(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
4
A greater than Veronese remains to be mentioned, a painter who was not only a consummate craftsman but also a profound thinker. This was Lorenzo Lotto (1480-1556) who, unlike his great contemporaries, was Venetian born. All the others—save Tintoretto, greatly his junior—came from the mainland: Giorgione from Castelfranco, Titian from Cadore, and Cagliari from Verona.
Few painters have lived so intense a life in the spirit as Lotto; none has written so plainly as he his soul-history in his works. A true son of Venice, his youthful mind turned to Byzantium rather than to Rome for instruction and inspiration. To him Giorgione and Titian appeared as foreign intruders; their worldliness shocked him, a follower of Savonarola. Lotto began by putting the Madonna back on a Byzantine throne in the apse of the church from which the painters of the Renaissance had taken her. Ploughing his lonely furrow at Venice he had his doubts, and in 1508 he journeyed south to see what Rome and Raphael had to teach him. What he saw there roused his reforming zeal, as it had that of Savonarola. Four years later (1512) he fled from metropolitan sinfulness and took refuge in the provincial tranquility of Bergamo.
Here he possessed his soul in peace, and as though touched by the spirit of St. Francis he became reconciled to nature. No longer is the Madonna enthroned in church, but placed in the open country, where all existing things seem to praise the Creator in their beauty. Lotto became a pantheist and his message is the gospel of love. With his Venetian predecessors and contemporaries the Virgin is either soulful and humble, or aristocratic and proud; Lotto paints her richly adorned, but imbues her countenance with a beneficent and tenderly maternal expression.
In portraiture Lotto is supreme even in a great epoch. When we look at this portrait in the National Gallery of ‘The Protonotary Apostolic Juliano,’ noting through the window the wide and boundless landscape traversed by a river which winds its way to the distant sea, noting also the exquisite Flemish-like painting of the still-life accessories, as well as the grave penetrating characterization of the man, we cannot agree with Dr Muther that Lotto regards his sitters ‘unconcerned with their decorative appearance’; but we do heartily agree that Lotto shows us people ‘in their hours of introspection.’
Why is it that Lotto, as a portrait-painter, strikes chords which, as Dr Muther says, ‘are echoed in no other Italian work.’ The explanation is this: ‘Only those whom he loved and honored were invited into his studio, and his circumstance alone differentiates his portraits from those of Raphael or Titian.’
Though never such a great figure in his day as Giorgione, Titian, or Tintoretto, Lotto was not without influence on his contemporaries. One who felt it and gained by it greatly was a painter who came from Brescia to Venice, Giambattista Moroni (c.1520-78). His ‘Portrait of a Tailor,’ is full of human sympathy and almost perfect in craftsmanship. It is deservedly one of the most popular portraits in the National Gallery, and many of us feel almost equally drawn to Moroni’s other great portrait at the National Gallery, ‘An Italian Nobleman’. Together they prove that, like Lotto, Moroni could extend his sympathies to sitters irrespective of their rank or position in life.
It is not easy to over-estimate the abundant excellence of portraiture in sixteenth century Venice. Just as the wealth and power of her merchant-citizens were the source of the success of the republican State of Venice, so the luxury they were able to afford drew to the island city of the Adriatic all the artistic talent born on the neighboring mainland. Of the multitude of artists who during this century were adorning the public buildings and private palaces of Venice, only a few of the most celebrated can here be enumerated. Cima came from Conegliano to Venice in 1492, and worked there till 1516 or later, carrying on in his Madonnas the tradition of Giovanni Bellini. Vincenzo di Biagio, known as Catena, was born at Treviso about 1470 and died at Venice in 1531. He was greatly influenced by Giorgione, to whom was once ascribed the beautiful painting ‘A Warrior adoring the Infant Christ,’ which the National Gallery catalogue now gives definitely to Catena. Sebastiano del Piombo (c.1485-1547), who about 1510 left Venice for Rome, where he was influenced by Raphael and Michael Angelo, has a special interest for us because his picture ‘The Raising of Lazarus’ was the beginning of the National Gallery collection. It is still ‘Number 1’. Palma Vecchio (1480-1528) was born near Bergamo, but came to Venice while still a student. Influenced first by Bellini and Giorgione, afterwards by Titian and Lotto, he very nearly reached the first rank, as his ‘Venus and Cupid,’ now in the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge amply proves. He is called Vecchio (=Old) to distinguish him from a later painter Palma Giovine (1544-1628) or Young Palma.
Jacopo da Ponte (1510-92), called Bassano from his birthplace, is also splendidly represented in the National Gallery by ‘The Good Samaritan,’ a painting which used to belong to Sir Joshua Reynolds. It is a magnificent example of vigor and muscular action.
In the art, as in the State of Venice, the spark of life lingered long. So late as the eighteenth century, Longhi, Canaletto, and Guardi painted delightfully her canals and palaces and the life of her public places, while Giambattista Tiepolo (1696-1770), painting in the tradition of Veronese, earned for himself the proud title ‘the last of the Old Masters.’
But with Tintoretto the last great word of Italy had been spoken, and when he died in 1594 it was left to the artists of other lands to take the tale.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
A smaller weight still than the carat is the unit of weight employed by dealers in pearls; namely, the grain. But this is not the apothecary’s grain and only weighs twenty five points or one-quarter of a carat.
Gems are not carried loose in the dealer’s pocket or jumbled loosely in a box. They are placed in neatly folded paper packages (there is one and only one universally recognized way of folding these) and each such package has an appropriately colored lining of specially prepared tissue or thinner paper. The object of the prescribed folding-creases in the wrapper is to prevent any stone from falling out, while the colored interior is intended to lend a suitable background with a view to creating a first favorable impression. There is no deceit intended by this and no expert is ever taken in by having goods presented to him in this wise.
Nevertheless, a neatly trimmed square of snowy cotton wool, upon which one’s gems are snugly bedded, has its psychological effect by persuading the eye that the stones on display have value; there is also the important practical fact that this packing prevents the finely cut points, edges and facets from being abraded by other stones in the same package.
The interior lining referred to is blue in various shades for pearls, a glossy white or cream for diamonds, brick red for emeralds, glossy white for rubies and sapphires, matt or glossy black for opals. Upon the flap of the folded package the methodical dealer sets down in a clear hand the number, the kind of stone and the weights. A number of paper packages are conveniently arranged in a soft leather wallet and held in place with an elastic band.
When closed and carried about in the dealer’s specially constructed deep pocket, a metal safety chain gives, or should give, additional security. The cautious dealer in precious stones, more than any other merchant, knows and bears constantly in mind that he is the chosen prey of the high class and intelligent (if intelligence of the true sort has anything to do with crime) criminal.
Of the pockets, hip-pocket and breast-pocket are dangerous. Two wallets, each carried in a separate division of a specially constructed waistcoat worn below the ordinary waistcoat seem to me to constitute a commendable way for carrying great values. There are other ways, upon which I need not elaborate here. Regular irregularity will also help to give a measure of protection against the ‘lie in wait’ fraternity. Do not make it a practice, I say to the beginner (it is no use trying to teach other old dogs new tricks)—do not make it a practice to set out on your rounds every day at the same hour or to return to your office at a given time. Take different roads each day. Don’t stop and look into shop windows; leave crowds severely alone. Keep your eyes open, and if you happen to notice the face of an unknown popping up again and again as you go round, take heed. Don’t challenge the owner of the face, for he may want nothing better. He may be provoking a quarrel, in which case the ‘lay’ is that his confederate of confederates will soon join in the fray and you will be mulcted before you realize you have fallen prey to a gang of crooks.
Again, take no strong drink while on business and certainly accept no treats from friendly strangers, not even a cup of innocent coffee or a cigarette. Either may be doped. Late nights of the festive order unfit a man for being custodian of gems the loss of which may mean all the difference between competence and penury. I won’t say don’t take nights out—merely, don’t work the morning after! A dealer in gems must be alert the whole of the time.
One principle that has always stood me in good stead is to keep good faith with the man behind the counter, the retail jeweler (or any other customer). The importance of being trusted cannot be overestimated. Therefore no statement should ever be made which cannot be borne out. If a shopkeeper asks me ‘Is this stone flawless?’ I give him an honest reply. There is a world of difference between ‘fairly clean,’ ‘eye clean’ and clean under the searching magnification of a powerful lens.
Such advice as that in the last paragraph might apply to any trade, but there is another piece of advice particularly applicable to those who handle gemstones, and I give it as it was given to me at the outset of my career by a dealer in Paris, a dainty little Frenchman of the old school: ‘Soignez vos mains, mon ami, car se sont vos étalages.’ ‘Make the most of your hands, my friend, for they are your show windows,’ is sound advice to the man who must needs display his wares on the back of his hand; for it is common practise to lay out the gems to be shown along the grooves of the fingers, and value of well kept hands is obvious. In this connection I might add that some dealers think it well to carry a small blue-white specimen brilliant (supposing they are buying or selling diamonds) in their wallets or set in a ring worn on the left hand for comparison with other stones.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
A smaller weight still than the carat is the unit of weight employed by dealers in pearls; namely, the grain. But this is not the apothecary’s grain and only weighs twenty five points or one-quarter of a carat.
Gems are not carried loose in the dealer’s pocket or jumbled loosely in a box. They are placed in neatly folded paper packages (there is one and only one universally recognized way of folding these) and each such package has an appropriately colored lining of specially prepared tissue or thinner paper. The object of the prescribed folding-creases in the wrapper is to prevent any stone from falling out, while the colored interior is intended to lend a suitable background with a view to creating a first favorable impression. There is no deceit intended by this and no expert is ever taken in by having goods presented to him in this wise.
Nevertheless, a neatly trimmed square of snowy cotton wool, upon which one’s gems are snugly bedded, has its psychological effect by persuading the eye that the stones on display have value; there is also the important practical fact that this packing prevents the finely cut points, edges and facets from being abraded by other stones in the same package.
The interior lining referred to is blue in various shades for pearls, a glossy white or cream for diamonds, brick red for emeralds, glossy white for rubies and sapphires, matt or glossy black for opals. Upon the flap of the folded package the methodical dealer sets down in a clear hand the number, the kind of stone and the weights. A number of paper packages are conveniently arranged in a soft leather wallet and held in place with an elastic band.
When closed and carried about in the dealer’s specially constructed deep pocket, a metal safety chain gives, or should give, additional security. The cautious dealer in precious stones, more than any other merchant, knows and bears constantly in mind that he is the chosen prey of the high class and intelligent (if intelligence of the true sort has anything to do with crime) criminal.
Of the pockets, hip-pocket and breast-pocket are dangerous. Two wallets, each carried in a separate division of a specially constructed waistcoat worn below the ordinary waistcoat seem to me to constitute a commendable way for carrying great values. There are other ways, upon which I need not elaborate here. Regular irregularity will also help to give a measure of protection against the ‘lie in wait’ fraternity. Do not make it a practice, I say to the beginner (it is no use trying to teach other old dogs new tricks)—do not make it a practice to set out on your rounds every day at the same hour or to return to your office at a given time. Take different roads each day. Don’t stop and look into shop windows; leave crowds severely alone. Keep your eyes open, and if you happen to notice the face of an unknown popping up again and again as you go round, take heed. Don’t challenge the owner of the face, for he may want nothing better. He may be provoking a quarrel, in which case the ‘lay’ is that his confederate of confederates will soon join in the fray and you will be mulcted before you realize you have fallen prey to a gang of crooks.
Again, take no strong drink while on business and certainly accept no treats from friendly strangers, not even a cup of innocent coffee or a cigarette. Either may be doped. Late nights of the festive order unfit a man for being custodian of gems the loss of which may mean all the difference between competence and penury. I won’t say don’t take nights out—merely, don’t work the morning after! A dealer in gems must be alert the whole of the time.
One principle that has always stood me in good stead is to keep good faith with the man behind the counter, the retail jeweler (or any other customer). The importance of being trusted cannot be overestimated. Therefore no statement should ever be made which cannot be borne out. If a shopkeeper asks me ‘Is this stone flawless?’ I give him an honest reply. There is a world of difference between ‘fairly clean,’ ‘eye clean’ and clean under the searching magnification of a powerful lens.
Such advice as that in the last paragraph might apply to any trade, but there is another piece of advice particularly applicable to those who handle gemstones, and I give it as it was given to me at the outset of my career by a dealer in Paris, a dainty little Frenchman of the old school: ‘Soignez vos mains, mon ami, car se sont vos étalages.’ ‘Make the most of your hands, my friend, for they are your show windows,’ is sound advice to the man who must needs display his wares on the back of his hand; for it is common practise to lay out the gems to be shown along the grooves of the fingers, and value of well kept hands is obvious. In this connection I might add that some dealers think it well to carry a small blue-white specimen brilliant (supposing they are buying or selling diamonds) in their wallets or set in a ring worn on the left hand for comparison with other stones.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
Murphy's Law
I think there are many lessons for gem dealers + gemologists + jewelers + art dealers + others. Here is a list of Murphy's Laws + variations of it. It's educational.
- If anything can go wrong it will.
- Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
- Everything takes longer than you expect.
- If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will do the most damage will go wrong first.
- Left to themselves, all things go from bad to worse.
- If you play with something long enough, you will surely break it.
- If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
- If you see that there are four possible ways in which a procedure can go wrong, and circumvent these, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.
- Nature always sides with the hidden flaw.
- Mother Nature is cruel.
- It is impossible to make anything fool-proof, because fools are so ingenious.
- If a great deal of time has been expended seeking the answer to a problem with the only result being failure, the answer will be immediately obvious to the first unqualified person.
- If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway.
Useful link: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murphy's_law
- If anything can go wrong it will.
- Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
- Everything takes longer than you expect.
- If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will do the most damage will go wrong first.
- Left to themselves, all things go from bad to worse.
