FREUDIAN WOOD

When the Bora wind whips the black waters of the Quarnero, a fresh, salty mist engulfs the Coast of Laurels, the grand riviera of Imperial Austria.

High above the mountain forests, between snow fields and bare rock, the crystal-clear nocturnal sky carries the scent of cold wood and eternal ice.

According to Freud, the uncanny is the familiar and the unfamiliar at once. This fragrance is an attempt to capture that quality: Dark, clean, dirty, innocent, erotic, unsettling and intriguing at the same time, there is no familiar category that fits this composition.

Within the silence of the sacred stone walls and smooth marble floors, flickering altar candles radiate hints of wax, ashes and chilled frankincense.

Freshly broken twigs, spiced grasses and dark green nettles mark the path of the noble savage through the undergrowth of the wooded hills.

In the cafés and parks along the grand boulevard, the dernier cri is the curiously soft and milky fragrance of an exotic plant with an outlandish name.