What’s the story behind the name Hunayn? Your brand draws deep inspiration from ancient distillation traditions, sacred places, and rare botanicals from around the world — what led you down this creative path, one that reaches back to nature and to the roots of the past?

Hunayn is a battle named in the Quran. The Muslims marched to it relying on the visible and the measurable, their strength of numbers, and their strength failed them. What saved them was submission to a plan larger than the one in front of them. That is the meaning the house draws from its name.

The direction follows from that, and it is not new. For fourteen centuries Muslims made art in the same posture and took what is found in creation as their source. The Quran speaks of all things praising their Maker, each in its own way. A flower praises through its form and through its scent. Perfumery, as Hunayn practises it, receives that praise and carries it into a bottle. So the house submits, and it follows its materials to their sources: Somalia, Yemen, India, China. One current work recreates a perfume from recipes preserved in early manuscripts, translated from the Arabic and followed stage by stage. The old methods are not an aesthetic. They are the work itself.

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Hunayn’s bottle design is striking, printed with mysterious lettering and hand-drawn motifs, like a manuscript carrying ancient souls and historical cyphers. What stories lie behind these visual symbols and illustrations, and how do they enter into an artistic dialogue with the fragrance inside?

The letters are writing, not symbols. Each perfume receives its name in Arabic script, and the script is chosen for the story. Arabic calligraphy exists because the Quran had to be written as beautifully as the hand could manage, and every script that followed descends from that purpose. Hunayn borrows the practice and places it in service of the same impulse.

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The bottle is treated as a canvas. Calligraphy, traditional or modern, is set with typography, drawing, and image until the outside of the bottle tells the same story the scent tells. On Consanguine, the script is drawn into the shape of the dragon’s blood tree of Socotra. The name is Latin, of the same blood. The island’s legend says the tree first grew where a brother’s spilt blood fell, and the tree itself is now disappearing, which is part of why the perfume exists. Each perfume is a physical manifestation of its story. Scent and image do not decorate each other. They meet in the story.

As for feeling, the house does not decide what a person should feel. The work is made by hand and passes through several hands before it reaches one. It is made with care and then let go. What a person feels when holding the bottle belongs to them.

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If you could recommend just one Hunayn fragrance to Hong Kong’s perfume lovers at CENTRESTAGE, which would it be? Could you share the story behind how this scent was blended and created?

Sawa. A jasmine soliflore, and the first perfume of the house’s soliflore series.

One flower and nothing else, but not one jasmine. Sawa is built from twenty faces of the single flower. A soliflore gives the perfumer nowhere to hide. There is no second material to cover the first, so the balance cannot be made between ingredients. It has to be found inside the flower, between its sweetness and everything in it that is not sweet. The name is Arabic. Sawāʾ: level, even. Twenty renderings of one flower, held level until none of them dominates.

The making begins from a limit the house accepts. Nothing it makes will be as beautiful as the flower itself. That was never the point. The perfumer is a custodian, not a creator. The work is to take what jasmine already carries and represent it faithfully, so that someone who has never stopped to consider what jasmine actually is, what it contains, where it comes from, can smell the perfume and be, without knowing why, connected to nature. Sawa exists for that moment.

The house rests on one principle carried into many forms. Sawa is that structure as a perfume: one flower, carried as far as one flower goes. Balance found in singularity.

Terra·T 

Terra·T was co-founded by creative director Terrence Chen (陳泱達) and perfumer Kaiwei Hsieh (謝凱薇). Its name unites Terra (the land) with T (Taiwan), reflecting a profound attachment to roots — capturing memories of the land in a bottle, from the ancient sacred trees of Alishan to Luye oolong tea and the wild ginger lilies of Neiwan. Rejecting the layered formulas of mass-market commercial perfume, the pair channel a deeply philosophical approach to perfumery, distilling the island’s mountains and seas, and the warmth of its people, into understated yet moving olfactory poems. This year, the brand received the highest honour at the Art and Olfaction Awards — the “Oscars of the perfume world” — winning the Independent Category Award for original work, earning international recognition for both its perfumery and its creative vision.

What is the story and meaning behind the name and logo of Terra·T? How do your formulation process and choice of ingredients physically set your craftsmanship apart from the commercial market?

