Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere courtesy of the brand

Giuseppe Imprezzabile is not just an aromatic conjurer but also a transcendental alchemist, stitching together memories, emotions, and ephemeral moments into olfactive masterpieces. He dives deep into the essence of his experiences, constantly researching and refining them to capture fleeting moments and emotions. It’s not technology or trend that sets his creations apart; it’s his unmatched olfactory sensitivity, a combination of years spent selecting the finest raw materials, and the intangible ties of travel, art, and nature. This balance between the tangible craft and the ethereal inspirations culminates in what he beautifully coins as the ‘olfactory memory of life’ — a testament to both his expertise and his personal journey. With the Meo Fusciuni collection, he doesn’t merely craft perfumes; he weaves sensory narratives, making him a poet in the realm of scents, and one of the most compelling figures in contemporary perfumery.

Giuseppe Imprezzabile, official brand photo

When I learned  the name and the olfactive pyramid of Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere (black violets), I was beside myself with excitement, as violets are one of my favorite flowers, not only for their intoxicating aroma and ethereal hue but also for the rich lore, filled with legends, associations, and traditions that have surrounded their delicate silhouette throughout history. When I received the perfume, I had one of those rare, awe-inducing serendipitous moments. It was like smelling a long-forgotten memory, a perfume that I have been searching for – actively – and now, finally, it was real.

I distinctly remember, back in 2018, that I wrote on a perfumery forum from Romania, seeking advice. I will translate it here word for word: “After so many days filled with resin and spices explorations, I was suddenly struck with a terrible craving for violets – now here’s the problem, I know exactly what I want, but I haven’t met it yet. Do you remember in Mircea Eliade’s “Miss Christina” when poor Egor would wake up after the night he was drained by the succubus, and his room smelled of violets? Well, that’s what I’m looking for – a spectral, dark, rural gothic-violet. I want it to have something of the apparent (I emphasize apparent because we know better the real story) modesty of Victorian ladies, with the aura of monogrammed handkerchiefs scented with migraine oil, dreams of old wooden wardrobes in rooms facing the north, the ones untouched by the sun. And it should have the footsteps of Ms. Danvers patrolling the castle hallways – my mind drifts to Rebecca and the Manderley castle and all the darkness and all its gardens drifting into the sea. Diane Ackerman, in a reference book for any hedonist, “A Natural History of the Senses,” perfectly describes violets as “burnt sugar cubes that have been dipped in lemon and velvet.” Is it clear now what I want? Because it’s not to me. Something classic, deconstructed, and recomposed. Soundwise, it’s exactly like this: Der Blaue Reiter – Underworld Dreams. Annick Goutal La Violette is sort of there, but it’s square, I want a cube. Where do we find the extra dimension for the nose?”

AI image for Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere by Nicoleta© (Image made incorporating verses from the Viole Nere poem inside Midjourney prompt: ”In the morning, when March came/ I would stop to pick small bunches of violets, shy and austere”

Four years later, Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere is the closest thing to my dreamed-of-bespoke perfume. A fragrance that encapsulates an almost erased memory that is so blurred that I need all my senses to bring it back to life, bit by bit. A perfume that I have dreamed of and searched for without even knowing that it exists. And long years after I had stopped searching, it serendipitously came to me, amazingly close to what I was manifesting.

We wake up to a crisp morning, early spring, at the edge of the forest. A deep purple blast of cassis conjures up the aura of the forest’s deep green foliage, where a new breed of berries grows, feeding from the shadows, instead of the sun. The carroty, vegetal aspect of the iris is also very present here, earthy, and humid, with vetiver, patchouli, and oakmoss giving the almost photorealistic feel of wet ground, with roots pulsating under the melting snow, back to life. The lily of the valley adds an undercurrent of watery, fresh green air that illuminates the edges of the chiaroscuro decor. A time of painful rebirth, of nature in all its stripped-down glory, back to its vegetal and mineral rough backbone, in the last moments of pause before the cobs of time will turn again, relentlessly, for one more year – as spring is – indeed – the cruelest of the seasons.

