The Color of Pomegranates Extrait de Parfum
The Color of Pomegranates is a fragrance steeped in symbol and shadow — an olfactory interpretation of blood-red fruit, liturgical resin, antique woods, and the layered silence of sacred rites. Inspired in part by the visual poetry of Sergei Parajanov’s 1969 masterpiece, this composition does not seek to retell its story, but to distill its essence: opulent restraint, ritual gesture, and the tension between stillness and intensity.
The perfume opens in golden light — lemon, grapefruit, and bergamot crackling with clarity before slowly dimming into the deeper hues of golden ambergris and myrrh. The effect is not bright citrus but gilded citrus — like juice poured over stone, dried in sun, and darkened with time. The resins rise immediately: frankincense and immortelle bloom in tandem, one sacred and radiant, the other honeyed and eternal. They do not clash. They chant.
Mysore sandalwood and Port Oxford cedar form the core of the fragrance, offering a dry, creamy architecture that lifts rather than weighs down. These woods aren’t heavy — they are solemn, like altars rubbed smooth by centuries of touch. Around them, birch tar and leather add an animalic smoke, not aggressive but ceremonial: vestments stored in wooden chests, incense-drenched robes, the memory of fire.
The heart, rich and pulsing, begins to sweeten as vanilla absolute, caramel, and a small measure of rum come forward — warmth unfolding slowly, never cloying. There is sweetness, yes, but it is veiled. Complex. Like fruit pressed into wine or offered on silver plates.
At the base lies the animal soul of the fragrance: deer musk, hyraceum, and styrax — intimate and resinous, breathing with quiet intensity. These notes are handled with restraint, never overwhelming. They lend shape to the perfume’s emotional depth — a scent that feels almost liturgical in its rhythm, full of silence between notes.
The Color of Pomegranates is not a fragrance of spectacle, but of mood — sacred, melancholic, sensuous, and composed. It wears like memory made physical: velvet dust, crimson silk, aged stone, flickering flame. A scent for those drawn to still beauty, to the mystery in fruit, to the color red not as pigment, but as symbol.
The Color of Pomegranates is a fragrance steeped in symbol and shadow — an olfactory interpretation of blood-red fruit, liturgical resin, antique woods, and the layered silence of sacred rites. Inspired in part by the visual poetry of Sergei Parajanov’s 1969 masterpiece, this composition does not seek to retell its story, but to distill its essence: opulent restraint, ritual gesture, and the tension between stillness and intensity.
The perfume opens in golden light — lemon, grapefruit, and bergamot crackling with clarity before slowly dimming into the deeper hues of golden ambergris and myrrh. The effect is not bright citrus but gilded citrus — like juice poured over stone, dried in sun, and darkened with time. The resins rise immediately: frankincense and immortelle bloom in tandem, one sacred and radiant, the other honeyed and eternal. They do not clash. They chant.
Mysore sandalwood and Port Oxford cedar form the core of the fragrance, offering a dry, creamy architecture that lifts rather than weighs down. These woods aren’t heavy — they are solemn, like altars rubbed smooth by centuries of touch. Around them, birch tar and leather add an animalic smoke, not aggressive but ceremonial: vestments stored in wooden chests, incense-drenched robes, the memory of fire.
The heart, rich and pulsing, begins to sweeten as vanilla absolute, caramel, and a small measure of rum come forward — warmth unfolding slowly, never cloying. There is sweetness, yes, but it is veiled. Complex. Like fruit pressed into wine or offered on silver plates.
At the base lies the animal soul of the fragrance: deer musk, hyraceum, and styrax — intimate and resinous, breathing with quiet intensity. These notes are handled with restraint, never overwhelming. They lend shape to the perfume’s emotional depth — a scent that feels almost liturgical in its rhythm, full of silence between notes.
The Color of Pomegranates is not a fragrance of spectacle, but of mood — sacred, melancholic, sensuous, and composed. It wears like memory made physical: velvet dust, crimson silk, aged stone, flickering flame. A scent for those drawn to still beauty, to the mystery in fruit, to the color red not as pigment, but as symbol.