Veti Vert by Miller Harris is the viridian odour of vegetal crush, something lost and found in a hunter’s memory, a Scottish landscape, a granite bothy set amid bleak verdancy. He wonders how many lives he has lived among the slate, rocks and rain-washed skies. Weathers shift and roll so suddenly; landscapes skulking in blue shadow are revealed as textured canvases of ochre, fern, moss and lichen.
Veti Vert is akin to Harris Tweed; a scent woven from flecked reflections of earth, sea, stone and sky, a perfume worn in all weathers, tricky sun, autumnal glow, the promise of verdant spring and those extraordinary days of storm-damp air, the smell of thrashed fields and savaged hillsides following him homeward like dark green dusk. It is a perfume of stride and contemplation, open spaces and the gratification of being close to soil, rock and water sources in places where electronic signals fail and time seems to flow eternally. There are edges, spice, spikes, sweetness and green-mulched leaf satisfaction in Veti Vert, but ultimately everything melds in a composition of moorland, highland absinthe.