- If you play with something long enough, you will surely break it.
- If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
- If you see that there are four possible ways in which a procedure can go wrong, and circumvent these, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.
- Nature always sides with the hidden flaw.
- Mother Nature is cruel.
- It is impossible to make anything fool-proof, because fools are so ingenious.
- If a great deal of time has been expended seeking the answer to a problem with the only result being failure, the answer will be immediately obvious to the first unqualified person.
- If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway.
Useful link: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murphy's_law
Why People Trade in Gemstones + Jewelry + Art
I think:
- To invest
- To exchange assets
- To distribute risks
- To gamble
- To speculate
- To deal
- To make profit
- To enjoy
- To do the right thing
- To learn
- To borrow
- To invest
- To exchange assets
- To distribute risks
- To gamble
- To speculate
- To deal
- To make profit
- To enjoy
- To do the right thing
- To learn
- To borrow
Thursday, December 13, 2007
EGL SpectroGEM
It has been reported that The Israel Diamond Exchange (IDE) + The European Gemological Laboratory (EGL)'s EGL SpectroGEM is able to detect natural, synthetic or treated (high-pressure high-temperature --HPHT) diamonds.
Factory Man Made A Weld Of His Own
(via The Observer) Stephen Bayley writes about Jean Prouvé + his (singular mechanical intelligence to) architecture and design + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/design/story/0,,2224522,00.html
Maria Callas
Maria Callas also known as La Divina was an American-born Greek operatic soprano + the best-known opera singer of the post-World War II period + her repertoire ranged from classical opera seria to the bel canto operas of Donizetti, Bellini, and Rossini, + the works of Verdi and Puccini, + the music dramas of Wagner + her voice was a very special instrument + had a unique magical quality: Callas.
She had a beautiful voice.
Useful links:
www.callas.it
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Callas
She had a beautiful voice.
Useful links:
www.callas.it
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Callas
Detour
Detour (1945)
Directed by: Edgar G. Ulmer
Screenplay: Martin Goldsmith (novel); Martin Goldsmith, Martin Mooney
Cast: Tom Neal, Ann Savage
(via YouTube): DETOUR movie song 1945 by Johnny August
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svcUWjFvvYk
I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Edgar G. Ulmer
Screenplay: Martin Goldsmith (novel); Martin Goldsmith, Martin Mooney
Cast: Tom Neal, Ann Savage
(via YouTube): DETOUR movie song 1945 by Johnny August
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svcUWjFvvYk
I enjoyed it.
The Perils Of Painting
Susan Josephs writes about the toxic materials artists use for their work + arts-related health and safety matters + nontoxic alternatives + other viewpoints @ http://artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=611
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
Working side by side first with Titian, afterwards with Tintoretto, was Paolo Cagliari, who, from Verona, the city of his birth, was known as Paul Veronese (1528-88). The whole splendor of Venice is revealed in his paintings, and his decorations in the Ducal Palace give immortality to the pageantry which characterized the Italy of his time.
When the Venetian Senate gave a festival in honor of King Henry III of France, the monarch was received (so history tell us) by two hundred of the fairest damsels in the city, dressed in white and covered with pearls and diamonds, ‘so that the King thought he had suddenly entered a realm of goddesses and fairies.’
This is the realm we enter through a canvas by Veronese, whether his subject be professedly historical, as in ‘The Family of Darius before Alexander’ in the National Gallery, or professedly religious as in ‘The Marriage of Cana’ at Dresden. We have only to look at this painting with all its wordily pomp and ostentatious luxury to see how far art has traveled from the simple piety of the earlier Primitive Masters.
The monasteries were the chief employers of Veronese as the eminent critic Mr Berenson has pointed out: ‘His cheerfulness, and his frank and joyous worldliness—the qualities, in short, which we find in his huge pictures of feasts—seem to have been particularly welcome to those who were expected to make their meat and drink of the very opposite qualities. This is no small comment on the times, and shows how thorough had been the permeation of the spirit of the Renaissance when even the religious orders gave up their pretence to asceticism and piety.’
A time came, however, when Veronese went too far even for the depraved ecclesiastics of his day. When he painted ‘The Last Supper’—now in the Louvre—in the style of ‘The Marriage at Cana,’ with the same glitter of crystal, silver, and jewels, the same sheen of silks and satins, the same multitude of serving men and attendants, the stricter clerics were scandalized. Information was laid against the painter, and on July 18, 1573, Paul Veronese was summoned before the tribunal of the Inquisition.
Exactly what happened then is not clearly known: while escaping banishment or severer punishment, the artist was sternly rebuked for his wordily treatment of religious subjects; and though the reprimand appears to have had little permanent effect on his paintings, it is significant to note that his ‘Adoration of the Magi’ in the National Gallery, which is dated 1573, is both in conception and in execution far more simple and respectful than are the majority of Veronese’s pictures of sacred subjects.
The most beautiful picture by Veronese in the National Gallery, and one of the most haunting of all his work, is ‘St. Helena’s Vision of the Cross,’ which is as reposeful as a piece of antique Greek sculpture and a superbly decorative example of the artist’s skill as a maker of patterns. The curious will note in this work how cunningly the painter has arranged the figure to secure decorative balance and rhythm, how the right leg continuing the line of the forearm repeats the diagonal of the cross, while the sharp horizontal of the cherub’s wing repeats the line of the window-sill. In these devices we recognize the hand of a master-craftsman.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
3
Working side by side first with Titian, afterwards with Tintoretto, was Paolo Cagliari, who, from Verona, the city of his birth, was known as Paul Veronese (1528-88). The whole splendor of Venice is revealed in his paintings, and his decorations in the Ducal Palace give immortality to the pageantry which characterized the Italy of his time.
When the Venetian Senate gave a festival in honor of King Henry III of France, the monarch was received (so history tell us) by two hundred of the fairest damsels in the city, dressed in white and covered with pearls and diamonds, ‘so that the King thought he had suddenly entered a realm of goddesses and fairies.’
This is the realm we enter through a canvas by Veronese, whether his subject be professedly historical, as in ‘The Family of Darius before Alexander’ in the National Gallery, or professedly religious as in ‘The Marriage of Cana’ at Dresden. We have only to look at this painting with all its wordily pomp and ostentatious luxury to see how far art has traveled from the simple piety of the earlier Primitive Masters.
The monasteries were the chief employers of Veronese as the eminent critic Mr Berenson has pointed out: ‘His cheerfulness, and his frank and joyous worldliness—the qualities, in short, which we find in his huge pictures of feasts—seem to have been particularly welcome to those who were expected to make their meat and drink of the very opposite qualities. This is no small comment on the times, and shows how thorough had been the permeation of the spirit of the Renaissance when even the religious orders gave up their pretence to asceticism and piety.’
A time came, however, when Veronese went too far even for the depraved ecclesiastics of his day. When he painted ‘The Last Supper’—now in the Louvre—in the style of ‘The Marriage at Cana,’ with the same glitter of crystal, silver, and jewels, the same sheen of silks and satins, the same multitude of serving men and attendants, the stricter clerics were scandalized. Information was laid against the painter, and on July 18, 1573, Paul Veronese was summoned before the tribunal of the Inquisition.
Exactly what happened then is not clearly known: while escaping banishment or severer punishment, the artist was sternly rebuked for his wordily treatment of religious subjects; and though the reprimand appears to have had little permanent effect on his paintings, it is significant to note that his ‘Adoration of the Magi’ in the National Gallery, which is dated 1573, is both in conception and in execution far more simple and respectful than are the majority of Veronese’s pictures of sacred subjects.
The most beautiful picture by Veronese in the National Gallery, and one of the most haunting of all his work, is ‘St. Helena’s Vision of the Cross,’ which is as reposeful as a piece of antique Greek sculpture and a superbly decorative example of the artist’s skill as a maker of patterns. The curious will note in this work how cunningly the painter has arranged the figure to secure decorative balance and rhythm, how the right leg continuing the line of the forearm repeats the diagonal of the cross, while the sharp horizontal of the cherub’s wing repeats the line of the window-sill. In these devices we recognize the hand of a master-craftsman.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
If, however, the offer is rejected, the owners may in their reply cable state another price, but as a rule the potential buyer has to increase his bid by slow stages until he and the owner meet—by cable—at a common price. Your Oriental merchant is not in great haste to part with his wares even by cablegram, so that gem buying from half-way across the world may demand just the same virtues of patience and insight into your opponent’s mentality as buying a curio in an Oriental bazaar. But there is one difference, at least. The buyer can take his time without fearing that another will cut in with a better offer, for no one else can see the goods, which, pending the ultimate decision, have been placed under his own seal in a safeguarding envelope according to the unvarying custom of the trade.
Long-distance bids and the protracted nature of the proceedings, however, make it virtually impossible for the small dealer to buy at first hand from source. He must come in at a later stage of the proceedings.
There are several ways open to the merchant who has completed a successful purchase and taken up a parcel of stones. He can, if he is known as a real expert and a keen buyer, obtain a profit from another dealer by merely disclosing what the goods cost him. In normal times a profit margin of anything from five to seven and a half percent will be offered him ‘blind’, that is without even an inspection beforehand of the goods contained in the sealed envelope.
Another way is to break the original seal and show the goods either himself or, as is customary, through a broker.
Or, finally, instead of selling the stones in the state he bought them, the dealer may choose not to sell them before having had them cut and polished, in which case he will grade them and send for his lapidary. When the gems have been fully fashioned, each in accordance with its structure, and the skillful lapidary has made the most of his material, the gems are again graded according to size, shape, luster and quality, and once more the broker is called on.
A good broker is worth his weight in diamond dust. He is not supposed to make a profit on the goods himself as apart from the legitimate commission paid him by the seller, and unless otherwise agreed on, the recognized rates are one percent on diamonds, two percent on pearls, and anything from two and a half percent on precious and semi-precious stones. Whether the sale effected is one for spot cash of terms—that is, credit—the commission is payable there and then to the broker, who is not supposed to take any financial risks whatever.
The gem dealer’s tools deserve mention here. They are not of an elaborate nature. In fact, they are of the simplest kind. For picking up the smaller stones the dealer or lapidary uses tweezers called ‘corn-tongs’; for sorting them in sizes he calls to his aid a circular brass box filled with movable perforated disks. This constitutes a diminutive colander and saves a great deal of labor. Then a powerful lens is indispensable, and for wiping the stones clean there there is of course nothing better than a soft chamois leather. Accurately balanced scales for weighing the gems are another indispensable item for any trader whose cargo is so precious that a five hundred millioneth of a metric ton may make a difference to him one way or another of ten or twenty pounds. Most dealers have several sets of scales: one maybe for single stones, another in which to weigh whole parcels, small pairs handy for carrying in the pocket, and as often as not a pair of scales enclosed in a glass case so that no stray current of air or small floating particles of dust may unduly affect the delicately poised beam.
In the gem importing trading centers like Antwerp, Amsterdam, Paris and London, the purchaser has the right, and not infrequently exercises it, of having the accurate weight of a single stone or of a parcel of gems determined by an unbiased third party. In the localities where the dealers have their professional clubs or associations, an official appointed for the purpose does the weighing and issues a certificate. In London, where no such club exists, the Jeweler’s section of the London Chamber of Commerce has established such a service for the convenience of the trade on payment of a small fee.
The price of semi-precious stones of the lower order is usually quoted per gramme or per ounce (thirty grammes go to the ounce). For semi-precious stones of the higher order and for precious stones the carat weight is the standard unit. No less than five million carats go to make up a metric ton, which gives an idea of the smallness of the carat weight. The carat itself is subdivided into a hundred parts, any one of which is called a point. One ‘point’ more or less in the established weight may mean a pound or so in or out of pocket when the stone in question is priced at something like a hundred pounds a carat.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
If, however, the offer is rejected, the owners may in their reply cable state another price, but as a rule the potential buyer has to increase his bid by slow stages until he and the owner meet—by cable—at a common price. Your Oriental merchant is not in great haste to part with his wares even by cablegram, so that gem buying from half-way across the world may demand just the same virtues of patience and insight into your opponent’s mentality as buying a curio in an Oriental bazaar. But there is one difference, at least. The buyer can take his time without fearing that another will cut in with a better offer, for no one else can see the goods, which, pending the ultimate decision, have been placed under his own seal in a safeguarding envelope according to the unvarying custom of the trade.
Long-distance bids and the protracted nature of the proceedings, however, make it virtually impossible for the small dealer to buy at first hand from source. He must come in at a later stage of the proceedings.
There are several ways open to the merchant who has completed a successful purchase and taken up a parcel of stones. He can, if he is known as a real expert and a keen buyer, obtain a profit from another dealer by merely disclosing what the goods cost him. In normal times a profit margin of anything from five to seven and a half percent will be offered him ‘blind’, that is without even an inspection beforehand of the goods contained in the sealed envelope.
Another way is to break the original seal and show the goods either himself or, as is customary, through a broker.
Or, finally, instead of selling the stones in the state he bought them, the dealer may choose not to sell them before having had them cut and polished, in which case he will grade them and send for his lapidary. When the gems have been fully fashioned, each in accordance with its structure, and the skillful lapidary has made the most of his material, the gems are again graded according to size, shape, luster and quality, and once more the broker is called on.
A good broker is worth his weight in diamond dust. He is not supposed to make a profit on the goods himself as apart from the legitimate commission paid him by the seller, and unless otherwise agreed on, the recognized rates are one percent on diamonds, two percent on pearls, and anything from two and a half percent on precious and semi-precious stones. Whether the sale effected is one for spot cash of terms—that is, credit—the commission is payable there and then to the broker, who is not supposed to take any financial risks whatever.
