The arena was flooded with sun and the clamor of the crowd rose from the tiers like an offering. Where were we? In Seville? In Puerto Santa Maria? Definitely somewhere in Andalusia, where the stature and pride of men are compelling.
On this particular Sunday in the month of May, the combat to be delivered did not have the aim of putting a bull to death. The intention was a sensuous ritual act: to confront animal-like notes with the influential power of a flower, one of the most odorant in the vegetal world, the tuberose. Wood, musk and costus, in daring, unreasonably abundant proportions, would once and for all bite the dust in this arena dedicated solely to the glory of men. In this openly sexual confrontation — me the woman, you the man —, one of the most blasphemous of men’s perfumery, the purity of the tuberose is falsely innocent so that in appearance only, these macho reputed notes seem to be the only ones victorious. But smelling it tells a completely different story… the nose instinctively knows who the victor is.
Signed: the Virgin and the Torero.
