Why Pomegranates?
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Long before it was decorative, the pomegranate was symbolic.
Long before it was sweet, it was sacred to artists, storytellers, and myth-makers who understood that beauty is rarely simple...and never tidy.
In ancient art and early civilizations, the pomegranate appeared again and again as a quiet constant: painted into still lifes, carved into stone, embroidered into textiles, pressed into the margins of stories meant to last. Its meaning was never singular. It stood for abundance and desire, for intimacy and return, for the moment when something is opened and forever changed.
Artists loved the pomegranate because it refused restraint. Smooth and closed on the outside, lavish and innumerable within, it asked to be broken open. It stained hands. It demanded attention. It rewarded those willing to linger. In paintings, it suggested sensuality without spectacle—pleasure rendered elegant, desire rendered deliberate.
Across cultures and centuries, the pomegranate came to mark thresholds. Not punishment. Not exile. Choice. The choice to descend. The choice to remain. The choice to return transformed. Darkness, in these stories, was never the end of joy; it was the place where joy learned its own depth.
This is where the Bound begins.
Bound is born from this lineage of art, story, and shared myth. It is devotional without religion—a reverence for story, for beauty, for the act of choosing wonder. It is kinky without cruelty—sensual, intentional, rooted in consent and care rather than shock. It is dark without despair—a celebration of shadow as fertile ground, not a thing to be feared. And it is opulent without ego—luxury not as exclusion, but as generosity, abundance offered freely and beautifully.
This is not a masquerade.
Not a spectacle.
Not a performance meant to be consumed.
It is an invitation.
An invitation to gather underground and by candlelight. To feast and to linger. To watch bodies move as art. To sit at tables where stories are honored. To step, willingly, into a space that asks nothing more of you than presence—and offers, in return, immersion.
Like the fruit itself, Bound is meant to be shared. It is communal. It is indulgent. It is a little messy, a little reverent, and entirely intentional. It exists at the meeting point of fantasy and fulfillment, where desire is not hidden and hope is not naïve.
The pomegranate has always promised this:
that what waits inside the dark is not loss, but multiplicity.
that abundance comes from opening.
that transformation can be chosen—and beautiful.
This is the story we are continuing.
This is the tradition we are building.
This is the night we gather.