The gem dealer’s tools deserve mention here. They are not of an elaborate nature. In fact, they are of the simplest kind. For picking up the smaller stones the dealer or lapidary uses tweezers called ‘corn-tongs’; for sorting them in sizes he calls to his aid a circular brass box filled with movable perforated disks. This constitutes a diminutive colander and saves a great deal of labor. Then a powerful lens is indispensable, and for wiping the stones clean there there is of course nothing better than a soft chamois leather. Accurately balanced scales for weighing the gems are another indispensable item for any trader whose cargo is so precious that a five hundred millioneth of a metric ton may make a difference to him one way or another of ten or twenty pounds. Most dealers have several sets of scales: one maybe for single stones, another in which to weigh whole parcels, small pairs handy for carrying in the pocket, and as often as not a pair of scales enclosed in a glass case so that no stray current of air or small floating particles of dust may unduly affect the delicately poised beam.
In the gem importing trading centers like Antwerp, Amsterdam, Paris and London, the purchaser has the right, and not infrequently exercises it, of having the accurate weight of a single stone or of a parcel of gems determined by an unbiased third party. In the localities where the dealers have their professional clubs or associations, an official appointed for the purpose does the weighing and issues a certificate. In London, where no such club exists, the Jeweler’s section of the London Chamber of Commerce has established such a service for the convenience of the trade on payment of a small fee.
The price of semi-precious stones of the lower order is usually quoted per gramme or per ounce (thirty grammes go to the ounce). For semi-precious stones of the higher order and for precious stones the carat weight is the standard unit. No less than five million carats go to make up a metric ton, which gives an idea of the smallness of the carat weight. The carat itself is subdivided into a hundred parts, any one of which is called a point. One ‘point’ more or less in the established weight may mean a pound or so in or out of pocket when the stone in question is priced at something like a hundred pounds a carat.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
Succisa Virescit
Latin for 'Cut it down, and it will grow back stronger.' Find your niche + find that pain (heat+pressure) that makes you stronger + learn what exists inside you + when it is cut down, makes you grow back stronger = mentally uniform solid person with an orderly internal character.
Don Henly
Don Henley is an American rock singer + songwriter + drummer + best known as a founding member of the Eagles before launching a successful Grammy Award winning solo career + he has a distinctive style + he is active in several environmental/political causes, notably the Walden Woods Project + Caddo Lake Institute + Recording Artists' Coalition.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.donhenley.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Henley
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.donhenley.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Henley
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Intense Blue Diamond
It has been reported that a 6.5 carat intense blue diamond has been sold by the French auction house Guizzetti-Collet for €2.43 million ($3.56 million)/ $547,692 per carat.
Man Finds 1,000th Diamond Of '07 At Park
Denis Tyrrell's exciting diamond find (3.48-carat) at the Crater of Diamonds State Park, Arkansas + his story @ http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071210/ap_on_fe_st/odd1000th_diamond
The Discreet Charm Of The Bourgeoisie
The Discreet Charm Of The Bourgeoisie (1972)
Directed by: Luis Buñuel Screenplay: Luis Buñuel, Jean-Claude Carrière
Cast: Fernando Rey, Delphine Seyrig, Stephane Audran, Jean-Pierre Cassel
(via YouTube): Criterion Trailer 102: The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ7m-Jb4a5g
The Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z50Gg_16H4
Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie - The Police Arrest
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DS3OW7sxas
Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie/The Dry Martini Lecture
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ-jNWFBVuA
A casual movie magic + fun/surprise + delightful. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Luis Buñuel Screenplay: Luis Buñuel, Jean-Claude Carrière
Cast: Fernando Rey, Delphine Seyrig, Stephane Audran, Jean-Pierre Cassel
(via YouTube): Criterion Trailer 102: The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ7m-Jb4a5g
The Discreet Charm of The Bourgeoisie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z50Gg_16H4
Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie - The Police Arrest
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DS3OW7sxas
Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie/The Dry Martini Lecture
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ-jNWFBVuA
A casual movie magic + fun/surprise + delightful. I enjoyed it.
Witnesses To The World
(via The Guardian) Andrew Motion writes about the great photographic agency, Magnum Magnum + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/photography/story/0,,2223834,00.html
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/gallery/2007/nov/15/photography?picture=331277123
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/gallery/2007/nov/15/photography?picture=331277123
From Slot Machines To The Sublime
Milton Esterow writes about the new concept where Guggenheim + the Hermitage team up to dazzle the masses in Las Vegas, expanding beyond painting and sculpture to architecture, film, video, design, multimedia + the impact + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1026
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
The glowing mantle of Titian fell on the shoulders of Jacopo Robusti, nicknamed Tintoretto (the ‘Little Dyer’) from the calling of his father, Battista Robusti, who was a dyer, in Italian tintore. Tintoretto was born at Venice in 1518 and, having shown his precocious genius by covering the walls of his father’s house with drawings and sketches, he was apprenticed as a pupil to Titian. Despite his prodigious capacity, for already the skill and speed of his workmanship were astonishing, he was not a satisfactory pupil. After some time Titian dismissed him, according to one account because he was jealous of his pupil, according to another because Tintoretto ‘would in no wise give obedience to commands.’ From all we know of Tintoretto’s proud, wilful character the latter reason seems probable.
Left to himself, Tintoretto set up his own workshop, in which he nailed up the legend ‘The Design of Michael Angelo and the Coloring of Titian’. Not only did he live up to his motto as regards his drawing and color, but to these he added his own supreme understanding of light and shade; and thus he was able to surpass Titian in the keenness of his literal yet romantic observation, and to outdo even Michael Angelo himself in the furious speed and energy of his execution. Amazing stories are told of Tintoretto’s activity. ‘This artist,’ remarks his contemporary Vasari, ‘always contrives by the most singular proceedings in the world to be constantly employed, seeing that when the good offices of his friends and other methods have failed to procure him any work of which there is question, he will nevertheless manage to obtain it, either by accepting it at a very low price, by doing it as a gift, or even by seizing on it by force.’
An instance of this kind occurred when the Brotherhood of San Rocco decided to have the ceiling of their refectory painted with decorations. The four leading painters of Venice—Zucchero, Salviati, Veronese, and Tintoretto—were summoned to San Rocco and invited to submit designs for the project. It was announced that the commission would be given to the artist who produced the best design. ‘But while the other artists were giving themselves with all diligence to the preparation of their designs, Tintoretto made an exact measurement of the space for which the picture was required, and taking a large canvas, he painted it without saying a word to any one and, with his usual celerity, putting it up in the place destined to receive it.
‘One morning, therefore, when the Brotherhood had assembled to see the designs and to determine the matter, they found that Tintoretto had entirely completed the work, nay, that he had fixed it in its place.’
Naturally the three other artists were furious, and the head of the Brotherhood angrily inquired why Tintoretto had taken it on himself to complete the work when he had only been asked to submit a design in an open competition.
‘This is my method of preparing designs,’ answered Tintoretto; ‘I do not know how to make them in any other manner. All designs and models for a work should be executed in this fashion, to the end that the persons interested may see what it is intended to offer them, and may not be deceived.
‘If you do not think it proper to pay for the work and remunerate me for my pains, then,’ the artist proudly added, ‘ I will make you a present of it.’
Thus, as Vasari relates, Tintoretto, ‘though not with opposition, contrived so to manage matters that the picture still retains its place.’
Though he painted numerous portraits and altar-pieces, Tintoretto was essentially a decorative painter, and his mightiest achievements are on the walls and ceilings of the palaces and public buildings of Venice. His ‘Paradiso’ in the Ducal Palace is the largest painting in the world, eight four feet wide by thirty four feet high, and of this stupendous achievement and of most of his other great works no photograph can give any adequate idea. But fortunately the picture which is universally acknowledged to be Tintoretto’s masterpiece is not on the same colossal scale. ‘The Miracle of St. Mark,’ is one of four large pictures painted by Tintoretto for the School of San Marco in Venice. It represents the Evangelist—who was the Patron Saint of Venice—appearing in the air and ‘delivering a man who was his votary from grievous torments, which an executioner is seen to be preparing for him: the irons which the tormentors are endeavoring to apply break short in their hands, and cannot be turned against that devout man.’
The dramatic element in Titian’s work is seen heightened and intensified in many of Tintoretto’s paintings, but nowhere is it more splendidly manifest than in this impressive imagining of a supernatural event. Again we seem to hear the rush of air caused by the downward sweep of the Saint, from whom a celestial light irradiates. This great picture is not only a illustration of a saintly legend; it had a symbolical meaning of great importance to Tintoretto’s contemporaries. At this time political relations between Venice flattered themselves they were better Christians than the Romans, and were delighted to see in Tintoretto’s masterpiece a picture in which they saw the Popes as the executioners of the Church, which is to be saved only by the fortunate interference of the Republic of St. Mark.
When Tintoretto died in 1594 there were no more great religious painters in Italy. Unlike Titian, who ‘had never received from Heaven aught but favor and felicity,’ and so throughout a long life looked out with ever joyous eyes, Tintoretto, notwithstanding his professional prosperity, was overshadowed by a spiritual gloom which finds expression in his mighty pictures. The works of his manhood and maturity show little of that serene joy in existence which glows from the canvases of Titian; but in the fitful lighting of their sombre depths, in a constantly recurring hint of tragedy, they reveal a consciousness of stormy days to come, of perils for Church and State, which entitle us to see in Tintoretto a harbinger of the Reformation and the wars of religion.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
2
The glowing mantle of Titian fell on the shoulders of Jacopo Robusti, nicknamed Tintoretto (the ‘Little Dyer’) from the calling of his father, Battista Robusti, who was a dyer, in Italian tintore. Tintoretto was born at Venice in 1518 and, having shown his precocious genius by covering the walls of his father’s house with drawings and sketches, he was apprenticed as a pupil to Titian. Despite his prodigious capacity, for already the skill and speed of his workmanship were astonishing, he was not a satisfactory pupil. After some time Titian dismissed him, according to one account because he was jealous of his pupil, according to another because Tintoretto ‘would in no wise give obedience to commands.’ From all we know of Tintoretto’s proud, wilful character the latter reason seems probable.
Left to himself, Tintoretto set up his own workshop, in which he nailed up the legend ‘The Design of Michael Angelo and the Coloring of Titian’. Not only did he live up to his motto as regards his drawing and color, but to these he added his own supreme understanding of light and shade; and thus he was able to surpass Titian in the keenness of his literal yet romantic observation, and to outdo even Michael Angelo himself in the furious speed and energy of his execution. Amazing stories are told of Tintoretto’s activity. ‘This artist,’ remarks his contemporary Vasari, ‘always contrives by the most singular proceedings in the world to be constantly employed, seeing that when the good offices of his friends and other methods have failed to procure him any work of which there is question, he will nevertheless manage to obtain it, either by accepting it at a very low price, by doing it as a gift, or even by seizing on it by force.’
An instance of this kind occurred when the Brotherhood of San Rocco decided to have the ceiling of their refectory painted with decorations. The four leading painters of Venice—Zucchero, Salviati, Veronese, and Tintoretto—were summoned to San Rocco and invited to submit designs for the project. It was announced that the commission would be given to the artist who produced the best design. ‘But while the other artists were giving themselves with all diligence to the preparation of their designs, Tintoretto made an exact measurement of the space for which the picture was required, and taking a large canvas, he painted it without saying a word to any one and, with his usual celerity, putting it up in the place destined to receive it.
‘One morning, therefore, when the Brotherhood had assembled to see the designs and to determine the matter, they found that Tintoretto had entirely completed the work, nay, that he had fixed it in its place.’
Naturally the three other artists were furious, and the head of the Brotherhood angrily inquired why Tintoretto had taken it on himself to complete the work when he had only been asked to submit a design in an open competition.
‘This is my method of preparing designs,’ answered Tintoretto; ‘I do not know how to make them in any other manner. All designs and models for a work should be executed in this fashion, to the end that the persons interested may see what it is intended to offer them, and may not be deceived.
‘If you do not think it proper to pay for the work and remunerate me for my pains, then,’ the artist proudly added, ‘ I will make you a present of it.’
Thus, as Vasari relates, Tintoretto, ‘though not with opposition, contrived so to manage matters that the picture still retains its place.’
Though he painted numerous portraits and altar-pieces, Tintoretto was essentially a decorative painter, and his mightiest achievements are on the walls and ceilings of the palaces and public buildings of Venice. His ‘Paradiso’ in the Ducal Palace is the largest painting in the world, eight four feet wide by thirty four feet high, and of this stupendous achievement and of most of his other great works no photograph can give any adequate idea. But fortunately the picture which is universally acknowledged to be Tintoretto’s masterpiece is not on the same colossal scale. ‘The Miracle of St. Mark,’ is one of four large pictures painted by Tintoretto for the School of San Marco in Venice. It represents the Evangelist—who was the Patron Saint of Venice—appearing in the air and ‘delivering a man who was his votary from grievous torments, which an executioner is seen to be preparing for him: the irons which the tormentors are endeavoring to apply break short in their hands, and cannot be turned against that devout man.’
The dramatic element in Titian’s work is seen heightened and intensified in many of Tintoretto’s paintings, but nowhere is it more splendidly manifest than in this impressive imagining of a supernatural event. Again we seem to hear the rush of air caused by the downward sweep of the Saint, from whom a celestial light irradiates. This great picture is not only a illustration of a saintly legend; it had a symbolical meaning of great importance to Tintoretto’s contemporaries. At this time political relations between Venice flattered themselves they were better Christians than the Romans, and were delighted to see in Tintoretto’s masterpiece a picture in which they saw the Popes as the executioners of the Church, which is to be saved only by the fortunate interference of the Republic of St. Mark.
