KLUBWASSER

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.

From the open doors of the Orangerie, bright notes of green and golden citrus flow into the crisp morning air of the palace gardens.

A dark, spicy warmth reveals the presence of the great beast. Typhon, or Typhoeus, once ruled the deepest realms of Hades. Klimt places him at the center of the hostile forces, in shades of black, brown and uncanny blue.

A fragrance as intangible as Klimt’s golden vision of the Elysian Fields: “an ideal realm, wherein alone we can find pure joy, pure happiness, pure love.” It wears like a subtle, immaterial cloak of bright light, verdant freshness and subdued florality.

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.

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