Laboratorio Olfattivo Tuberosis

On a pleasant autumn evening bathed in golden light, I was suddenly struck by the cold. Winter would arrive with the dawn. I opened the front door and turned around to take one last look at the stems of the tuberoses, the gift of a summer that had survived. I thought that I could pick them in the morning to be intoxicated by their scent for a few days. Since then, when artificial light responds to the night, the tuberose spreads its gentle voice, releasing a fragrance of jasmine, plum, and spices. A whisper like a breeze that never tires. And every night, at midnight, its voice fades, allowing us to wait for the same moment the next day. Its scent is like its life, preordained. This flower has something of the figure of Scheherazade, who tells a story every evening to escape death. She did this so well that her story is still alive and has become a perfume.