When Tintoretto died in 1594 there were no more great religious painters in Italy. Unlike Titian, who ‘had never received from Heaven aught but favor and felicity,’ and so throughout a long life looked out with ever joyous eyes, Tintoretto, notwithstanding his professional prosperity, was overshadowed by a spiritual gloom which finds expression in his mighty pictures. The works of his manhood and maturity show little of that serene joy in existence which glows from the canvases of Titian; but in the fitful lighting of their sombre depths, in a constantly recurring hint of tragedy, they reveal a consciousness of stormy days to come, of perils for Church and State, which entitle us to see in Tintoretto a harbinger of the Reformation and the wars of religion.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I have traveled over the stream from my years of opal to my years of Jade—from childhood to past middle age—from Vienna of the Old Emperor to China eternally the same. I think there are no more gems to symbolize the years that remain. As I write the threat of war hangs over London, a city wide open to the air attacks of an enemy. Putting off the ledgers, the corn-tongs, the balances, of the gem merchant, I put in my lapel the badge of the air warden and proceed to fit several hundreds of my fellow citizens with gas masks instead of with necklaces and rings. There is no gem for this stage of my life, when every day is itself a jewel hung on a brittle thread.
But I cannot stop here without giving you some idea of the procedures and customs of the trade, although I have already mentioned these here and there in passing. Something of the people, too, who deal in gems I must tell you. Many intelligent people with whom I have had occasion to discuss the subject of precious stones have labored under the impression that the dealers in that commodity are necessarily men of considerable affluence, if not of great wealth. That is far from being so, and in fact most of the men engaged in this highly specialized commerce depend upon the credits extended to them by the trade itself or by accommodating and enterprising merchant bankers in such trade centers as Amsterdam, Antwerp and Paris.
Trading in gemstones can at worst be as prosaic, or even as sordid, an occupation as that in any other goods. But at its best it can be sublimated into something that reflects the romance inherent in those beautiful and rare substances, the elite of the mineral kingdom.
An experience extending to well over half a century has taught me that those dealers who concern themselves least with the manifold aspects of the noble merchandise which passes daily through their hands become the greatest successes in a worldly sense. ‘Profits’ is the one beautiful word with them and it cannot materialize until they have got rid of a gem; they are not thrilled at sight of an uncommonly fine jewel, they are not puffed up with the pride of possession when they chance to outbid their competitors for a lovely thing, and they have no pangs of parting when it passes from their hands into those of others. Never having taken the gem into their hearts, its departures creates no void. They neither buy nor avoid selling out of sentiment. Such men die rich, Heavens help them.
But apart from lack of sentiment, there is often a sheer lack of knowledge among dealers about the goods they sell. That the diamond, for instance, is essentially pure crystallized carbon is a fact very well known to most people, and yet I have actually come across diamond merchants to whom they was news, and news to be taken with a grain of salt at that! Nor do many dealers in sapphires and rubies know that the blue stone and the red are full brothers. And as for the dealers who know nothing about any of the precious or semi-precious stones except those in which they themselves happen to deal, their name is legion.
This does not speak well for a large proportion of the merchants who trade habitually in articles which are a perennial source of wonder and romantic interest to the general public. But fortunately there are others and their number is not inconsiderable. They are all well informed, keenly appreciative of the distinguishing features of the many gemstones which go to make up the long list of the precious minerals. Amongst these men there are not a few all-round connoisseurs, and being known as such far and wide, they receive rare specimens from all parts of the world to enrich their collections. While no trader’s pocket is deep enough to permit him to acquire every fine gem which is offered him, these experts do not lightly pass by a stone which appeals to their imagination; and having acquired it, they defer the date of parting from it until the commercial instinct within them gains the upper hand. This is the reason why the connoisseur, who knows all there is to know about gems, frequently has a much less important bank balance than the dealer who does not know and does not care.
I have in mind a dealer friend of mine, to whom £1000 in hard cash would be a godsend, not because he is poor or in want, but because his mania for collecting fine specimens has left him frightfully short of ready money. His latest acquisition is a specimen ruby he could have sold many times over at a good profit. Instead, it sleeps in his wallet on a snowy pad of cotton-wool, eating its head off in interest. In fact, it eats up more in interest on his money than a pedigreed hunter would require for a year’s oats. For the dealer who cannot bear to sell his goods might as well keep a racing stable and be done with it!
But my friend says: ‘I haven’t got wife, child or hobby. When I feel lonesome or depressed I bring out that ruby and know that life is worth living.’
To those unfamiliar with the procedure in marketing gemstones it may of interest to learn that as soon as a consignment of stones in the rough—that is, in the uncut state or in the state which is called ‘Indian cut’ (imperfectly or not fully faceted)—reaches the consignees in London or Paris all the well-known dealers are advised. They inspect the goods, make their choice and submit their offers, which are cabled out to the respective owners, be they in Ceylon, India, Siam, Australia or any part of South America, for all these parts of the world contribute their quota of gem material to the great trading centers. If the offer is accepted, the transaction is closed forthwith; the merchandise is delivered and cash is paid, for spot cash is de rigueur in these transactions.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I have traveled over the stream from my years of opal to my years of Jade—from childhood to past middle age—from Vienna of the Old Emperor to China eternally the same. I think there are no more gems to symbolize the years that remain. As I write the threat of war hangs over London, a city wide open to the air attacks of an enemy. Putting off the ledgers, the corn-tongs, the balances, of the gem merchant, I put in my lapel the badge of the air warden and proceed to fit several hundreds of my fellow citizens with gas masks instead of with necklaces and rings. There is no gem for this stage of my life, when every day is itself a jewel hung on a brittle thread.
But I cannot stop here without giving you some idea of the procedures and customs of the trade, although I have already mentioned these here and there in passing. Something of the people, too, who deal in gems I must tell you. Many intelligent people with whom I have had occasion to discuss the subject of precious stones have labored under the impression that the dealers in that commodity are necessarily men of considerable affluence, if not of great wealth. That is far from being so, and in fact most of the men engaged in this highly specialized commerce depend upon the credits extended to them by the trade itself or by accommodating and enterprising merchant bankers in such trade centers as Amsterdam, Antwerp and Paris.
Trading in gemstones can at worst be as prosaic, or even as sordid, an occupation as that in any other goods. But at its best it can be sublimated into something that reflects the romance inherent in those beautiful and rare substances, the elite of the mineral kingdom.
An experience extending to well over half a century has taught me that those dealers who concern themselves least with the manifold aspects of the noble merchandise which passes daily through their hands become the greatest successes in a worldly sense. ‘Profits’ is the one beautiful word with them and it cannot materialize until they have got rid of a gem; they are not thrilled at sight of an uncommonly fine jewel, they are not puffed up with the pride of possession when they chance to outbid their competitors for a lovely thing, and they have no pangs of parting when it passes from their hands into those of others. Never having taken the gem into their hearts, its departures creates no void. They neither buy nor avoid selling out of sentiment. Such men die rich, Heavens help them.
But apart from lack of sentiment, there is often a sheer lack of knowledge among dealers about the goods they sell. That the diamond, for instance, is essentially pure crystallized carbon is a fact very well known to most people, and yet I have actually come across diamond merchants to whom they was news, and news to be taken with a grain of salt at that! Nor do many dealers in sapphires and rubies know that the blue stone and the red are full brothers. And as for the dealers who know nothing about any of the precious or semi-precious stones except those in which they themselves happen to deal, their name is legion.
This does not speak well for a large proportion of the merchants who trade habitually in articles which are a perennial source of wonder and romantic interest to the general public. But fortunately there are others and their number is not inconsiderable. They are all well informed, keenly appreciative of the distinguishing features of the many gemstones which go to make up the long list of the precious minerals. Amongst these men there are not a few all-round connoisseurs, and being known as such far and wide, they receive rare specimens from all parts of the world to enrich their collections. While no trader’s pocket is deep enough to permit him to acquire every fine gem which is offered him, these experts do not lightly pass by a stone which appeals to their imagination; and having acquired it, they defer the date of parting from it until the commercial instinct within them gains the upper hand. This is the reason why the connoisseur, who knows all there is to know about gems, frequently has a much less important bank balance than the dealer who does not know and does not care.
I have in mind a dealer friend of mine, to whom £1000 in hard cash would be a godsend, not because he is poor or in want, but because his mania for collecting fine specimens has left him frightfully short of ready money. His latest acquisition is a specimen ruby he could have sold many times over at a good profit. Instead, it sleeps in his wallet on a snowy pad of cotton-wool, eating its head off in interest. In fact, it eats up more in interest on his money than a pedigreed hunter would require for a year’s oats. For the dealer who cannot bear to sell his goods might as well keep a racing stable and be done with it!
But my friend says: ‘I haven’t got wife, child or hobby. When I feel lonesome or depressed I bring out that ruby and know that life is worth living.’
To those unfamiliar with the procedure in marketing gemstones it may of interest to learn that as soon as a consignment of stones in the rough—that is, in the uncut state or in the state which is called ‘Indian cut’ (imperfectly or not fully faceted)—reaches the consignees in London or Paris all the well-known dealers are advised. They inspect the goods, make their choice and submit their offers, which are cabled out to the respective owners, be they in Ceylon, India, Siam, Australia or any part of South America, for all these parts of the world contribute their quota of gem material to the great trading centers. If the offer is accepted, the transaction is closed forthwith; the merchandise is delivered and cash is paid, for spot cash is de rigueur in these transactions.
Foundations Of The Bridge: The Technicalities Of Gem Trading (continued)
Survival Techniques
Bear Grylls explains how to avoid gloom and doom + useful tips to get you out. He is great!
Useful links:
www.beargrylls.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bear_Grylls
Useful links:
www.beargrylls.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bear_Grylls
Ella Fitzgerald
Ella Jane Fitzgerald also known as Lady Ella and undeniably the First Lady of Song, is considered one of the most influential jazz vocalists of the 20th Century + she had a distinctive tone + she was the winner of thirteen Grammy Awards + she was awarded the National Medal of Art by Ronald Reagan + the Presidential Medal of Freedom by George H. W. Bush + the United States Postal Service honored Fitzgerald with her own 39 cent postage stamp.
I love her music, particularly her scat singing.
(via YouTube): Ella Fitzgerald : One note Samba (scat singing) 1969
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbL9vr4Q2LU
Useful links:
www.ellafitzgerald.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ella_Fitzgerald
I love her music, particularly her scat singing.
(via YouTube): Ella Fitzgerald : One note Samba (scat singing) 1969
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbL9vr4Q2LU
Useful links:
www.ellafitzgerald.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ella_Fitzgerald
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
My Will
All of us are mortal here on Earth and all of our days are numbered. Try and do some good in some way every day.
UK Wind-Powered By 2020
The British government believes that the country has some of the best wind conditions for generating carbon-free electricity in the world, but high construction costs and a sluggish planning process has limited its growth.
Useful link:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20071210/sc_nm/britain_wind_power_dc
Useful link:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20071210/sc_nm/britain_wind_power_dc
Double Indemnity
Double Indemnity (1944)
Directed by: Billy Wilder
Screenplay: James M. Cain (novel); Billy Wilder, Raymond Chandler (screenplay)
Cast: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson
(via YouTube): Double Indemnity (1944) Full Film - Part 1/11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N76LY0tmV_M
Double Indemnity (Film Noir)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn-RWYZYbsY
Double Indemnity opening
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcjfAAOBQx0
Double Indemnity - Trailer (1944)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3wjJcuGsVE
A unique gem + I always enjoy Billy Wilder films + funny + compelling.
Directed by: Billy Wilder
Screenplay: James M. Cain (novel); Billy Wilder, Raymond Chandler (screenplay)
Cast: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson
(via YouTube): Double Indemnity (1944) Full Film - Part 1/11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N76LY0tmV_M
Double Indemnity (Film Noir)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn-RWYZYbsY
Double Indemnity opening
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcjfAAOBQx0
Double Indemnity - Trailer (1944)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3wjJcuGsVE
A unique gem + I always enjoy Billy Wilder films + funny + compelling.
Views Of The Void
Total internal reflections of Eve M. Kahn on the World Trade Center + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1006
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Titian’s ideal of womanhood is seen not only in this picture, which inspired Mr Arnold Bennet’s novel with the same title, but in a number of exquisite portraits and figure paintings. According to Vasari, he painted mostly from his own imagination, and only used female models in case of necessity. Titian’s types have little in common with the small, brown, black-eyed maidens we usually associate with Venice. They are nearer akin to the fair-haired Lombard women or the Dianas and Junos of his Alpine home. Further, it is the proud majesty of the mature woman that Titian paints. His beautiful ‘Flora,’ in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, does not suggest spring time but, as Dr Muther has well said, ‘high summer in its rich, mature splendor.’ Never old, but never very young, Titian’s ‘mighty women’ seem to ‘beam in an eternal, powerful beauty.’
The same mature majesty characterises ‘The Magdalen’, to which Titian’s contemporary Vasari pays the following eloquent tribute: ‘Her hair falls about her neck and shoulders, her head is raised, and the eyes are fixed on Heaven, their redness and the tears still within them giving evidence of her sorrow for the sins of her past life. This picture, which is most beautiful, moves all who behold it to compassion.’
‘He touched nothing that he did not adorn.’ So it might be written of Titian, who ennobled all his sitters with something of his own majesty. The supreme example of his powers in this direction is the magnificent ‘Equestrian Portrait of Charles V’, now in the Prado at Madrid. In 1530, when the Emperor Charles V was in Bologna, Titian, by the intervention of his friend the poet Pietro Aretino, was invited to that city and commissioned to paint His Catholic Majesty in full armour. Vasari tells us the Emperor was so delighted with this portrait that he gave the artist a thousand gold crowns, declaring that he would never have his portrait done by any other painter; and he kept his imperial word, frequently employing Titian thereafter and always paying him a thousand crowns for each portrait.
