Fong Qi Wei Exploding Roses

A rose is a rose is a rose.

Was she right? Gertrude Stein, was she right when she wrote that “Rose is a rose”; that a rose is a rose? That all is as it seems, that we are what we are? Was she right in assuming that… a rose is a rose?

There’s A River in My Head © Isabelle Menin, 2014

For I have memory not of one but of countless roses. I have the memory of a dewy rose I smelt in a garden by the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by the dunes and the pine trees in a cold morning of pale spring. I have memory of the roses in my mum’s garden, round and plump, pink and yellow and some there were also white as snow. I remember the roses growing wild in a Balinese garden and the grandiose ones blooming in the Isle of Flowers off the coast of Brittany amidst bursts of laughter and the playful eyes of running children. I remember their scent carried by the saline breeze and the wafts of linden blossoms mingling in their trail.

A rose.

The rose petals falling like garnet teardrops on the white marble floor of the Sheikh Zayed Mosque and the scent of rosewater washing the stone courtyards of the Damascus of old.

A rose is a rose

Velvet white bouquets crowing the statue of the Virgin Mary as it walks through the streets of a dusking Paris.

A rose is a rose is Ensar Rose.

Garden rose by Alexandre Helwani

Think of the last time when basked in a warm sunshine, you stopped by a trail in the forest, by the alley in your garden and buried your nose in a rose flower. Think of your surprise as its scent reached your nose and stirred up your memories. Think of its texture, now, think of its colour. Think of the light as it fell between its petals like drops of rain. Think of how gentle and frail it felt against your skin, against your lip as you grew ever closer to it.

Hang on to its image, let not go of its scent as it grows again in your mind and comes together through your senses.

This is your rose. The sum of all roses, the sum of your memories. This rose that you picture now is not real but in yourself – and if it is for you, then it is true.

Queen of Flowers by Alexandre Helwani

Ensar Rose A rose is a rose.

Ensar Rose opens on such rose. On a personal rose, an intimate and quiet expression of nature’s frail glory. Wet and crisp with morning dew under a faintly green halo. This rose is a rose, a rose that one smelt in a garden someday. For it is pure, buoyant; its eyelids are shut and yet shine, effortless, true to its very nature of Queen of Flowers.

Sultan Pasha works not in notes nor in tiers but in shades. Ensar Rose depicts a flower as it lives from dusk till dawn, its shadow fleeing from a motionless sun.

Crystal.

The clarity of the opening settles and suddenly you’re no longer scared anymore – to pluck this rose. Vetiver comes forth, aided by a helpful strike of sandalwood, showcasing less of its lactones and more of its dryness. Together they ground the flower petals on your skin, the smear it on your wrist like a chunk of lipstick.

Warmth.

Hot like midday’s sun, vanilla’s sweet animality heralds the coming of ouds in the third part of day. The image of morning is gone – this rose sweats under a yellow sky. Clove-like evanescence of eugenol seeping from rose petals on the verge of wilt, it joins the earthiness of a tuberose untamed.

Crackle.

The ouds come at last once all is consumed. The air grows chill, the dusk draws blue. Ouds come in purple wisps, hushing through the leaves and grassy fields. They are piercing, ashy and ashen, woven on a bed of sandalwood, here still. The rose, proud in her nocturnal mantle, shivers. And so do you. Its perfume has waned and turned into an icicle – a memory.

I know of no harder feat than to write about a rose for there are so many and yet so few. For they are loved as much as they are loathed; praised as much as they’re despised and for all we know of their molecules, we know  not  of their nature. With Ensar Rose Sultan Pasha outdoes the Rule of Rose – that it must appear in every collection yet can hardly surprise – by doing what he does best.

Tug of Roses by Alexandre Helwani

Poetry.

Weaving and piecing together materials of such might to recreate, not his rose, but our rose. The rose of each one. The rose of our common yet singular memories. Fondness and melancholy sing their tunes in this meticulous and masterful composition, speaking to the heart of all yet true to the heart of each proving, if ever it was needed that:

A rose is a rose.

Your rose.

Ensar Rose.

Top: rosa alba otto, Persian rose otto, Tahitian  vanilla.

Middle: Haitian vetiver, honey, tuberose absolute, Bulgarian rose absolute.

Base: aged Mysore sandalwood, ambergris, amber, Oud Yunus by Ensar Oud (a very rare Hindi oud).

Alexandre Helwani – Contributor

Thanks to Sultan Pasha  we have 1 ml of Ensar Rose for a reader anywhere in the world. You must be a registered reader.  You can register here. To be eligible please leave a comment with what you  you enjoyed about  Alexandre’s review of Sultan Pasha Attars Ensar Rose and where you live. Do You have a favorite  Sultan Pasha Attars perfume. Draw closes March 27, 2020

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