(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The earliest type of Rosette was a very simple combination of stones intended to give the impression of a large, pointed diamond. It was composed of four Shield Cut fan-shaped diamonds placed close together like a four-leaf clover and held in place by small prongs. The four triangular facets, with their pointed ends meeting in the center, might well be mistaken for the four main facets of a single, low, Point Cut diamond. These Rosettes are almost impossible to identify in portraits—in most cases the painters have confused them with low Pyramid Cuts.
Detailed analysis of components of Rosettes of this kind show that the cut, though in fact fashioned from any flat irregular rough, was originally inspired by a ‘was’ type of cleavage. Loss of weight, even from perfectly developed ‘wases’, seems to have been at least 50 per cent, but neither this fact nor the long hours of precise fashioning involved appear to have bothered the cutters, for the resulting ‘flowers’ were soon in great demand. Each of the four fan-shaped diamonds was fashioned as follows: the crown was given one semi-circular and one triangular facet, usually separated by a very narrow facet, or even by a ridge. The result was an impressive mirroring square enclosed inside an attractive narrow border. In the pavilion, the triangular culet was enclosed by a semi-circular facet with truncated corners at the broad end, and on either side by rhomboid facets meeting at the point.
There is evidence from an inventory of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, that four-petalled Rosettes existed as early as 1411. Another inventory mentions that in 1414 Jean, Duke of Berry, received from the Paris jeweler, Constantin de Nicolas, a ring with ‘une flour de diamant’. It is possible that Rosettes may even have originated from Paris.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
6. The Lapidary And His Tools
The name given to the craftsman who cuts and engraves small stones is ‘lapidary,’ from lapis, the Latin word for stone. The Egyptian jeweler and his fellow craftsman in Babylonia were highly skilled in engraving minute figures on extremely hard stones. Their tools were simple but effective. Splinters of flint and fragments of emery stone were used on the softer stones, the design being scratched freehand on the surface. For engraving the harder gems, rotary tools were necessary, and those used were quite similar to some of the wheel-tools of today. There were drills ending in rounded points, disks, etc., which were made to rotate by means of a wheel or bow. The actual cutting of the gem was not done by the metal drill, however, but by the emery powder that was ground against the stone by the revolving tip.
The fact that his material might be exceedingly hard and his tools so primitive that cutting stone must have taken countless hours and endless patience did not prevent the lapidary from making fine bowls from black diorite, one of the hardest of stones. The walls of these bowls he ground down to such a degree of thinness that they were translucent in sunlight.
Another task given to the lapidary, not exactly in the line of jewelry, was the making of artificial eyes, not, however, to be worn by human beings.
Portrait sculpture in Egypt was carried to a point of realism never since excelled. When the sculptor carved his lifelike heads from wood or stone, he painted them in full color, and between their unblinking lids the lapidary set eyes of rock crystal with pupils of black stone. The effect of these gleaming eyes was startling in the extreme. Sometimes the sculptor worked not with the stone or wood but with bronze, which he shaped by hammering over wooden forms. Today the royal portrait of King Peri of the Pyramid Age still glares serenely, the undimmed eyes of rock crystal set in a bronze face which time has encrusted with rust.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
6. The Lapidary And His Tools
The name given to the craftsman who cuts and engraves small stones is ‘lapidary,’ from lapis, the Latin word for stone. The Egyptian jeweler and his fellow craftsman in Babylonia were highly skilled in engraving minute figures on extremely hard stones. Their tools were simple but effective. Splinters of flint and fragments of emery stone were used on the softer stones, the design being scratched freehand on the surface. For engraving the harder gems, rotary tools were necessary, and those used were quite similar to some of the wheel-tools of today. There were drills ending in rounded points, disks, etc., which were made to rotate by means of a wheel or bow. The actual cutting of the gem was not done by the metal drill, however, but by the emery powder that was ground against the stone by the revolving tip.
The fact that his material might be exceedingly hard and his tools so primitive that cutting stone must have taken countless hours and endless patience did not prevent the lapidary from making fine bowls from black diorite, one of the hardest of stones. The walls of these bowls he ground down to such a degree of thinness that they were translucent in sunlight.
Another task given to the lapidary, not exactly in the line of jewelry, was the making of artificial eyes, not, however, to be worn by human beings.
