PRODUCT INFORMATION

GLASSHOUSE

Made in USA / Net: 30 Sticks / Burn time: approx. 50min per stick / Size: L 210mm / Box size: W55mm, H 240mm, D 25mm

NOTE

Dew · Orchid Leaf · Green Air
Orchid · White Tea · Soft Pollen
Damp Woods · Moss · Gentle Resin

The first impression is not floral.

It is the scent left behind after the plants have been watered. Thick orchid leaves hold a trace of moisture, with a faint green bitterness of sap and stem. The air feels clear, almost like condensation forming across glass.

As the scent unfolds, the orchid begins to appear.

The floral character remains light, with very little sweetness. White tea keeps it transparent, while a soft trace of pollen gives the composition a gentle fullness without making it dense.

Toward the end, the flowers recede into the background.

Damp wood, moss, and a quiet resinous warmth remain, like wooden benches, potting soil, and roots still holding the moisture of the night.

Floral, never lush.
Green, never raw.
Humid, never aquatic.

THE SCENT

Morning, just as the glasshouse doors are opened.

A thin layer of condensation still rests on the inside of the glass. The plants watered the night before have not completely dried.

The air is warmer than outside, and more humid.

Thick orchid leaves catch the pale morning light. Drops of water gather along their edges, while wooden benches and potting soil still carry the scent of moisture.

The flowers do not appear at once.

Only as you move deeper inside does a faint orchid scent begin to emerge between the leaves, water, and warm air.

GLASSHOUSE begins in this kind of space.

Made for early mornings, after a shower, putting a room back in order, reading, or any moment when the air indoors needs to feel alive again.

It does not turn the room into a garden.

It simply gives the air back a sense of life.

The flowers do not fill the space.

They simply exist among the plants.

THE MEMORIES

There was once a large glasshouse I visited as a child.

It was cold outside.

The moment the doors closed, my glasses began to fog.

Inside, it was warmer than expected. The floor was wet, the plants grew high, and some of the leaves were large enough to block the view ahead.

The air smelled of soil, water, wood, and plants.

Every so often, there were flowers.

I do not remember what they were called, and I do not remember stopping to look at them for very long.

What remained was the feeling of that first moment inside.

Years later, when something similar returned in the air, it was not a particular flower that came back.

Not its colour.

Not its name.

Only that first breath of air, completely different from the world outside.