Never was money better spent. This Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and King of Spain still fires our imagination, thanks to Titian. The historical truth about Charles V is that he was a pale, scrofulous, emaciated man, a prey to melancholy, full of hesitations and superstitious fears; so world-weary that in the end he abdicated from his imperial position, and shut himself up in a monastery where, with morbid satisfaction, surrounded by coffins and ticking clocks, he constantly rehearsed his own funeral. Titian shows us nothing of this. His wonderful imagination fastens on one great moment in the Emperor’s life, the day when he was the victor at Augsburg. A Black Knight in steel armor, riding over the battlefield at daybreak, the Emperor in this painting becomes ‘the personification of the coldness of a great general in battle, and of Destiny itself approaching, silent and unavoidable.’ Charles is here Napoleonic—but Napoleon had no Titian to immortalize his grandeur. Who would not pay a thousand crowns to be so transfigured for posterity?
Still painting in his ninetieth year with unabated vigor, still able as a nonagenarian to play the host with undiminished magnificence to King Henry III of France, this grand old patriarch finally went down in 1576, like some battered but indomitable man-of-war, with his colors still proudly flying. Even then it was not of old age that he died; he was a victim to the same pestilence which, sixty six years earlier, had carried off his young fellow pupil Giorgione. All Venice went into mourning when the greatest of her sons passed away, and the Senate set aside the decree that excluded victims of the plague from burial within church walls, so that Titian might be laid to rest in the Church of the Frari, within sight of his own picture of ‘The Assumption’.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
Titian’s ideal of womanhood is seen not only in this picture, which inspired Mr Arnold Bennet’s novel with the same title, but in a number of exquisite portraits and figure paintings. According to Vasari, he painted mostly from his own imagination, and only used female models in case of necessity. Titian’s types have little in common with the small, brown, black-eyed maidens we usually associate with Venice. They are nearer akin to the fair-haired Lombard women or the Dianas and Junos of his Alpine home. Further, it is the proud majesty of the mature woman that Titian paints. His beautiful ‘Flora,’ in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, does not suggest spring time but, as Dr Muther has well said, ‘high summer in its rich, mature splendor.’ Never old, but never very young, Titian’s ‘mighty women’ seem to ‘beam in an eternal, powerful beauty.’
The same mature majesty characterises ‘The Magdalen’, to which Titian’s contemporary Vasari pays the following eloquent tribute: ‘Her hair falls about her neck and shoulders, her head is raised, and the eyes are fixed on Heaven, their redness and the tears still within them giving evidence of her sorrow for the sins of her past life. This picture, which is most beautiful, moves all who behold it to compassion.’
‘He touched nothing that he did not adorn.’ So it might be written of Titian, who ennobled all his sitters with something of his own majesty. The supreme example of his powers in this direction is the magnificent ‘Equestrian Portrait of Charles V’, now in the Prado at Madrid. In 1530, when the Emperor Charles V was in Bologna, Titian, by the intervention of his friend the poet Pietro Aretino, was invited to that city and commissioned to paint His Catholic Majesty in full armour. Vasari tells us the Emperor was so delighted with this portrait that he gave the artist a thousand gold crowns, declaring that he would never have his portrait done by any other painter; and he kept his imperial word, frequently employing Titian thereafter and always paying him a thousand crowns for each portrait.
Never was money better spent. This Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and King of Spain still fires our imagination, thanks to Titian. The historical truth about Charles V is that he was a pale, scrofulous, emaciated man, a prey to melancholy, full of hesitations and superstitious fears; so world-weary that in the end he abdicated from his imperial position, and shut himself up in a monastery where, with morbid satisfaction, surrounded by coffins and ticking clocks, he constantly rehearsed his own funeral. Titian shows us nothing of this. His wonderful imagination fastens on one great moment in the Emperor’s life, the day when he was the victor at Augsburg. A Black Knight in steel armor, riding over the battlefield at daybreak, the Emperor in this painting becomes ‘the personification of the coldness of a great general in battle, and of Destiny itself approaching, silent and unavoidable.’ Charles is here Napoleonic—but Napoleon had no Titian to immortalize his grandeur. Who would not pay a thousand crowns to be so transfigured for posterity?
Still painting in his ninetieth year with unabated vigor, still able as a nonagenarian to play the host with undiminished magnificence to King Henry III of France, this grand old patriarch finally went down in 1576, like some battered but indomitable man-of-war, with his colors still proudly flying. Even then it was not of old age that he died; he was a victim to the same pestilence which, sixty six years earlier, had carried off his young fellow pupil Giorgione. All Venice went into mourning when the greatest of her sons passed away, and the Senate set aside the decree that excluded victims of the plague from burial within church walls, so that Titian might be laid to rest in the Church of the Frari, within sight of his own picture of ‘The Assumption’.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Immediately, making me jump with surprise, the bird in the cage found its voice and echoed its mistress’s words. ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’
I turned to Mirzah. ‘What does the lady say?’
‘She says ‘black spot’,’ he said. ‘She say the dimon’ he have a black spot.’
‘So it has,’ I admitted readily. ‘I was going to tell her so, but she was too quick for me.’
‘I tell her,’ said Mirzah.
‘Do so,’ I said. ‘and say also that the spot is so very, very small that even I, an expert trained to detect blemishes, can barely see it with my strong glass.’
Mirzah translated, and my compliment brought a smile to her lips, a sure indication that she was not too ancient to be impervious to flattery. When you have a young woman, flatter her about her beauty, when the lady’s age is doubtful flatter her about her charm, her intelligence, her wit, but when she is old compliment her on her eyesight. These are very useful rules.
None the less, I had not entirely succeeded in placating my shrewd client, for she raised her voice to a somewhat higher pitch and spoke volubly. Mirzah translated: ‘Why does the Englishman show a dimon’ good for beggarmen. Have you not told the merchant who I am, and that I can buy the best there is?’
‘So that’s it,’ I thought. ‘Then why was the fellow so emphatic about the price limit?’ But there was no time for speculation of that kind. The lady had to be answered.
‘Tell the lady,’ I commanded, ‘that I beg for her gracious pardon. My mistake arose from the facet that I am not familiar with the customs of this country. In my own land merchants show their meanest goods first and by degrees work up to their finest.’
He translated. She came back with: ‘Why is that?’
‘It is good showmanship,’ said I, ‘and frequently it saves the client’s face.’
‘How may that be?’
I replied that if we merchants were to begin by displaying our best, some customers on learning the price might not care to admit that it was good for their purse and then might not ask to see the inferior goods. But by using the other method the customer remained master of the situation, for he could say as long as he pleased: ‘Show me better—better—better.’
I saw that she was pleased with this explanation, and Mirzah said that she agreed there might be some little wisdom in my argument. But I also noticed that like the very old she was soon tired of talk and distraction, for she picked unceasingly at the folds of the tablecloth. It was clear to me that I must display at once the best that I had in stock, and make no more ado, and this I did. But she looked at each gem in perfunctory fashion, and at last burst forth: ‘It is true that I have been used to buying only the best. But this was for my own use and now I have given up bedecking myself in such finery. Let the merchant bear in mind that one may buy to give away. But black-spotted stones are omen of ill luck. One cannot give them, for the wearer might sicken or meet with misfortune. It is better to make no gifts at all than such stones.’
Finally I had brought out everything I had. But she remained petulant. If one stone was too thick another was too flat, a third had not sufficient fire to warm her into buying, and yet others must be rejected on the score of shape of tint. Nothing seemed to be right. Patience? Yes, I had plenty of that commodity and displayed stone after stone with the best of grace. But no! she knew what she wanted—that she would have or nothing at all.
Well, I dearly love clients who know what they want. It relieves me of great responsibility and much work. Obviously, I had nothing in my collection that was in the least desirable in her eyes. So I packed up in readiness to take my departure and would perhaps have been allowed to go forthwith but that I happened to look up and found her gaze riveted upon one particular wallet of the four—the very one into which I had thrust the paper containing the offending black-spotted stone which had earned her little lecture.
Was I right in suspecting that she might want that stone, after all, and that she was only restrained from asking to see it again by the remarks she had made? She could not lose face, and I, for my part, could not presume to exhibit the stone again. I would thus lose a sale and she would have to go without the very piece she wanted. What was to be done?
At that moment the unexpected happened. The old lady rose from her chair and turned her back upon us, in order to pick up from a table behind her the dish of sectioned fruit of which we were to partake by way of enjoying the traditional hospitality. I seized my chance, extracted from the wallet the slightly flawed stone, and slipped it into my trousers pocket. When she came back to the table, dish in hand, the four wallets had gone back into my attache-case.
Turning to Mirzah I said: ‘Tell the lady that I am sorry that so large a selection as I have shown should have contained nothing to please her; nevertheless I have yet one more diamond in my pocket which I should like to show with her kind permission before I go.’
‘It could do no harm,’ she said graciously.
So I brought the black-spotted stone out of my pocket, and she examined it most critically.
‘Why, this is just what I want!’ she exclaimed. ‘See how these European merchants will insist on showing their poor goods first, and will only bring out what is good when the customer refuses to be fooled.’ For I had this time put a fairly stiff price on the diamond.
She clapped her hands. A Chinese amah appeared. She handed her a bunch of keys and when the woman returned with the money she counted out to me the price I had asked. We had taken our refreshment and now paid our final respects. As I made my final bows to the old lady, she raised her forefinger admonishingly.
It was only then that I realized that the tell-tale mirror she had faced, when I took the opportunity of slipping the stone into my pocket, had betrayed me. As I turned and skated warily in my clumsy shoes over the crystal floor I heard behind me the beating of wings and accusing falsetto screech: ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’ The cockatoo had had the last word.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Immediately, making me jump with surprise, the bird in the cage found its voice and echoed its mistress’s words. ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’
I turned to Mirzah. ‘What does the lady say?’
‘She says ‘black spot’,’ he said. ‘She say the dimon’ he have a black spot.’
‘So it has,’ I admitted readily. ‘I was going to tell her so, but she was too quick for me.’
‘I tell her,’ said Mirzah.
‘Do so,’ I said. ‘and say also that the spot is so very, very small that even I, an expert trained to detect blemishes, can barely see it with my strong glass.’
Mirzah translated, and my compliment brought a smile to her lips, a sure indication that she was not too ancient to be impervious to flattery. When you have a young woman, flatter her about her beauty, when the lady’s age is doubtful flatter her about her charm, her intelligence, her wit, but when she is old compliment her on her eyesight. These are very useful rules.
None the less, I had not entirely succeeded in placating my shrewd client, for she raised her voice to a somewhat higher pitch and spoke volubly. Mirzah translated: ‘Why does the Englishman show a dimon’ good for beggarmen. Have you not told the merchant who I am, and that I can buy the best there is?’
‘So that’s it,’ I thought. ‘Then why was the fellow so emphatic about the price limit?’ But there was no time for speculation of that kind. The lady had to be answered.
‘Tell the lady,’ I commanded, ‘that I beg for her gracious pardon. My mistake arose from the facet that I am not familiar with the customs of this country. In my own land merchants show their meanest goods first and by degrees work up to their finest.’
He translated. She came back with: ‘Why is that?’
‘It is good showmanship,’ said I, ‘and frequently it saves the client’s face.’
‘How may that be?’
I replied that if we merchants were to begin by displaying our best, some customers on learning the price might not care to admit that it was good for their purse and then might not ask to see the inferior goods. But by using the other method the customer remained master of the situation, for he could say as long as he pleased: ‘Show me better—better—better.’
I saw that she was pleased with this explanation, and Mirzah said that she agreed there might be some little wisdom in my argument. But I also noticed that like the very old she was soon tired of talk and distraction, for she picked unceasingly at the folds of the tablecloth. It was clear to me that I must display at once the best that I had in stock, and make no more ado, and this I did. But she looked at each gem in perfunctory fashion, and at last burst forth: ‘It is true that I have been used to buying only the best. But this was for my own use and now I have given up bedecking myself in such finery. Let the merchant bear in mind that one may buy to give away. But black-spotted stones are omen of ill luck. One cannot give them, for the wearer might sicken or meet with misfortune. It is better to make no gifts at all than such stones.’
Finally I had brought out everything I had. But she remained petulant. If one stone was too thick another was too flat, a third had not sufficient fire to warm her into buying, and yet others must be rejected on the score of shape of tint. Nothing seemed to be right. Patience? Yes, I had plenty of that commodity and displayed stone after stone with the best of grace. But no! she knew what she wanted—that she would have or nothing at all.
Well, I dearly love clients who know what they want. It relieves me of great responsibility and much work. Obviously, I had nothing in my collection that was in the least desirable in her eyes. So I packed up in readiness to take my departure and would perhaps have been allowed to go forthwith but that I happened to look up and found her gaze riveted upon one particular wallet of the four—the very one into which I had thrust the paper containing the offending black-spotted stone which had earned her little lecture.
Was I right in suspecting that she might want that stone, after all, and that she was only restrained from asking to see it again by the remarks she had made? She could not lose face, and I, for my part, could not presume to exhibit the stone again. I would thus lose a sale and she would have to go without the very piece she wanted. What was to be done?
At that moment the unexpected happened. The old lady rose from her chair and turned her back upon us, in order to pick up from a table behind her the dish of sectioned fruit of which we were to partake by way of enjoying the traditional hospitality. I seized my chance, extracted from the wallet the slightly flawed stone, and slipped it into my trousers pocket. When she came back to the table, dish in hand, the four wallets had gone back into my attache-case.
Turning to Mirzah I said: ‘Tell the lady that I am sorry that so large a selection as I have shown should have contained nothing to please her; nevertheless I have yet one more diamond in my pocket which I should like to show with her kind permission before I go.’
‘It could do no harm,’ she said graciously.
So I brought the black-spotted stone out of my pocket, and she examined it most critically.