Portrait sculpture in Egypt was carried to a point of realism never since excelled. When the sculptor carved his lifelike heads from wood or stone, he painted them in full color, and between their unblinking lids the lapidary set eyes of rock crystal with pupils of black stone. The effect of these gleaming eyes was startling in the extreme. Sometimes the sculptor worked not with the stone or wood but with bronze, which he shaped by hammering over wooden forms. Today the royal portrait of King Peri of the Pyramid Age still glares serenely, the undimmed eyes of rock crystal set in a bronze face which time has encrusted with rust.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Here is may be well to pause in order to emphasize the fact that these Dutch painters were preoccupied with rendering the manners of their time. This characteristic, which gives their work a lasting historical value, has caused their little pictures of courtyards, interiors, tavern scenes, conversations, toilet-scenes, and the like to be known as ‘genre’ painting, from the French word genre (i.e. manner or style). A few, like Terborch, show us the manner of dress and living of the upper classes; others show us the middle classes, and still more concern themselves with the manners of the peasants and lower classes. Among these last the best known is Jan Steen (1626-79), who is often amusingly satirical in his outlook; other painters of a similar style were Adrian van Ostade (1610-85) and the Fleming David Teniers (1610-90).
These painters may amuse us for the moment, but they do not hold us spellbound as some of the others do. The greatest rival of Terborch was Peter de Hooch or de Hoogh (1629-77), who was only twelve years his junior. De Hooch’s figures may not be so aristocratic as those of Terborch, but they are seen as finely and have their being in the same clear light which both these masters observed and rendered so lovingly. This passion for the rendering of light began to show itself in the paintings of Brouwer; it becomes still more marked in the work of Terborch, and it approaches perfection in the pictures of De Hooch. His chief interest, as the late Sir Walter Armstrong remarked ‘is always absorbed by the one problem, that of capturing and bottling the sunlight.’ How supremely well he succeeded in his object is shown by ‘A Girl Reading’, a masterpiece of interior illumination, in which every object is not only perfectly rendered but keeps its proper distance within the room owing to the painter’s delicately exact notation of the relative degrees of lighting.
In his youth, as Armstrong has pointed out, De Hooch liked the broadest daylight, but with advancing years he preferred ‘merely to suggest the outside sun, as it creeps down tiled passages, through red curtains and half-open shutters.’ An interesting example of De Hooch’s earlier period when he chose the broadest daylight for his scene is the ‘Interior of a Dutch House’. Nothing could be more brilliant or more faithful to Nature than the bright sunlight which streams down on the group near the window. It is instructive to observe here that the standing figure by the fireplace was an afterthought, put in by the artist to improve his design. This woman forms the apex of a triangle of which the wall with the windows forms the base. We know that she was an afterthought because the artist had already painted the black-and-white tiled floor right up to the fireplace before he began the figure, and that it why we can still see the tiling through the woman’s skirt. This correction would not have been visible to De Hooch’s contemporaries, but it is a peculiar property of oil paint that an under-painting, invisible when the paint is fresh, will in time work its way up to the surface. Since De Hooch was consummate craftsman whose handling of pigment approached perfection, the fact that even he has been unable to disguise a correction is a useful lesson to a living painter that he must get his picture right from the start, or otherwise, however clever he may be, his errors will be found out after his death. In De Hooch’s interior, this emergence of what it was endeavored to hide is too trivial and unimportant to affect seriously the beauty and merit of the painting.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Here is may be well to pause in order to emphasize the fact that these Dutch painters were preoccupied with rendering the manners of their time. This characteristic, which gives their work a lasting historical value, has caused their little pictures of courtyards, interiors, tavern scenes, conversations, toilet-scenes, and the like to be known as ‘genre’ painting, from the French word genre (i.e. manner or style). A few, like Terborch, show us the manner of dress and living of the upper classes; others show us the middle classes, and still more concern themselves with the manners of the peasants and lower classes. Among these last the best known is Jan Steen (1626-79), who is often amusingly satirical in his outlook; other painters of a similar style were Adrian van Ostade (1610-85) and the Fleming David Teniers (1610-90).
These painters may amuse us for the moment, but they do not hold us spellbound as some of the others do. The greatest rival of Terborch was Peter de Hooch or de Hoogh (1629-77), who was only twelve years his junior. De Hooch’s figures may not be so aristocratic as those of Terborch, but they are seen as finely and have their being in the same clear light which both these masters observed and rendered so lovingly. This passion for the rendering of light began to show itself in the paintings of Brouwer; it becomes still more marked in the work of Terborch, and it approaches perfection in the pictures of De Hooch. His chief interest, as the late Sir Walter Armstrong remarked ‘is always absorbed by the one problem, that of capturing and bottling the sunlight.’ How supremely well he succeeded in his object is shown by ‘A Girl Reading’, a masterpiece of interior illumination, in which every object is not only perfectly rendered but keeps its proper distance within the room owing to the painter’s delicately exact notation of the relative degrees of lighting.