AI image 2 by Nicoleta** ©  made incorporating verses from the Meo Fusciuni e Viole Nere poem inside Midjourney prompt: ”At night, I would stop and look at my garden filled with violets, attentive and taciturn. Absence is a mystery, of dark dress, of powdery scent, of strange emotions”

Darkness fades and blossoms into silence. The mood changes, we are now inside an old house, with the smell of times long gone frozen in the movement of the antique wall clock, where the air feels purple and lived-in as if the presence of a loved ghost has passed that hallway millions of times, in different parallel universes where only the silence tastes the same. The cloud of blue violets that linger in the air, the muffled sounds of steps, echoing in the corridors, preparing for the guests to arrive, the scented gloves, always, on their usual spot, on the table near the entrance. We hear the sound of velvet curtains, as they are drawn aside by long pale arms, the ruffle of the silk dresses touching the wooden floors in precipitated movements, the bouquets are arranged in vases, with crimson petals of roses, the carnal jasmine and the ripe sweetness of ylang. More shadows gather around, from behind the fogged-up mirrors, with the chorus of chatter and laughter and the distant resonance of violins. A labyrinth of a thousand threads melting into one moment, coming closer, with the smell of aged cognac warming up the air, and specs of woody dust dancing in the cold light of the moon.  Behind the doors the young laughter, the last-minute preparations, the powders, the lipsticks, the perfumes, in a whirlwind of purple–sepia freeze-frames of old-world elegance.

AI image 3 by Nicoleta ***©***Image made incorporating verses from the Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere poem inside Midjourney prompt: ”It is the darkest hour, when the rainfalls/And for days now I have forgotten myself. It is the brightest hour, when the first violets arrive, the last snowmelts.”

Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere is not a perfume, but a deep emotional experience. A mixture of fruity, earthy, mineral, and powdery textures all woven around the most beautiful modern re-iterations of a 1920s violet make for a time capsule that might reveal more about your present self than many mirrors will.

Nicoleta Tomsa, Senior Editor

Disclosure: The bottle was kindly offered by Meo Fusciuni.  As always, my opinions are my own.

Fragrance notes: Cassis, Cognac, Violet, Iris, Lily of the Valley, Jasmine, Rose, Ylang Ylang, Vetiver, Frankincense, Sandalwood, Patchouli, Oakmoss, Vanilla, Musk

Please enjoy our reviews of Meo Fusciuni Luce Narcotico, Encore du Temps, Varanasi, Spirito, Little Song and Sogni

Meo Fusciuni Viole Nere 2023, official photo

Thanks to the generosity of Meo Fusciuni we have 100 ml of Viole Nere for one registered reader in the EU and USA. You must register or your entry will not count. To be eligible, please leave a comment saying what sparks your interest based on Nicoleta’s review and where you live. Draw closes 9/21/2023

“The violet in spring represents the blossoming of the soul” There is a place where my thoughts find refuge, where I absent myself from the world, where I read my poems aloud at the dawn of March, as the first violets of the year emerge from the still-frozen earth. That place is the garden of my soul. In Viole Nere I address the theme of absence and blackness in which I hide my being and abandon my mind, where the word becomes a boulder to which I bind my spirit, and where poetry becomes a form of invocation. Perfume becomes marvel, black on black. I have chosen to tell a new story that has the scent of a Black Violet. Viole Nere was born from my desire to tell the story of my love for the garden, as a physical and spiritual place, as a mirror of my consciousness. I did this by interpreting the famous Violet, a flower that is austere and delicate, yet has a strong character. My Violet tells of March mornings, when the earth is still damp and cold, wet from late winter, and the first lights of spring illuminate the meadow. Violets grow and perfume the days, a ritual that is repeated year after year. Viole Nere was thought, created, and arranged, while listening to the album The Angel and the Dark River by My Dying Bride and reading the words of Mariangela Gualtieri during each of these stages” – Giuseppe Imprezzabile

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