Terra·T is a window to the self — “Terra” for earth, “T” for Taiwan. The land nurtures us all as a shared collective. Our logo, inspired by the traditional latticework of Taiwanese architecture, is not merely a decorative motif to me. It is a lens through which I view the world. Looking outward, it captures the yearning for the unknown; looking inward, it serves as a homecoming to oneself and one’s roots.

Every act of creation feels like standing before this window — gazing toward the horizon while simultaneously returning to the heart. Some look through it to find the unknown, while others look through it to rediscover their own memories. We hope our works can serve as such a window for others.

In our formulations, we do not chase the rare or the ostentatiously expensive; we seek only that which is compelling. What truly matters is whether every ingredient carries the weight of the culture and the depth of the emotion we intend to tell. Our founder, Terrence, possesses an acute sensitivity, always providing the precise direction required to bring these visions to life.

Commercial perfumery often seeks the greatest common denominator, but we do not judge; we simply choose not to define ourselves by those metrics. The land is a form of time, carrying the lives of generation after generation, and my creations are the traces left behind by those who have existed. If longing had a weight, what would it smell like? If forgiveness could leave a scent, how long would it linger? If letting go were a fragrance, would it still carry the warmth of a human touch?

We have always believed that art should never dictate how one must interpret a piece. The true value of art lies in its ability to allow the viewer to use the work as a mirror, through which they may finally understand themselves.

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Your brand beautifully captures your deep love for your homeland. How do you physically translate this emotional connection and memories of the land into your perfumes? Why is it so vital for a perfume to archive and preserve Taiwan’s unique scent DNA right now?

Scent is ephemeral; it fades and shifts. What truly endures is the human experience. What I seek to preserve is not a specific plant, a forest, or even Taiwan as a geographical entity — it is the evidence of how people and this land have once deeply loved one another.

I often ask myself: when I depart from this world, what will remain? It will not be awards, nor houses, nor anything that can be inherited. My work truly begins only when a perfume settles onto someone else’s skin. It is rewritten by their body heat, their breath, and their emotions. In this way, every bottle is completed only through the pulse of a stranger.

I may never know when they need it. Perhaps it is on a first date, during a painful farewell, or in the most mundane of daily commutes. I will never know those moments, but my work will be there, silently keeping them company. I crave this kind of relationship — one devoid of possession, obligation, or status, yet so genuinely surrendered. We are strangers who have never met, yet through a scent, we co-create a piece of art. I believe this is the trace I leave behind to prove I existed.

The true culture of a nation lies in how its people once lived, loved, grieved, and treated the world. Art should never dictate how a viewer must feel; what you perceive in my perfume comes from your own consciousness, your own universe. Perfume is an intensely private art form; it resides on the skin, within the breath, and amidst the fabric of daily life. I may never know the person who wears it, but to accompany a stranger through a chapter of their life is my way of loving this world.

Therefore, to archive Taiwan’s olfactory DNA is to preserve the traces of generations who lived, loved, and endured loss here.

At CENTRESTAGE, if you had to recommend just one perfume to the Hong Kong audience, which one would it be? Could you share the creative and emotional story behind the formulation and making of this particular scent?

To love for a lifetime, and to learn how to say goodbye — to the past, to the future, and to every fleeting moment captured and held by a scent. Here, we pause. It is a study on letting go. A mountain neither chases nor clings; it simply stands its ground. I want you to have the courage to walk forward, knowing that should you ever turn back, I will still be there.

During the time I created it, we were constantly reflecting on love. The world teaches us how to strive to love someone, yet it rarely teaches us how to gracefully step away after having loved deeply. It is my way of saying to the world: “Please, take care of yourself.”

I am a deeply shy person. Growing up, I was often criticised for not looking the part — for being aloof, cold, or arrogant. In the presence of strangers, I rarely find the courage to look them in the eyes and speak the words truly held in my heart. So I began to create perfume. It felt effortless — a private game I played with myself. Scent is more honest than language; it requires no justification, nor does it seek to persuade. It exists in silence.

What a scent truly reflects is not the creator, but the observer themselves. If, somewhere in this world, Mountain Stillness brings you a sense of belonging, please never forget: take care of yourself. What began as a quiet experiment to keep myself company ended up being the very way I learned to love this world.