In his youth, as Armstrong has pointed out, De Hooch liked the broadest daylight, but with advancing years he preferred ‘merely to suggest the outside sun, as it creeps down tiled passages, through red curtains and half-open shutters.’ An interesting example of De Hooch’s earlier period when he chose the broadest daylight for his scene is the ‘Interior of a Dutch House’. Nothing could be more brilliant or more faithful to Nature than the bright sunlight which streams down on the group near the window. It is instructive to observe here that the standing figure by the fireplace was an afterthought, put in by the artist to improve his design. This woman forms the apex of a triangle of which the wall with the windows forms the base. We know that she was an afterthought because the artist had already painted the black-and-white tiled floor right up to the fireplace before he began the figure, and that it why we can still see the tiling through the woman’s skirt. This correction would not have been visible to De Hooch’s contemporaries, but it is a peculiar property of oil paint that an under-painting, invisible when the paint is fresh, will in time work its way up to the surface. Since De Hooch was consummate craftsman whose handling of pigment approached perfection, the fact that even he has been unable to disguise a correction is a useful lesson to a living painter that he must get his picture right from the start, or otherwise, however clever he may be, his errors will be found out after his death. In De Hooch’s interior, this emergence of what it was endeavored to hide is too trivial and unimportant to affect seriously the beauty and merit of the painting.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Synesthesia
I found an interesting recent research on synesthesia. I think it could be applicable to colored stone + diamond grading.
Useful link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia
Useful link:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Brain Interactions
An interesting article by Janice Dorn about brain interactions in the decision making process of trading (stocks) @ http://thetradingdoctor.com/pdf/ThisIsYourBrainOnTrading.pdf is insightful + valuable. I think the concept could be applicable to gem/art/jewelry trading.
Red Wine Drug Shows Proof That It Combats Aging
Alexis Madrigal writes about a derivative of an ingredient in red wine that combats some symptoms of aging + other viewpoints @ http://www.wired.com/medtech/drugs/news/2008/01/resveratrol
Useful link:
www.sirtrispharma.com
Useful link:
www.sirtrispharma.com
Ray Kroc
Press On: Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.
Useful link:
Grinding It Out by Ray Kroc
Useful link:
Grinding It Out by Ray Kroc
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
5. Babylonian Cylinders
Another form of signet stone was used by the ancient Babylonians. It was most frequently cylindrical in shape and generally from one to three inches long. The engraving, often elaborate and always intaglio, ranged in subject from sacred animals and gods to scenes depicting the adventures of mythical heroes; and it might also include the name and title of the owner or even a portrait of him crowned and robed like one of his gods. In any case, the design must be a mark of personal identification; no two cylinders were ever exactly the same.
Like the Egyptian scarab, the cylinder was worn both as amulet and seal, but not a swivel ring. A fairly large hole was drilled lengthwise through the stone so that it could be conveniently strung on a cord and suspended from the neck or the wrist.
The cylinders were carved from various gemstones, especially the softer ones such as steatite—familiarly known to us as soapstone—and serpentine. Serpentine is the modern name for a waxy, opaque stone, often rich green in color and mottled in a way that suggests the skin of a snake, hence its name. Harder stones: jasper, agate, rock crystal, brown chalcedony, and Amazon stone (another modern name for an ancient gem mineral) were also fashioned into cylinders.
The method of using this type of seal was simple. When a mark of identification was desired the cylinder was rolled over the flat surface of a bit of soft clay and the impression thus made by the incised stone was sharp and clear.
The use of signets was by no means confined to people of the upper classes. The itinerant merchant, who traveled with his caravan of pack-donkeys from Babylonia to other markets in other hands, tied up his bales of goods with rope and then ‘locked’ the rope with his personal seal—a bit of clay over which his signet cylinder had been rolled. Many broken clay seals have been unearthed, broken no doubt by the merchant himself when he opened his packs to show his wares.
Great quantities of engraved cylinders have been found in the ruins of Babylonia; and even today, when the rubbish of ancient mounds has been washed out by winter rains, Arabian women still find the ancient cylinders, which they value as amulets and wear strung together as necklaces. Nevertheless there is great willingness to part with the lucky pieces whenever the interested tourist is willing to pay the price.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
5. Babylonian Cylinders
Another form of signet stone was used by the ancient Babylonians. It was most frequently cylindrical in shape and generally from one to three inches long. The engraving, often elaborate and always intaglio, ranged in subject from sacred animals and gods to scenes depicting the adventures of mythical heroes; and it might also include the name and title of the owner or even a portrait of him crowned and robed like one of his gods. In any case, the design must be a mark of personal identification; no two cylinders were ever exactly the same.
Like the Egyptian scarab, the cylinder was worn both as amulet and seal, but not a swivel ring. A fairly large hole was drilled lengthwise through the stone so that it could be conveniently strung on a cord and suspended from the neck or the wrist.