‘Why, this is just what I want!’ she exclaimed. ‘See how these European merchants will insist on showing their poor goods first, and will only bring out what is good when the customer refuses to be fooled.’ For I had this time put a fairly stiff price on the diamond.
She clapped her hands. A Chinese amah appeared. She handed her a bunch of keys and when the woman returned with the money she counted out to me the price I had asked. We had taken our refreshment and now paid our final respects. As I made my final bows to the old lady, she raised her forefinger admonishingly.
It was only then that I realized that the tell-tale mirror she had faced, when I took the opportunity of slipping the stone into my pocket, had betrayed me. As I turned and skated warily in my clumsy shoes over the crystal floor I heard behind me the beating of wings and accusing falsetto screech: ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’ The cockatoo had had the last word.
New Emerald Treatment
The gem industry reports that the gem chefs (gem treaters) are treating highly fractured rough Colombian emeralds with polymers that act as a glue to hold stones together. The level of treatment can vary considerably and impact the durability + price. If in doubt, always consult a reputed gem testing laboratory.
Sergei Rachmaninoff
Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninoff was a Russian composer, pianist, and conductor + he was regarded as one of the most influential + finest pianists of the 20th century. Rachmaninoff's style was distinctively Russian.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.rachmaninoff.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Rachmaninoff
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.rachmaninoff.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Rachmaninoff
Monday, December 10, 2007
Generosity May Be In The Genes
(via BBC): A study by The Hebrew University of Jerusalem reveals that those who had certain variants of a gene called AVPR1a were on average nearly 50% more likely to give money away + the experts see an interesting relationship between DNA variability and real human altruism. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/7133079.stm
Useful link:
www.ibngs.org
Useful link:
www.ibngs.org
Drunken Master II
Drunken Master II (1994)
Directed by: Chia-Liang Liu, Jackie Chan
Screenplay: Edward Tang, Man-Ming Tong, Kai-Chi Yun
Cast: Jackie Chan, Felix Wong
(via YouTube): Drunken Master II (1) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyExHRoIAjU
The Legend of Drunken Master (Jui kuen II)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffQGz3DMoyQ
Drunken Master II (3) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypPSnUcLJNA
I enjoy watching Jackie Chan's beautifully choreographed action films + those death-defying stunts are stunning
Directed by: Chia-Liang Liu, Jackie Chan
Screenplay: Edward Tang, Man-Ming Tong, Kai-Chi Yun
Cast: Jackie Chan, Felix Wong
(via YouTube): Drunken Master II (1) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyExHRoIAjU
The Legend of Drunken Master (Jui kuen II)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffQGz3DMoyQ
Drunken Master II (3) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypPSnUcLJNA
I enjoy watching Jackie Chan's beautifully choreographed action films + those death-defying stunts are stunning
Coffee Legends
National Geographic writes about the history of coffee + descriptions of different varieties + map of coffee-producing countries + other viewpoints @ http://www.nationalgeographic.com/coffee
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
A Good Eye
Economist writes about the superb art collections of Giorgio Marsan and Umberta Nasi + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10273868
Aftershocks
Kelly Devine Thomas writes about art loss from the attacks on the World Trade Center + local perspectives + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1005
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Elton John
Elton John is a five-time Grammy and one-time Academy Award-winning English pop/rock singer, composer and pianist + he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994 + he frequently collaborates with other artists + he has a distinctive vocal style + founded the Elton John AIDS Foundation in 1992 as a charity to fund programmes for HIV/AIDS + he continues to inspire musicians today.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
The Hidden Language Of Baseball
In my view, the intricate system (s) of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal is comparable to the hidden, and inner aspects of colored stone/diamond/art market (s). One must reread Paul Dickson's The Hidden Language of Baseball to understand the scientific aspects of the game and relate the concept to the gem/jewelry/art markets.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
Rose Cuts
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
A Rose cut diamond has a flat bottom which is usually a cleavage plane. Therefore, by definition, it has no pavilion. The crown is more or less dome-shaped, and covered with triangular facets in a specific design, terminating in a point. It is, in fact, a Point Cut. As a rule, Roses are round, triangular or drop-shaped, but more fancy outlines also exist. Almost all diamond of this cut are foiled in order to improve their light effects. Most modern writers refer to faceted diamonds of the fifteenth, sixteenth and most of the seventeenth centuries as Rose Cuts, regardless of the type of faceting. This over-simplification is probably partly due to Cellini’s Trattato dell’ Oreficeria of 1565, in which he calls the three main types of diamond cut in tavola, a facette and in punta. A facette was erroneously understood to refer to the Rose Cut. Another source of confusion has been the term ‘Rose’, originally used to describe the clusters of small stones now called Rosettes.
Early sources contrasted faceted diamond with Points and Tables but did not go into further detail. For diamonds which are neither square nor rectangular they invented descriptive names such as Kite, Lozenge, Triangle and Shield. Fancy shapes with a flat top instead of the usual point were named Coxcomb, Calf’s Head, etc. These were, in fact, variations of the popular Table Cut, as opposed to the fancy pointed shapes with faceted crown and no pavilion which I have name Gothic Roses. One should really call this cut ‘the Gothic Flat Bottomed Cut’—a term more technically correct but impossibly unromantic! At first, Gothic Rose Cuts were only basically faceted and had no standard design, the cutter following the crystallography of his rough and applying only a small number of facets. He was forced to add further facets only when the rough did not favor simplicity, or in order to obtain a good polish, or to dispose of disturbing flaws and irregularities.
During the transition from the Renaissance period to the Baroque, the Table Cut gradually lost its long-lasting popularity and finally ceded to the Brilliant Cut. Glittering diamonds became the fashion, but there was often a great shortage of rough suitable for this new, pavilion-based cut. So a design of a richly patterned type was introduced, a pattern with six-part symmetry and a stepped crown on a flat base. In other words, the crown had two concentric rows of facets, the lower row to the bottom of the stone and the upper row meeting in a point. This ‘stepping’ or ‘crowning’ was the innovation which produced light effects previously unknown in the Gothic Rose. It looked like a small, half-opened rosebud, and this was no doubt why it got its name. The old Rosettes were by now forgotten, so the name Rose Cut could happily be given to a new cut. This was clearly a commercial follower of the forsaken Double Rosette, inspired by it and the Pointed Star Cut, and hardly, as frequently claimed, by the Mughal Cut.
The legendary collection of religious objects known as La Chapelle de Richelieu became Crown property. Among other marvels, it contained a statue of the Virgin said to have been set with ‘1253 small Rose Cut diamonds’. Another French document also mentioned by Bapst in 1889 refers to ‘une roze ronde taille a facettes de grande etendu and ‘ung autre diamant en roze fort jaulni’ in 1649. Two Dutch documents also mention this cut—the first, in 1640, recording two pairs of pendants set with large and small Rose diamonds. The second, dated 1688, describes a jewel set with ‘een heel groote Roos facet diamant of een crustal’, meaning that it was fashioned from a single crystal.
In 1661 Cardinal Mazarin, successor to Richelieu, bequeathed part of his large collection of jewelry to the Crown and the inventory refers to a large diamond called the Rose d’Angleterre, long thought to be a Rose Cut but now proved to have been something totally different, with an unusually large table. Bernard Morel discovered that the gem was given this name because, during the reign of Charles I and Henrietta Maria, it was set in a jewel decorated with the roses of York and Lancaster. Morel believes that the diamond ‘was fashioned much like a brilliant but with fewer facets round the large table, and multifaceted below the girdle.’
A Rose cut diamond has a flat bottom which is usually a cleavage plane. Therefore, by definition, it has no pavilion. The crown is more or less dome-shaped, and covered with triangular facets in a specific design, terminating in a point. It is, in fact, a Point Cut. As a rule, Roses are round, triangular or drop-shaped, but more fancy outlines also exist. Almost all diamond of this cut are foiled in order to improve their light effects. Most modern writers refer to faceted diamonds of the fifteenth, sixteenth and most of the seventeenth centuries as Rose Cuts, regardless of the type of faceting. This over-simplification is probably partly due to Cellini’s Trattato dell’ Oreficeria of 1565, in which he calls the three main types of diamond cut in tavola, a facette and in punta. A facette was erroneously understood to refer to the Rose Cut. Another source of confusion has been the term ‘Rose’, originally used to describe the clusters of small stones now called Rosettes.
Early sources contrasted faceted diamond with Points and Tables but did not go into further detail. For diamonds which are neither square nor rectangular they invented descriptive names such as Kite, Lozenge, Triangle and Shield. Fancy shapes with a flat top instead of the usual point were named Coxcomb, Calf’s Head, etc. These were, in fact, variations of the popular Table Cut, as opposed to the fancy pointed shapes with faceted crown and no pavilion which I have name Gothic Roses. One should really call this cut ‘the Gothic Flat Bottomed Cut’—a term more technically correct but impossibly unromantic! At first, Gothic Rose Cuts were only basically faceted and had no standard design, the cutter following the crystallography of his rough and applying only a small number of facets. He was forced to add further facets only when the rough did not favor simplicity, or in order to obtain a good polish, or to dispose of disturbing flaws and irregularities.
During the transition from the Renaissance period to the Baroque, the Table Cut gradually lost its long-lasting popularity and finally ceded to the Brilliant Cut. Glittering diamonds became the fashion, but there was often a great shortage of rough suitable for this new, pavilion-based cut. So a design of a richly patterned type was introduced, a pattern with six-part symmetry and a stepped crown on a flat base. In other words, the crown had two concentric rows of facets, the lower row to the bottom of the stone and the upper row meeting in a point. This ‘stepping’ or ‘crowning’ was the innovation which produced light effects previously unknown in the Gothic Rose. It looked like a small, half-opened rosebud, and this was no doubt why it got its name. The old Rosettes were by now forgotten, so the name Rose Cut could happily be given to a new cut. This was clearly a commercial follower of the forsaken Double Rosette, inspired by it and the Pointed Star Cut, and hardly, as frequently claimed, by the Mughal Cut.
The legendary collection of religious objects known as La Chapelle de Richelieu became Crown property. Among other marvels, it contained a statue of the Virgin said to have been set with ‘1253 small Rose Cut diamonds’. Another French document also mentioned by Bapst in 1889 refers to ‘une roze ronde taille a facettes de grande etendu and ‘ung autre diamant en roze fort jaulni’ in 1649. Two Dutch documents also mention this cut—the first, in 1640, recording two pairs of pendants set with large and small Rose diamonds. The second, dated 1688, describes a jewel set with ‘een heel groote Roos facet diamant of een crustal’, meaning that it was fashioned from a single crystal.
In 1661 Cardinal Mazarin, successor to Richelieu, bequeathed part of his large collection of jewelry to the Crown and the inventory refers to a large diamond called the Rose d’Angleterre, long thought to be a Rose Cut but now proved to have been something totally different, with an unusually large table. Bernard Morel discovered that the gem was given this name because, during the reign of Charles I and Henrietta Maria, it was set in a jewel decorated with the roses of York and Lancaster. Morel believes that the diamond ‘was fashioned much like a brilliant but with fewer facets round the large table, and multifaceted below the girdle.’
How We Learn From Our Mistakes
Laura Blue writes about how a common gene variant affects some people's ability to respond to, and learn from, the negative repercussions of their actions + other viewpoints @ http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1691924,00.html
Charade
Charade (1963)
Directed by: Stanley Donen
Screenplay: Peter Stone , Marc Behm (story); Peter Stone (screenplay)
Cast: Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Walter Matthau, James Coburn
(via YouTube): Charade Opening Titles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjGDjwxRwpI
Charade - Criterion Collection Movie Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdM81YPt6FM
A unique thriller-romance-comedy. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Stanley Donen
Screenplay: Peter Stone , Marc Behm (story); Peter Stone (screenplay)
Cast: Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Walter Matthau, James Coburn
(via YouTube): Charade Opening Titles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjGDjwxRwpI
Charade - Criterion Collection Movie Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdM81YPt6FM
A unique thriller-romance-comedy. I enjoyed it.
This Is My Mark ... This Is Man
(via The Guardian) Jonathan Jones writes about a painted cave on a par with Lascaux in France + an underground odyssey - beginning in Wales + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/visualart/story/0,,2222879,00.html
The New Climate
Robin Cembalest writes about the role that artists, arts institutions play in the revival and reconstruction of downtown New York + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1012
The Road To Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
5
Justly famous by right of his own paintings, Giovanni is also renowned as the master of some of the greatest painters Venice ever saw, chief among his pupils being Giorgione and Titian. The first was born at Castelfranco in 1470, and was christened Giorgio, but ‘from his stature and the greatness of his mind he was afterwards known as Giorgione,’ that is to say, ‘Great George.’ Though of peasant origin, contemporaries say he was ‘well bred and polished all his life.’ He was of a loving disposition and exceedingly fond of the lute, ‘playing and singing divinely,’ and this love of music became the new note which Giorgione definitely contributed to art, for not only did he frequently introduce music as a subject in his pictures (e.g ‘The Concert’ at Dresden, and the man playing a mandolin in ‘The Golden Age’ at the National Gallery, and the ‘Fete Champetre’ or Musical Party in the Louvre), but all his pictures, as Walter Pater wrote, ‘constantly aspire to the condition of music.’ By this it is meant that everything in a Giorgione is subordinated to beauty, and that his first concern is to create melody of line and harmony of color.
The gentle nature of the artist, who found grace and loveliness in all men and all things, can be traced in every work of his that has survived the storms of time. In his great altar-piece ‘Madonna Enthroned, with St. Liberale and St. Francis,’ for his native hill town of Castelfranco, painted before he was thirty, Giorgione charms us alike by the rhythm and balance of the whole composition and by the lovableness of his types. The sweet simplicity of young womanhood in the Virgin, the naturalness of the Child, the knightliness of the soldier-saint Liberale, the welcoming gesture of the nature-loving Saint who could preach to birds and fishes and call them his brethren—all these things are manifest in the illustration of this beautiful picture.
