the joyful screaming of children in the swimming pool. Phtaloblue is artificial, though. The challenging part is also in its genre: Phtaloblue is an aquat. That often means there's rather little development or complexity to be expected - unless you mix in salty minerality. That's not the case here. The scent remains clear, cerebral, theoretical. In fact, I feel that here the color "blue" has been translated into a fragrance in a sense. That's exciting to begin with. Synesthetic, so to speak.

Phtaloblue is, for me, ultimately a work without an author. Here I understand the film title as a borrowing and do not want to go for parallels in content. For me, the fragrance could have been composed by a machine. I don't mean that disrespectfully. It is simply challenging to identify individual elements from my perspective. Rose geranium, orange blossom, lavender. I had expected a lot from this. However, everything seems to diffuse a bit here. Fennel sounds interesting and if you know it, it makes perfect sense. I probably wouldn't have come up with it on my own, though.

Despite everything, Phtaloblue is a solid to good Aquat for me with just solid to good projection and durability. I don't see the redefinition of the "aquat" genre. It's hard to relate here. Of course, the fragrance is very wearable, anytime, anywhere. Seasonally, what we have here is a decidedly summer perfume. Stylistically and from the basic idea, I see similarities to L'Eau by Serge Lutens, which is more citrusy and thus more accessible in a way, and ends up pointing more clearly in the direction of white wash, while Phtaloblue wants water. Both, however, set for me a pretty clear statement and pursue the concept anti-fragrance.

The olive tree (real olive tree) is a symbol of peace and fidelity - often with a biblical reference. And anyone who has seen olive trees in their natural state, for example in Crete, where the oldest tree in the world is said to be located, knows how graceful and calming they can be for the observer. The imposing curved and solid wood, the stable and sublime stature, the lively and persistent in an often barren and heat shimmering environment. Even the olives in oil, as an integral part of the Mediterranean cuisine in all its facets, reflect these impressions in a certain way. Fresh bread and olive (oil) - is there a more beautiful culinary minimalism?

The question of how to convert such aspects into a perfume did not arise to me for a long time. Such an undertaking seemed too inappropriate to me. The olive tree is a wonderful symbol and purely contemplative. The product is for eating, rather for enjoying. Until I tested Olivo by Bottega Veneta from the Parco-Palladiano series: the fragrance is truly not easy to grasp. He's a sensation to me. And that can be described quite well as coming to rest. Olivo is unsweet, but by no means bitter. Dry, but not withered. Airy, but not fleeting. The durability is quite decent and the projection is able to assert itself again and again despite all the restraint of the fragrance concept. Perfumes that are suddenly there again, naturally and unagitated, and that penetrate through the nose in a wonderfully engaging way during a body movement are rare. Olivo is so exactly a perfume.

Olivo spoke profanely of a clean scent. Clear and transparent. Calling him fresh would be an insult. He's pure of heart. And ethereal. Like Vetiver Insolént by Miller Harris. But Olivo lacks all oriental spice. At best a fine aroma is noticeable for my taste. Olivo rests in himself, completely grounded and centered. On himself. Only green notes, woody notes and green olives are listed on parfumo. I think the good stamina is due to a portion of iso and/or musk. And immediately after spraying on, resinous notes are in play. But, and I like that extraordinarily well, there is nothing "vegetable" involved here. The fragrance also lacks the sharpness and herbaceousness that green fragrances like to have. On the contrary: I see rather a slight creaminess, especially in the further course. Olivo, however, is a largely constant perfume. A bit like a little balsamic melody. And universal. A holistic approach. Therefore I can imagine the fragrance for almost every occasion and season. Whether for the PP presentation or during the sabbatical in the monastery - Olivo helps you to get through the day, to make the beautiful more beautiful and the bad bearable.

The entire Parco Palladiano series is remarkable. Cipresso and Lauro, for example, are also extraordinarily successful and comparable in style to Olivo, Castagno with discreet sweetness and thoroughly unisex. All fragrances are natural and high quality, very wearable and lively. Be sure to test and do not squint at the price.

Cancel the life insurance and throw away the mobile phone,
pack your backpack and follow the railroad trail,
wear a Laguiole knife in your boot and fall over,
hurt your face and spit out soil,
barely disinfect the wound and go on,
travel the Trans-Siberian railroad and sit on rugged leather compartment seats,
hang out in a dark dive in Wladiwostok and get in a brawl,
loose a tooth and see a back-street dentist,
laugh (with gold tooth) and buy love in the evening,
go to the open air pool and eat odd ice cream,
team up with non-native Chinese and work in a circus,
foster elephants and sleep on the floor in a tent,
sit at the campfire and guzzle sweet herbal liquor from who knows where,
eat tough beef and laugh again,
find love and receive a talisman as a gift when departing,
travel on a container ship and work hard,
sweat like a sod and crawl into your bunk tired as a dog,
have hardly anything to eat and no one to talk to,
stare at the crucifix in your cabin and listen to jazz on vinyl,
read Moby Dick and eventually arrive at Boston, to
drink an ice-cold coke together with Neil Morris and buy a new flacon of Fetish.