The cylinders were carved from various gemstones, especially the softer ones such as steatite—familiarly known to us as soapstone—and serpentine. Serpentine is the modern name for a waxy, opaque stone, often rich green in color and mottled in a way that suggests the skin of a snake, hence its name. Harder stones: jasper, agate, rock crystal, brown chalcedony, and Amazon stone (another modern name for an ancient gem mineral) were also fashioned into cylinders.
The method of using this type of seal was simple. When a mark of identification was desired the cylinder was rolled over the flat surface of a bit of soft clay and the impression thus made by the incised stone was sharp and clear.
The use of signets was by no means confined to people of the upper classes. The itinerant merchant, who traveled with his caravan of pack-donkeys from Babylonia to other markets in other hands, tied up his bales of goods with rope and then ‘locked’ the rope with his personal seal—a bit of clay over which his signet cylinder had been rolled. Many broken clay seals have been unearthed, broken no doubt by the merchant himself when he opened his packs to show his wares.
Great quantities of engraved cylinders have been found in the ruins of Babylonia; and even today, when the rubbish of ancient mounds has been washed out by winter rains, Arabian women still find the ancient cylinders, which they value as amulets and wear strung together as necklaces. Nevertheless there is great willingness to part with the lucky pieces whenever the interested tourist is willing to pay the price.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
Diamond Rosettes
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
These flower-shaped combinations of small pavé-set diamonds are recorded in documents as ‘diamond roses’, ‘diamond floweres’, ‘pansy-shaped diamonds’, ‘sparcks of dyamondes’, rose von diamanten, diamonrosl, rose de diamant, fleur de pansée de dyamant, rosa diamantina, etc. Today they are universally known as Rosettes. They first became fashionable early in the fifteenth century and developed gradually until about the second half of the sixteenth century, when they went out of fashion. Both the Rosettes and the names they had been given were soon so completely forgotten that when, many years later, these names were encountered in old documents and texts, they were incorrectly believed to refer to what we now know as the Rose Cut or Diamond Rose—i.e a single, dome-shaped, faceted gem without pavilion. This may be the reason for the belief generally held that the ‘new’ Rose Cut was created in about 1520, the period when the Table Cut was the standard cut, but the fancy cut diamond market was entirely dominated by Rosettes.
Cutters faced with small rough gradually learned how to flatter their customers with combinations which gave the impression of size far beyond their owners’ financial resources! With skill and imagination they succeeded in achieving impressive display at moderate cost, while at the same time creating some of the loveliest jewelry designs ever to be seen.
The most common shapes for cuts at the time were square, oblong and triangular. But a Rosette, being a combination of small diamonds, could be made to appear round and could seem to fill completely a circular setting, despite the fact that in reality the outline was scalloped or lobed because the components were fan-shaped.
Such Rosettes resembled Burgundian Point Cuts in the unusual brilliance of their reflections from their numerous and variously angled facets. This brilliance was initially accidental, but came to be regarded as essential, and was even enhanced by the insertion of thin reflectors of silvery foil which were placed between the diamonds and the pitch in which they were set.
These flower-shaped combinations of small pavé-set diamonds are recorded in documents as ‘diamond roses’, ‘diamond floweres’, ‘pansy-shaped diamonds’, ‘sparcks of dyamondes’, rose von diamanten, diamonrosl, rose de diamant, fleur de pansée de dyamant, rosa diamantina, etc. Today they are universally known as Rosettes. They first became fashionable early in the fifteenth century and developed gradually until about the second half of the sixteenth century, when they went out of fashion. Both the Rosettes and the names they had been given were soon so completely forgotten that when, many years later, these names were encountered in old documents and texts, they were incorrectly believed to refer to what we now know as the Rose Cut or Diamond Rose—i.e a single, dome-shaped, faceted gem without pavilion. This may be the reason for the belief generally held that the ‘new’ Rose Cut was created in about 1520, the period when the Table Cut was the standard cut, but the fancy cut diamond market was entirely dominated by Rosettes.
Cutters faced with small rough gradually learned how to flatter their customers with combinations which gave the impression of size far beyond their owners’ financial resources! With skill and imagination they succeeded in achieving impressive display at moderate cost, while at the same time creating some of the loveliest jewelry designs ever to be seen.
The most common shapes for cuts at the time were square, oblong and triangular. But a Rosette, being a combination of small diamonds, could be made to appear round and could seem to fill completely a circular setting, despite the fact that in reality the outline was scalloped or lobed because the components were fan-shaped.
