Rosarium
Angela Ciampagna (2015)

Rosarium is the third point on the triangulation of what I like to call the ‘powdered sugar incense’ category, between the rose champagne fizz of Maria Candida Gentile’s Sideris and the doughnutty yumminess of Reve d’Ossian (Oriza L. Legrand). I am drawn to the gently edible edge to these incense perfumes, because they calm the naturally sharp angles of frankincense by filtering it through the haze of powdered sugar that rises off a sweet bun when you bite into it.

Rosarium is thickly dusted with the double powder whammy of iris and benzoin in its topnotes and made slightly sherbety with the addition of rose or lemon. As others before me have pointed out, this combination of iris and incense is reminiscent of the Tauerade present in both Incense Rosé and Les Années 25 (Tauer), although far less powerful or astringent – Rosarium is softly, sweetly bready, rather than battery acid radiant.

But what really makes Rosarium special is the carrot seed accent, which gives the powdery incense sweetness an unusually earthy-rooty depth. This smells like metal slicing through upturned earth, but also like a warm, mealy pulp made of sawdust and rainwater. The carrot seed effect makes my mouth water, although technically there is nothing edible about it. I notice that the carrot seed present in Santal Blush (Tom Ford) has a similar effect, except for the addition of cumin, which makes it even wheatier.

The combination of sweet incense dust, milk-soaked Easter bread, and metallic earth or hazelnuts in Rosarium is pretty wonderful, and if my ‘powdered sugar incense’ needs weren’t already being met by the brighter, more natural-smelling Sideris, I would seriously think about putting it on my putative ‘To Buy’ list (whereupon it would likely languish for years).

A waxy-woody type of note which reminds me of aldehyde MNA, and puts it in the territory of Study 23 by Miller and Bertaux (see my review).

The iris jumps out at me immediately. Something woody follows. Slightly sweet violet. No other notes pop out for me. So, creatively, Rosarium isn't the greatest offering. I do happen to love iris and powdery perfumes. Good enough to finish my decant, at least.

Later on more wood appears. An earthy note, too. Musk. Slight incense.

2 and a 1/2 stars.

Dusky, a bit sweet. Wet cardboard (briefly) and then violet leaf. Not a green scent.

I've had enough of thin, squeaky incense perfumes; pursuing some ideal of stripped back purity perhaps, they instead come across as unnecessarily shrill and denatured. Give me smoke, richness, warmth and vibrancy in an incense rather than the olfactory equivalents of sine tones. The opening of Rosarium where just such an incense rubbed up against an equally thin, squeaky pine in a cut-price Rêve d'Ossian mode was unimpressive.
Some redemption came as the perfume began maturing on my skin – the introduction of carroty and dusty iris notes was quite transformative of the high pitched duet of the beginning, calming things down somewhat, wrong-footing expectations a little and providing an unusual pairing (iris and incense) that definitely needs more exploration in perfumery. Someone is going to get it soooo right one of these days; but it's not here yet. Here it's at the level of ‘interesting idea', executed with a quality of materials that doesn't really inspire.

This is like Calling All Angels on a diet to me. It has that same balsamic-gourmand take on incense, only its density is closer to the infamous CdG series than the more sugary April Aromatics scent. And I think that's Rosarium's real strength: there's a lot of restraint at work given the fragrance's theme and the materials involved. It's cedar and rosewood (I think) with a coating of honeyed vanilla and a standard frankincense. Included, however, is the tiresome aldehyde C-12 that gives Avignon it's chill, but here it's tucked away to minimize the material's industrial feel, allowing the warmth of the honey to shine through instead. The C-12, which is essentially a wonky pine-smelling material, is strong enough to clash with the honey though – especially once the frankincense has died down and the gourmand notes have elevated. It dries down to a uninspired ambroxan base, which is a bit of a let-down as the ambroxan swells up and swallows everything else. Rosarium is not wildly original, but it takes a decent stab at attempting to bridge two disparate genres (liturgical incense and gourmand) without trying to rewrite either one of them. Sadly, I find that these genres clash too much, largely because of the pine vs. honey battle, and so this was a tough one for me to wear. It won't satiate the sweetest of teeth, nor could it be used to bury the dead, but it might hold some appeal for folks who want their gourmand and liturgical incense experience combined. I'm not that person, though.