No age statement needed here — just time whispered through wood and secrets sealed in cask. Black Art 10.1 is an incantation, not a bottle. It pours like dark gold ink, dense and luminous. The nose is surreal — dried fig, tobacco leaf, old leather, black cherries, antique furniture polish, salted caramel, forest floor after rain. It's a cathedral and a coven.

Take a sip and time dilates. Velvet tannins usher in waves of flavour: blood orange, dark cocoa, marzipan, aged balsamic, toasted almond, and burnt toffee. It twists and turns — never letting you pin it down. Just as you think you’ve found the heart, it shape-shifts.

Mid-palate reveals treacle tart, espresso crema, rosehip, and even a flash of tropical fruit hidden beneath the layers. The texture is silk over velvet — soft, weighted, ethereal. There’s no peat here, but the soul of Islay hums beneath.

The finish is never-ending. A slow dissolve into oak resin, black fruit, and sacred spice. You don’t drink this — you commune with it. A whisky for poets, mystics, and the truly curious.