Such Rosettes resembled Burgundian Point Cuts in the unusual brilliance of their reflections from their numerous and variously angled facets. This brilliance was initially accidental, but came to be regarded as essential, and was even enhanced by the insertion of thin reflectors of silvery foil which were placed between the diamonds and the pitch in which they were set.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art Of Cuyp, Dou, Hobbema, De Hooch, Potter, Maes, Ruisdael, Van De Velde, And Vermeer Of Delft
After a long struggle, the yoke of the Spaniards was broken, and the independence of the Dutch Republic was established in 1648 by the Peace of Mϋnster. This event is commemorated by Terborch’s picture (in the National Gallery) of the signing of the Treaty; in this it will be noticed that the Protestant Dutch delegates raise their hands to affirm, while the Roman Catholic plenipotentiaries of Spain lay their hands on the Gospel to take the oath. Careful and exact both in portraiture of those present and in the painting of every little detail, this moderate-sized picture expresses the sober spirit in which Holland celebrated her victory.
While of considerable historic interest, this picture is not a supreme masterpiece of art; it is not so effective as the same painter’s ‘Portrait of a Gentleman,’ a small full-length figure which also hangs in the National Gallery. Historical subjects did not call forth the highest powers of the painters of the Netherlands. The art of Holland was neither an ecclesiastical nor a state art: it was a domestic art which produced pictures, not for churches or public buildings, but for the private homes of citizens. So wonderful was the artistic activity inspired by the wave of patriotism which swept through Holland, that the name of these so-called ‘Little Masters’ is truly legion, and no attempt can be made in this Outline to mention each by name. Only a few representative artists can be selected for individual notice.
Chronologically, the first place among the Little Masters is claimed by Adrian Brouwer (1605-38), whose ‘Boor Asleep’ is one of the most precious Dutch pictures in the Wallace Collection. It is still a matter of dispute whether Brouwer was born in Holland or Flanders, but he certainly spent his youth in Haarlem, where he studied under Frans Hals. Afterwards he worked both in Amsterdam and Antwerp. How highly Brouwer was esteemed by other painters of his time is shown by the fact that Rubens possessed seventeen of his pictures, while even Rembrandt, in spite of his financial difficulties, managed to collect and retain eight Brouwers. A humorous vividness of vision, concise and vigorous drawing, and an enamel-like beauty of color are the distinctive qualities of his art.
Apart from the landscape-painters—whom we must consider subsequently—most of the Dutch painters of the home descended (artistically) either from Hals or from Rembrandt. Gerard Dou (1613-75), one of Rembrandt’s many pupils, was the most successful painter financially of his day. He made his fortune by never progressing beyond the first manner of his master and by painting with a careful literalness which demanded no exercise of the beholder’s imagination. ‘The Poulterer’s Shop’ is a typical example of Dou’s minutely finished style. It has always been popular because it is much easier to recognize industry than to understand inspiration, and in rendering this everyday incident in a shopping expedition Dou has spared no pains to render each detail with laborious fidelity.
How even in the rendering of detail there is all the difference in the world between the Letter of Exactitude and the Spirit of Truth may be seen when we compare the pictures of Dou with those of similar scenes by Terborch, De Hoogh, or Vermeer. Each one of these three exquisite painters has an eye for detail as keen as that possessed by Dou, but they all have far more ability than Dou possessed to subordinate details to the unity of the whole. The eldest of these three masters, Gerard Terborch or Terberg(1617-81), has already been mentioned. As a young man he studied at Haarlem, where he was probably influenced by Hals and Brouwer, but Terborch did not found his style only on what he found within the borders of Holland. He was more a man-of-the-world than most of his artist contemporaries. He visited England, Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, and in the last country he certainly studied the paintings of Velazquez, who was only eighteen years in his senior. Like Velazquez, but unlike most of his fellows in Holland, Terborch was aristocratic in the temper of his art, so that his pictures as a rule show us a higher strata of Dutch society than that depicted by the majority of Dutch artists.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
The Art Of Cuyp, Dou, Hobbema, De Hooch, Potter, Maes, Ruisdael, Van De Velde, And Vermeer Of Delft
After a long struggle, the yoke of the Spaniards was broken, and the independence of the Dutch Republic was established in 1648 by the Peace of Mϋnster. This event is commemorated by Terborch’s picture (in the National Gallery) of the signing of the Treaty; in this it will be noticed that the Protestant Dutch delegates raise their hands to affirm, while the Roman Catholic plenipotentiaries of Spain lay their hands on the Gospel to take the oath. Careful and exact both in portraiture of those present and in the painting of every little detail, this moderate-sized picture expresses the sober spirit in which Holland celebrated her victory.