It is a great misfortune that so many of Giorgione’s paintings have been lost or destroyed in the course of centuries. Barely a score are known for certain to exist today, but among them are some of the most splendid portraits in the world. His ‘Young Man’ in the Berlin Gallery and his ‘Unknown Man’ in the Querini-Stampalia Collection at Venice are examples of his power in portraiture.
Vasari tells us that Giorgione ‘did a picture of Christ bearing the Cross and a Jew dragging him along, which after a time was placed in the Church of St. Rocco, and now works miracles, as we see, through the devotion of the multitudes who visit it.’ We can form some idea of what the exceeding beauty of this painting must have been from the unforgettable head of ‘Christ bearing the Cross,’ which still exists in the private collection of Mrs Gardner, of Boston, USA.
But, alas! not a fragment has survived of the famous picture which Giorgione painted to prove the superiority of painting to sculpture. While Verrocchio was in Venice engaged upon the bronze horse of his splendid Colleone Monument, his admirers argued that sculpture, which presented so many aspects of a figure, was superior to painting. Giorgione maintained that a painting could show at a single glance all the aspects that a man can present, while sculpture can only do so if one walks about it, and thus he proved his contention:
‘He painted a nude figure turning its shoulders; at its feet was a limpid fount of water, the reflection from which showed the front. On one side was a burnished corselet, which had been taken off and gave a side view, because the shining metal reflected everything. On the other side was a mirror showing the other side of the figure.’
The scarcity of Giorgione’s work is partly explained by the fact that he died young. In 1510 he was deeply in love with a Venetian lady, who caught the plague, but ‘Giorgione, being ignorant of this, associated with her as usual, took the infection, and died soon after at the age of thirty four, to the infinite grief of his friends, who loved him for his talents, and to the damage of the world which lost him.’
5
Justly famous by right of his own paintings, Giovanni is also renowned as the master of some of the greatest painters Venice ever saw, chief among his pupils being Giorgione and Titian. The first was born at Castelfranco in 1470, and was christened Giorgio, but ‘from his stature and the greatness of his mind he was afterwards known as Giorgione,’ that is to say, ‘Great George.’ Though of peasant origin, contemporaries say he was ‘well bred and polished all his life.’ He was of a loving disposition and exceedingly fond of the lute, ‘playing and singing divinely,’ and this love of music became the new note which Giorgione definitely contributed to art, for not only did he frequently introduce music as a subject in his pictures (e.g ‘The Concert’ at Dresden, and the man playing a mandolin in ‘The Golden Age’ at the National Gallery, and the ‘Fete Champetre’ or Musical Party in the Louvre), but all his pictures, as Walter Pater wrote, ‘constantly aspire to the condition of music.’ By this it is meant that everything in a Giorgione is subordinated to beauty, and that his first concern is to create melody of line and harmony of color.
The gentle nature of the artist, who found grace and loveliness in all men and all things, can be traced in every work of his that has survived the storms of time. In his great altar-piece ‘Madonna Enthroned, with St. Liberale and St. Francis,’ for his native hill town of Castelfranco, painted before he was thirty, Giorgione charms us alike by the rhythm and balance of the whole composition and by the lovableness of his types. The sweet simplicity of young womanhood in the Virgin, the naturalness of the Child, the knightliness of the soldier-saint Liberale, the welcoming gesture of the nature-loving Saint who could preach to birds and fishes and call them his brethren—all these things are manifest in the illustration of this beautiful picture.
It is a great misfortune that so many of Giorgione’s paintings have been lost or destroyed in the course of centuries. Barely a score are known for certain to exist today, but among them are some of the most splendid portraits in the world. His ‘Young Man’ in the Berlin Gallery and his ‘Unknown Man’ in the Querini-Stampalia Collection at Venice are examples of his power in portraiture.
Vasari tells us that Giorgione ‘did a picture of Christ bearing the Cross and a Jew dragging him along, which after a time was placed in the Church of St. Rocco, and now works miracles, as we see, through the devotion of the multitudes who visit it.’ We can form some idea of what the exceeding beauty of this painting must have been from the unforgettable head of ‘Christ bearing the Cross,’ which still exists in the private collection of Mrs Gardner, of Boston, USA.
But, alas! not a fragment has survived of the famous picture which Giorgione painted to prove the superiority of painting to sculpture. While Verrocchio was in Venice engaged upon the bronze horse of his splendid Colleone Monument, his admirers argued that sculpture, which presented so many aspects of a figure, was superior to painting. Giorgione maintained that a painting could show at a single glance all the aspects that a man can present, while sculpture can only do so if one walks about it, and thus he proved his contention:
‘He painted a nude figure turning its shoulders; at its feet was a limpid fount of water, the reflection from which showed the front. On one side was a burnished corselet, which had been taken off and gave a side view, because the shining metal reflected everything. On the other side was a mirror showing the other side of the figure.’
The scarcity of Giorgione’s work is partly explained by the fact that he died young. In 1510 he was deeply in love with a Venetian lady, who caught the plague, but ‘Giorgione, being ignorant of this, associated with her as usual, took the infection, and died soon after at the age of thirty four, to the infinite grief of his friends, who loved him for his talents, and to the damage of the world which lost him.’
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
My friend and associate in Antwerp called me ‘faint heart’, but this time I was right and he was wrong. We had not gone our several ways above eighteen months when his fortune, which at one time may have reached the seven-figure mark in sterling, was swept away. But I consider that Fate did not, after all, deal unkindly with him. No one was the worse by a penny for his misadventure, and he himself was taken off suddenly, before he really felt poverty. His faults, and he had some, were such as the advantages of education might have eliminated, and his good qualities many. An untruth was an abomination to him. He dealt fairly, fave generously, and of him it might be said with justice that ‘loyalty’ was his middle name.
Such was my large scale dealing in diamonds, playing credits against thousands of pounds’ worth of goods over two continents. There are other sides to the game, however, and I have known most of them. One memory I have of a certain Malayan adventure, which I would not have missed for worlds. It was a fine, delicate, leisurely flavor, full of the adventure of Eastern trading. I will see if I can impart it to you.
There are still some parts of an ever-narrowing world left where an itinerant diamond merchant may unload a larger parcel of brilliants on an unsophisticated housewife than on the local goldsmith, usually, of course, at a better profit! Whether the good woman decides to pay in cash or in monthly instalments, the dealer knows his money is safe, for the Chinese ladies of Malaya are scrupulously honest.
I heard of one likely spot—this was during my Singapore days—and I determined to enlarge my circle of private customers, even though it must involve an automobile journey of four hundred miles, by roads none too good, and across narrow, rickety wooden bridges which might at any moment conspire with the fatalistic speed-maniac at the wheel to precipitate me into a crocodile-infested swamp.
When mercifully I arrived at my destination in an unmutilated condition, I did not know a single soul in the district, and had I not taken the precaution of providing myself with a letter of introduction to one Mirzah, I might have come away at once a sadly disappointed man. This introduction had been scribbled in Arabic Malay upon a half-sheet torn from a motor-accessory dealer’s price list. I could not read it, and for all I knew its contents might have proved embarrassing to me. But I was already taking so many risks that one more didn’t matter. If I knew nothing at all of this Mirzah to whose good offices I was commended, at least his friend, my introducer, was a propertied man and had supplied me with two cans of petrol. But all he had been willing to say of Mirzah was that he acted sometimes as a go-between for merchants if he liked their looks. My prospects of enlisting his cooperation, therefore, were of the slenderest.
When I presented myself at Mirzah’s tin-roofed one-roomed shack he was still at his early morning devotions. After he had perused my introduction, he scrutinized me carefully and then declared with an air of deep gratitude, that I had been sent by Heaven itself. It required little intuition on my part to divine that Mirzah’s cupboard was not overstocked, for hollower cheeks than his I had as yet not encountered in all my journeying across the Malay Peninsular.
There is an Oriental saying which I remembered as I faced my broker-to-be. It says that the All-Merciful never sends one of his winged messengers to earth, but chooses quite an ordinary mortal in pursuit of his own selfish ends, for bringing succour to the needy and comfort to the distressed.
In my eagerness to make the most of the few hours I had allotted to the small township, I asked at once whether Mirzah knew of anyone who stood in urgent need of diamonds. Mirzah replied that it was an ill things to discuss such important business on an empty stomach (he was doubtless referring to his own). I at once agreed to postpone my business until he had broken his fast, for after all, it was only seven, a little more than an hour after sunrise. He offered me the loan of his best rattan rocking chair in which to compose my salesman’s ardor, and went on. I suspected that he had gone to get credit for provender on the strength of his prospects with me, for the news of my arrival in town had already reached the ears of even the most sluggard risers. Meanwhile I took a mental inventory of my host’s possessions.
Upon a large square of grass mat stood a solid hardwood table, surrounded by several high-backed chairs, which have evidence of being home-made. Two rocking chairs had apparently seen several generations come and go. A polished brass vase or two and a cheap color print on a wall, depicting their British Majesties, supplied the decorations. One outsize spittoon represented utility. The room itself was portioned off by a drab cotton curtain reaching halfway to the bare rafters, and hung loosely suspended from a thin, tautly stretched wire rope. Occasionally this curtain bulged and I thought I saw an eye applied to a convenient spy hole. Mirzah’s harem was slaking its curiosity.
Presently Mirzah returned with an armful of provisions. After some delay they were passed back to him through the curtain in the semblance of a substantial breakfast. He ate, I smoked. At length he was willing to talk business. He vouchsafed that there was a wealthy Chinese lady who had long waiting for such as me. She might be game for a good five carat stone, at a reasonable price, but he warned me that she knew what was what. There were also others, he told me, who might be tempted, but first call must be made on the old lady in the fine big house on the top of the hill. I would place myself entirely in his hands, I said, adding that I was ready to go. But he insisted that first he must send his serving-man to make sure that our visit was welcome. The man returned immediately to say we could come as soon as we liked, but Mirzah was not yet ready. He owed it to the English merchant, he said, and to the lady of the fine house on the hill, to make the most of himself. This time he disappeared for a long while behind the curtain, and when he came forth he was transformed.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
My friend and associate in Antwerp called me ‘faint heart’, but this time I was right and he was wrong. We had not gone our several ways above eighteen months when his fortune, which at one time may have reached the seven-figure mark in sterling, was swept away. But I consider that Fate did not, after all, deal unkindly with him. No one was the worse by a penny for his misadventure, and he himself was taken off suddenly, before he really felt poverty. His faults, and he had some, were such as the advantages of education might have eliminated, and his good qualities many. An untruth was an abomination to him. He dealt fairly, fave generously, and of him it might be said with justice that ‘loyalty’ was his middle name.
Such was my large scale dealing in diamonds, playing credits against thousands of pounds’ worth of goods over two continents. There are other sides to the game, however, and I have known most of them. One memory I have of a certain Malayan adventure, which I would not have missed for worlds. It was a fine, delicate, leisurely flavor, full of the adventure of Eastern trading. I will see if I can impart it to you.
There are still some parts of an ever-narrowing world left where an itinerant diamond merchant may unload a larger parcel of brilliants on an unsophisticated housewife than on the local goldsmith, usually, of course, at a better profit! Whether the good woman decides to pay in cash or in monthly instalments, the dealer knows his money is safe, for the Chinese ladies of Malaya are scrupulously honest.
I heard of one likely spot—this was during my Singapore days—and I determined to enlarge my circle of private customers, even though it must involve an automobile journey of four hundred miles, by roads none too good, and across narrow, rickety wooden bridges which might at any moment conspire with the fatalistic speed-maniac at the wheel to precipitate me into a crocodile-infested swamp.
When mercifully I arrived at my destination in an unmutilated condition, I did not know a single soul in the district, and had I not taken the precaution of providing myself with a letter of introduction to one Mirzah, I might have come away at once a sadly disappointed man. This introduction had been scribbled in Arabic Malay upon a half-sheet torn from a motor-accessory dealer’s price list. I could not read it, and for all I knew its contents might have proved embarrassing to me. But I was already taking so many risks that one more didn’t matter. If I knew nothing at all of this Mirzah to whose good offices I was commended, at least his friend, my introducer, was a propertied man and had supplied me with two cans of petrol. But all he had been willing to say of Mirzah was that he acted sometimes as a go-between for merchants if he liked their looks. My prospects of enlisting his cooperation, therefore, were of the slenderest.
When I presented myself at Mirzah’s tin-roofed one-roomed shack he was still at his early morning devotions. After he had perused my introduction, he scrutinized me carefully and then declared with an air of deep gratitude, that I had been sent by Heaven itself. It required little intuition on my part to divine that Mirzah’s cupboard was not overstocked, for hollower cheeks than his I had as yet not encountered in all my journeying across the Malay Peninsular.
There is an Oriental saying which I remembered as I faced my broker-to-be. It says that the All-Merciful never sends one of his winged messengers to earth, but chooses quite an ordinary mortal in pursuit of his own selfish ends, for bringing succour to the needy and comfort to the distressed.
In my eagerness to make the most of the few hours I had allotted to the small township, I asked at once whether Mirzah knew of anyone who stood in urgent need of diamonds. Mirzah replied that it was an ill things to discuss such important business on an empty stomach (he was doubtless referring to his own). I at once agreed to postpone my business until he had broken his fast, for after all, it was only seven, a little more than an hour after sunrise. He offered me the loan of his best rattan rocking chair in which to compose my salesman’s ardor, and went on. I suspected that he had gone to get credit for provender on the strength of his prospects with me, for the news of my arrival in town had already reached the ears of even the most sluggard risers. Meanwhile I took a mental inventory of my host’s possessions.