While of considerable historic interest, this picture is not a supreme masterpiece of art; it is not so effective as the same painter’s ‘Portrait of a Gentleman,’ a small full-length figure which also hangs in the National Gallery. Historical subjects did not call forth the highest powers of the painters of the Netherlands. The art of Holland was neither an ecclesiastical nor a state art: it was a domestic art which produced pictures, not for churches or public buildings, but for the private homes of citizens. So wonderful was the artistic activity inspired by the wave of patriotism which swept through Holland, that the name of these so-called ‘Little Masters’ is truly legion, and no attempt can be made in this Outline to mention each by name. Only a few representative artists can be selected for individual notice.
Chronologically, the first place among the Little Masters is claimed by Adrian Brouwer (1605-38), whose ‘Boor Asleep’ is one of the most precious Dutch pictures in the Wallace Collection. It is still a matter of dispute whether Brouwer was born in Holland or Flanders, but he certainly spent his youth in Haarlem, where he studied under Frans Hals. Afterwards he worked both in Amsterdam and Antwerp. How highly Brouwer was esteemed by other painters of his time is shown by the fact that Rubens possessed seventeen of his pictures, while even Rembrandt, in spite of his financial difficulties, managed to collect and retain eight Brouwers. A humorous vividness of vision, concise and vigorous drawing, and an enamel-like beauty of color are the distinctive qualities of his art.
Apart from the landscape-painters—whom we must consider subsequently—most of the Dutch painters of the home descended (artistically) either from Hals or from Rembrandt. Gerard Dou (1613-75), one of Rembrandt’s many pupils, was the most successful painter financially of his day. He made his fortune by never progressing beyond the first manner of his master and by painting with a careful literalness which demanded no exercise of the beholder’s imagination. ‘The Poulterer’s Shop’ is a typical example of Dou’s minutely finished style. It has always been popular because it is much easier to recognize industry than to understand inspiration, and in rendering this everyday incident in a shopping expedition Dou has spared no pains to render each detail with laborious fidelity.
How even in the rendering of detail there is all the difference in the world between the Letter of Exactitude and the Spirit of Truth may be seen when we compare the pictures of Dou with those of similar scenes by Terborch, De Hoogh, or Vermeer. Each one of these three exquisite painters has an eye for detail as keen as that possessed by Dou, but they all have far more ability than Dou possessed to subordinate details to the unity of the whole. The eldest of these three masters, Gerard Terborch or Terberg(1617-81), has already been mentioned. As a young man he studied at Haarlem, where he was probably influenced by Hals and Brouwer, but Terborch did not found his style only on what he found within the borders of Holland. He was more a man-of-the-world than most of his artist contemporaries. He visited England, Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, and in the last country he certainly studied the paintings of Velazquez, who was only eighteen years in his senior. Like Velazquez, but unlike most of his fellows in Holland, Terborch was aristocratic in the temper of his art, so that his pictures as a rule show us a higher strata of Dutch society than that depicted by the majority of Dutch artists.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Richard Bach
The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we are afraid.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
UV Test Helps Fingerprint Blue Diamonds
Randolph E Schmid writes about the famed Hope Diamond's reaction to ultraviolet light + a complimentary test to differentiate natural ones from imitations or treated stones + other viewpoints @ http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080107/ap_on_sc/glowing_gem
Useful links:
www.si.edu
www.nrl.navy.mil
Useful links:
www.si.edu
www.nrl.navy.mil
Gitanjali Group
The Indian jewelry company made headlines when it acquired Samuels Jewelers (2006) + a majority interest in Tri-Star Worldwide LLC (2007) + Rogers (2007) + I think there will be more acquisitions of jewelry brands and other concepts by Gitanjali in the coming months/years.
Useful link:
www.gitanjaligroup.com
Useful link:
www.gitanjaligroup.com
Strange + Cool + Beautiful
Here is an interesting concept about design + energy efficiency + globally conscious living @ http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/multimedia/2008/01/modular_homes
I liked it.
I liked it.
International Energy Outlook
Here is an interesting review @ International Energy Outlook 2007 + Oil Long Term Supply and Demand + the new competition (s) in the worldwide energy market (s).
Useful links:
www.eia.doe.gov
www.bakerhughesdirect.com
Useful links:
www.eia.doe.gov
www.bakerhughesdirect.com
Avoid Boring People
Avoid Boring People by James Watson is an interesting book + it's a scintillating mixture of the many strands of his life + his reflection on the good and bad that characterized that period + I think the lessons are valuable and insightful.
Here is what Random House wrote about the book:
From a living legend—James D. Watson, who shared the Nobel Prize for having revealed the structure of DNA—a personal account of the making of a scientist. In Avoid Boring People, the man who discovered “the secret of life” shares the less revolutionary secrets he has found to getting along and getting ahead in a competitive world.
Recounting the years of his own formation—from his father’s birding lessons to the political cat’s cradle of professorship at Harvard—Watson illuminates the progress of an exemplary scientific life, both his own pursuit of knowledge and how he learns to nurture fledgling scientists. Each phase of his experience yields a wealth of age-specific practical advice. For instance, when young, never be the brightest person in the room or bring more than one date on a ski trip; later in life, always accept with grace when your request for funding is denied, and--for goodness’ sake--don’t dye your hair. There are precepts that few others would find occasion to heed (expect to gain weight after you win your Nobel Prize, as everyone will invite you to dinner) and many more with broader application (do not succumb to the seductions of golf if you intend to stay young professionally). And whatever the season or the occasion: avoid boring people.
A true believer in the intellectual promise of youth, Watson offers specific pointers to beginning scientists about choosing the projects that will shape their careers, the supreme importance of collegiality, and dealing with competitors within the same institution, even one who is a former mentor. Finally he addresses himself to the role and needs of science at large universities in the context of discussing the unceremonious departure of Harvard's president Larry Summers and the search for his successor.
Scorning political correctness, this irreverent romp through Watson’s life and learning is an indispensable guide to anyone plotting a career in science (or most anything else), a primer addressed both to the next generation and those who are entrusted with their minds.
Here is what Random House wrote about the book:
From a living legend—James D. Watson, who shared the Nobel Prize for having revealed the structure of DNA—a personal account of the making of a scientist. In Avoid Boring People, the man who discovered “the secret of life” shares the less revolutionary secrets he has found to getting along and getting ahead in a competitive world.
Recounting the years of his own formation—from his father’s birding lessons to the political cat’s cradle of professorship at Harvard—Watson illuminates the progress of an exemplary scientific life, both his own pursuit of knowledge and how he learns to nurture fledgling scientists. Each phase of his experience yields a wealth of age-specific practical advice. For instance, when young, never be the brightest person in the room or bring more than one date on a ski trip; later in life, always accept with grace when your request for funding is denied, and--for goodness’ sake--don’t dye your hair. There are precepts that few others would find occasion to heed (expect to gain weight after you win your Nobel Prize, as everyone will invite you to dinner) and many more with broader application (do not succumb to the seductions of golf if you intend to stay young professionally). And whatever the season or the occasion: avoid boring people.
A true believer in the intellectual promise of youth, Watson offers specific pointers to beginning scientists about choosing the projects that will shape their careers, the supreme importance of collegiality, and dealing with competitors within the same institution, even one who is a former mentor. Finally he addresses himself to the role and needs of science at large universities in the context of discussing the unceremonious departure of Harvard's president Larry Summers and the search for his successor.
Scorning political correctness, this irreverent romp through Watson’s life and learning is an indispensable guide to anyone plotting a career in science (or most anything else), a primer addressed both to the next generation and those who are entrusted with their minds.
Portraits Of The Second World War's Feathered Heroes For Sale
(via The Guardian) Mark Brown writes about the oil paintings belonging to the man who put together the crack squad of birds, which were based at four secret lofts known as the XX lofts + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/news/story/0,,2235281,00.html
Brilliant work!
Brilliant work!
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
4. Seals And Finger Rings
Not many years ago it was the fashion for man to wear a seal dangling from his watch fob. The jeweled trinket merely formed a pendant at the end of his watch chain, and its owner never even thought of it as anything except an ornament. Yet seals, whose ancestry dates back to the dawn of civilization, were once among the most useful and universally used articles turned out by the engraver. The word ‘seal’ be it remembered, is used in two ways: meaning either the bit of clay or wax on which a device is impressed, or the implement used to produce the impression.
In early times, when, with the advance of civilization, wandering tribes settled into communities, their increased personal possessions and interchange of documents called for some kind of identification mark that could be placed on such property or records. The obvious thing for the purpose was a seal. Accordingly the making of seals was given to the craftsmen skilled in engraving stones or metals. Each seal must bear some device or inscription that was recognizable as indicating personal ownership of property or the certification of a document. But this was not all a seal was supposed to do. Any property or document stamped with the owner’s seal was bound to him and he to it by a link of magic.
Signet stones were cut in various shapes, such as cylinders, cones, button forms, etc. The flat base of the little scarab, incised with some emblem, became in time one of the most popular of all signets.
Now, in order to produce any inscription in relief on wax or clay the inscription on the signet must be incised—that is, hollowed out instead of raised above the surface. This manner of cutting is called intaglio. Many of us possess modern intaglio-cut jewels but perhaps we have thought of their incised design only as one of the ways of decorating stones, without ever tracing the custom back to its original use. Yet it would be interesting to make the exquisite little bas-reliefs which result from pressing our intaglio gems upon a bit of dampened pipe-clay. Sealing wax does not give as clear an impression.