Upon a large square of grass mat stood a solid hardwood table, surrounded by several high-backed chairs, which have evidence of being home-made. Two rocking chairs had apparently seen several generations come and go. A polished brass vase or two and a cheap color print on a wall, depicting their British Majesties, supplied the decorations. One outsize spittoon represented utility. The room itself was portioned off by a drab cotton curtain reaching halfway to the bare rafters, and hung loosely suspended from a thin, tautly stretched wire rope. Occasionally this curtain bulged and I thought I saw an eye applied to a convenient spy hole. Mirzah’s harem was slaking its curiosity.
Presently Mirzah returned with an armful of provisions. After some delay they were passed back to him through the curtain in the semblance of a substantial breakfast. He ate, I smoked. At length he was willing to talk business. He vouchsafed that there was a wealthy Chinese lady who had long waiting for such as me. She might be game for a good five carat stone, at a reasonable price, but he warned me that she knew what was what. There were also others, he told me, who might be tempted, but first call must be made on the old lady in the fine big house on the top of the hill. I would place myself entirely in his hands, I said, adding that I was ready to go. But he insisted that first he must send his serving-man to make sure that our visit was welcome. The man returned immediately to say we could come as soon as we liked, but Mirzah was not yet ready. He owed it to the English merchant, he said, and to the lady of the fine house on the hill, to make the most of himself. This time he disappeared for a long while behind the curtain, and when he came forth he was transformed.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
Saturday, December 08, 2007
La Scala Opens New Season With Wagner's ‘Tristan’
(via Reuters): Milan's La Scala opened its new opera season with Richard Wagner's five-hour-plus spectacle 'Tristan and Isolde'. www.teatroallascala.org
Useful link:
http://www.reuters.com/article/stageNews/idUSL0661609220071206
Useful link:
http://www.reuters.com/article/stageNews/idUSL0661609220071206
To Cork Or Not To Cork: The Wine Industry's Battle Over The Bottleneck
(via Knowledge at Wharton): George Taber, a veteran business journalist and author, explains in his new book, To Cork or Not to Cork: Tradition, Romance, Science, and the Battle for the Wine Bottle about cork, other forms of closure, including screw caps, plastic seals and glass stoppers + other viewpoints @ http://knowledge.wharton.upenn.edu/article/1857.cfm
Camille
Camille (1936)
Directed by: George Cukor
Screenplay: Alexandre Dumas fils (novel); Zoe Akins, Frances Marion, James Hilton
Cast: Greta Garbo, Robert Taylor, Lionel Barrymore
(via YouTube): Camille - Come What May
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zsCbIpyjsU
A great, grand soap opera. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: George Cukor
Screenplay: Alexandre Dumas fils (novel); Zoe Akins, Frances Marion, James Hilton
Cast: Greta Garbo, Robert Taylor, Lionel Barrymore
(via YouTube): Camille - Come What May
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zsCbIpyjsU
A great, grand soap opera. I enjoyed it.
Who Pays The Fewest Bribes
(via Transparency International): A survey by global anti-corruption body Transparency International has found more than one in ten has paid bribes in various levels to obtain service (s) across the globe in the past twelve months.
Austria - 1%
Canada - 1%
France - 1%
Iceland - 1%
Japan - 1%
South Korea - 1%
Sweden - 1%
Switzerland - 1%
Denmark - 2%
Netherlands - 2%
Useful link:
www.transparency.org
Austria - 1%
Canada - 1%
France - 1%
Iceland - 1%
Japan - 1%
South Korea - 1%
Sweden - 1%
Switzerland - 1%
Denmark - 2%
Netherlands - 2%
Useful link:
www.transparency.org
Choosing DTC Sightholders: A Game Of Power, Principles And Profiles
Chaim Even-Zohar writes about the internal corporate power plays at De Beers surrounding the new Sightholder list + the allocation methodology + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
The Art Of The State
(via The Guardian) Sam Jones writes about a new catalogue of 2,500 scattered oil paintings held by the Government Art Collection + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/news/story/0,,2223670,00.html
55,000 Signatures And Counting
Milton Esterow writes about John Castagno + four of his compilations of 55,000 signatures and monograms—most of them readable, some of them strange, ambiguous, or illegible--starting with the old masters and continuing through the present + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=2385¤t=True
The Road To Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
4
Soon after the death in 1470 of Jacopo Bellini, there arrived in Venice a young Sicilian painter who, without being himself a great master, nevertheless changed the whole course of Italian painting. This was Antonio da Messina (1430-79), who, having seen at Naples in his youth a Flemish picture painted in oils, was so fascinated by the advantages of the new medium, that he went to Flanders and stayed there for some six years till he had thoroughly mastered the new process of painting. Then he returned to Italy, where he generously communicated his secrets to other artists, and so popularized in Italy the Flemish method of oil painting. Antonello was a skillful painter, both of figures and landscape, as his ‘Crucifixion’ from the picture in the National Gallery, proves; but unfortunately he died at the age of forty nine, just when he had received commissions for a number of important paintings, and so we can only judge of his talent by the few small pictures and portraits which have survived.
Others reaped where Antonello had sown. Already Venetian painters had shown a certain independence in their art. In this maritime port, where sails were more plentiful than trees, pictures had long been painted on canvas, for wood that warps and plaster that scales and falls were ill suited to resist the damp that came from the canals. Van Eyck’s method of oil painting, introduced by Antonello, was soon found to be more damp-proof than the old method (tempera) of mixing pigments with yolk-of-egg, besides being lighter in weight and richer in color.
Among the first to take advantage of the new method were the two sons of Bellini, who had soon followed their father to Venice, after his separation from Squarcione. Gentile, the elder, named after Gentile da Fabriano (Jacopo’s first master), was born about 1429; his brother Giovanni was a year or two younger. Both these sons far surpassed their father, and the younger outstripped the elder, but throughout their lives there was no jealously between them.
‘Although the brothers live apart,’ says Vasari, ‘they bore such respect for each other and for their father, that each one declared himself to be inferior to the other, thus seeking modestly to surpass the other no less in goodness and courtesy than in the excellence of art.’
We are told that ‘the first works of Giovanni were some portraits which gave great satisfaction, especially that of the Doge Loredano.’ This last is the sumptuous painting, now hanging in the National Gallery; and from this noble portrait of the Head of the Venetian Republic may be obtained a just idea of Giovanni’s power of characterization and of the splendor of his color when he was still at the outset of his great career. Impressed by the beauty of his portraits and of numerous altar-pieces which he painted for churches in Venetian territory, the nobles of the city desired this great painter, together with his brother Gentile, ‘to decorate the hall of the great council with paintings descriptive of the magnificence and greatness of their marvelous city.’ So, beginning with the brothers Bellini, and afterwards continued by painters of equal eminence, there came into being that unrivalled series of mural paintings in public buildings which makes Venice today the most wonderful art city in the world.
Of all the altar-pieces painted by Giovanni Bellini, the most exquisite is the illustration ‘The Doge Barberigo Kneeling before the Infant Christ’, a painting formerly in the Church of San Pietro at Murano, but now in the Accademia, Venice. This Madonna is one of the loveliest in all Italian art, serene, majestic, pensive, but altogether human and lovable.
Softness and gentleness always distinguish the work of Giovanni Bellini from that of his brother Gentile, who inclined more to the severity of his brother-in-law Mantegna. Good examples of Gentile Bellini may be seen in the National Gallery, among them being an ‘Adoration of the Magi’ and his portraits of ‘The Sultan Mohammed II’. The last has an interesting history. Although paintings are prohibited by Mohammedan laws, this Sultan saw some portraits by Giovanni Bellini in the possession of the Venetian Ambassador, and, filled with amazement and admiration, he earnestly desired to see the man who could create such marvels. The Venetian Senate, however, was disinclined to let Giovanni leave the city, but allowed his brother Gentile to go in his stead. Gentile arrived at Constantinople, where he ‘was received graciously and highly favored,’ and after painting a number of portraits, including one of the Sultan and one (by request) of himself, the Grand Turk was ‘convinced that the artist had been assisted by some divine spirit.’ He wished to reward the artist richly, and ‘asked him to name any favor which he desired, and it would immediately be granted.’
Tactful and courteous, yet conscious that if he unduly prolonged his stay in Turkey he might excite envy and dangerous religious animosity, Gentile replied that he ‘asked for nothing but a letter of recommendation to the senate and government of his native Venice.’ Though loath to let him go, the Sultan was as good as his word. The letter was written ‘in the warmest possible terms, after which he was dismissed with noble gifts and the honor of knighthood.’
So Gentile Bellini returned in honor to Venice, where he lived till he was nearly eighty, when ‘he passed to the other life,’ says Vasari, ‘and was honorably buried by his brother in Santi Giovanni e Paolo in the year 1507.’ His brother Giovanni survived him by some ten years and continued, find old patriarch that he was, painting portraits till almost the end of his days. ‘At length,’ says our historian, he passed from the troubles of this life, leaving an everlasting name for the works which he produced in his native Venice and elsewhere. He was buried in the same church where he had previously laid his brother Gentile.’
The Road To Venice (continued)
4
Soon after the death in 1470 of Jacopo Bellini, there arrived in Venice a young Sicilian painter who, without being himself a great master, nevertheless changed the whole course of Italian painting. This was Antonio da Messina (1430-79), who, having seen at Naples in his youth a Flemish picture painted in oils, was so fascinated by the advantages of the new medium, that he went to Flanders and stayed there for some six years till he had thoroughly mastered the new process of painting. Then he returned to Italy, where he generously communicated his secrets to other artists, and so popularized in Italy the Flemish method of oil painting. Antonello was a skillful painter, both of figures and landscape, as his ‘Crucifixion’ from the picture in the National Gallery, proves; but unfortunately he died at the age of forty nine, just when he had received commissions for a number of important paintings, and so we can only judge of his talent by the few small pictures and portraits which have survived.
Others reaped where Antonello had sown. Already Venetian painters had shown a certain independence in their art. In this maritime port, where sails were more plentiful than trees, pictures had long been painted on canvas, for wood that warps and plaster that scales and falls were ill suited to resist the damp that came from the canals. Van Eyck’s method of oil painting, introduced by Antonello, was soon found to be more damp-proof than the old method (tempera) of mixing pigments with yolk-of-egg, besides being lighter in weight and richer in color.
Among the first to take advantage of the new method were the two sons of Bellini, who had soon followed their father to Venice, after his separation from Squarcione. Gentile, the elder, named after Gentile da Fabriano (Jacopo’s first master), was born about 1429; his brother Giovanni was a year or two younger. Both these sons far surpassed their father, and the younger outstripped the elder, but throughout their lives there was no jealously between them.
‘Although the brothers live apart,’ says Vasari, ‘they bore such respect for each other and for their father, that each one declared himself to be inferior to the other, thus seeking modestly to surpass the other no less in goodness and courtesy than in the excellence of art.’
We are told that ‘the first works of Giovanni were some portraits which gave great satisfaction, especially that of the Doge Loredano.’ This last is the sumptuous painting, now hanging in the National Gallery; and from this noble portrait of the Head of the Venetian Republic may be obtained a just idea of Giovanni’s power of characterization and of the splendor of his color when he was still at the outset of his great career. Impressed by the beauty of his portraits and of numerous altar-pieces which he painted for churches in Venetian territory, the nobles of the city desired this great painter, together with his brother Gentile, ‘to decorate the hall of the great council with paintings descriptive of the magnificence and greatness of their marvelous city.’ So, beginning with the brothers Bellini, and afterwards continued by painters of equal eminence, there came into being that unrivalled series of mural paintings in public buildings which makes Venice today the most wonderful art city in the world.
Of all the altar-pieces painted by Giovanni Bellini, the most exquisite is the illustration ‘The Doge Barberigo Kneeling before the Infant Christ’, a painting formerly in the Church of San Pietro at Murano, but now in the Accademia, Venice. This Madonna is one of the loveliest in all Italian art, serene, majestic, pensive, but altogether human and lovable.
Softness and gentleness always distinguish the work of Giovanni Bellini from that of his brother Gentile, who inclined more to the severity of his brother-in-law Mantegna. Good examples of Gentile Bellini may be seen in the National Gallery, among them being an ‘Adoration of the Magi’ and his portraits of ‘The Sultan Mohammed II’. The last has an interesting history. Although paintings are prohibited by Mohammedan laws, this Sultan saw some portraits by Giovanni Bellini in the possession of the Venetian Ambassador, and, filled with amazement and admiration, he earnestly desired to see the man who could create such marvels. The Venetian Senate, however, was disinclined to let Giovanni leave the city, but allowed his brother Gentile to go in his stead. Gentile arrived at Constantinople, where he ‘was received graciously and highly favored,’ and after painting a number of portraits, including one of the Sultan and one (by request) of himself, the Grand Turk was ‘convinced that the artist had been assisted by some divine spirit.’ He wished to reward the artist richly, and ‘asked him to name any favor which he desired, and it would immediately be granted.’
Tactful and courteous, yet conscious that if he unduly prolonged his stay in Turkey he might excite envy and dangerous religious animosity, Gentile replied that he ‘asked for nothing but a letter of recommendation to the senate and government of his native Venice.’ Though loath to let him go, the Sultan was as good as his word. The letter was written ‘in the warmest possible terms, after which he was dismissed with noble gifts and the honor of knighthood.’
So Gentile Bellini returned in honor to Venice, where he lived till he was nearly eighty, when ‘he passed to the other life,’ says Vasari, ‘and was honorably buried by his brother in Santi Giovanni e Paolo in the year 1507.’ His brother Giovanni survived him by some ten years and continued, find old patriarch that he was, painting portraits till almost the end of his days. ‘At length,’ says our historian, he passed from the troubles of this life, leaving an everlasting name for the works which he produced in his native Venice and elsewhere. He was buried in the same church where he had previously laid his brother Gentile.’
The Road To Venice (continued)
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