It is not definitely known just when the scarab took on, or when it relinquished, the duty of acting as a signet. In early days customs and manners in respect to anything were not the fleeting fashions of a moment that they so often are at present. It usually took invasion, war, and conquest to kill an established fashion overnight and set up a new one by morning. Probably for a long time scarabs, pierced like beads and worn suspended by a woolen cord around neck or wrist, served as amulets before reaching the point of development where they took the first step toward their use as signets, and much later as signet stones in rings. Even then, the ‘ring’ was likely to be only a bit of yarn on which the scarab was strung.
The next step was the replacement of yarn by wire, which had the advantage of being more durable. Wire of that period was not drawn. It was made of beating out gold, silver, or bronze and cutting it into strips which were then elongated and shaped by further hammering. Like the cord, the wire was flexible, and the scarab was strung like a bead and fastened round the finger.
In the course of time the wire was metamorphosed into a band of metal, no longer flexible but fashioned into a stiff hoop, one side of which carried what is known as the bezel. The bezel is that part of a ring where a gem is set for where the metal itself is enlarged to bear an inscription.
At this point the finger ring might be said to have reached maturity. It could, and did, and still does, take on many differing styles of ornamental design, but in the main its general form was the same then as today.
Of course a ring at this early stage was not considered merely as a piece of jewelry to adorn a hand. Its owner was wont to demand of it powers both supernatural and entirely practical. Hence a scarab set in a ring possessed a particularly efficient combination of desirable uses.
The scarab itself might be made of metal or clay, but more often was carved in soapstone, serpentine, ‘fire-fretted’ lapis lazuli, or hematite—and opaque stone ranging in color from dark steely gray to iron black. Carnelian, jasper, or whatever gemstone its owner could afford would take the form of a scarab. The convex back of the beetle was realistically carved and often decorated with small hieroglyphics, and a gold rim usually encircled the stone.
On the flat base was engraved the owner’s name, the name of the reigning king and emblems of certain deities. But a most ingenious device the scarab became efficient in two ways. Lengthwise through its center ran a wire, each end of which was fastened to the shank of the ring-band thus forming a pivot. On this pivot the scarab could revolve and not only exercise its original magic function as an amulet, but by a twist of thumb and finger could be turned over and made to serve the practical purpose of a signet. Such rings were called swivel rings.
‘The impression of the signet ring of a monarch,’ says one historian, ‘gave the force of a royal decree to any instrument to which it was attached.’
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
4. Seals And Finger Rings
Not many years ago it was the fashion for man to wear a seal dangling from his watch fob. The jeweled trinket merely formed a pendant at the end of his watch chain, and its owner never even thought of it as anything except an ornament. Yet seals, whose ancestry dates back to the dawn of civilization, were once among the most useful and universally used articles turned out by the engraver. The word ‘seal’ be it remembered, is used in two ways: meaning either the bit of clay or wax on which a device is impressed, or the implement used to produce the impression.
In early times, when, with the advance of civilization, wandering tribes settled into communities, their increased personal possessions and interchange of documents called for some kind of identification mark that could be placed on such property or records. The obvious thing for the purpose was a seal. Accordingly the making of seals was given to the craftsmen skilled in engraving stones or metals. Each seal must bear some device or inscription that was recognizable as indicating personal ownership of property or the certification of a document. But this was not all a seal was supposed to do. Any property or document stamped with the owner’s seal was bound to him and he to it by a link of magic.
Signet stones were cut in various shapes, such as cylinders, cones, button forms, etc. The flat base of the little scarab, incised with some emblem, became in time one of the most popular of all signets.
Now, in order to produce any inscription in relief on wax or clay the inscription on the signet must be incised—that is, hollowed out instead of raised above the surface. This manner of cutting is called intaglio. Many of us possess modern intaglio-cut jewels but perhaps we have thought of their incised design only as one of the ways of decorating stones, without ever tracing the custom back to its original use. Yet it would be interesting to make the exquisite little bas-reliefs which result from pressing our intaglio gems upon a bit of dampened pipe-clay. Sealing wax does not give as clear an impression.
It is not definitely known just when the scarab took on, or when it relinquished, the duty of acting as a signet. In early days customs and manners in respect to anything were not the fleeting fashions of a moment that they so often are at present. It usually took invasion, war, and conquest to kill an established fashion overnight and set up a new one by morning. Probably for a long time scarabs, pierced like beads and worn suspended by a woolen cord around neck or wrist, served as amulets before reaching the point of development where they took the first step toward their use as signets, and much later as signet stones in rings. Even then, the ‘ring’ was likely to be only a bit of yarn on which the scarab was strung.
The next step was the replacement of yarn by wire, which had the advantage of being more durable. Wire of that period was not drawn. It was made of beating out gold, silver, or bronze and cutting it into strips which were then elongated and shaped by further hammering. Like the cord, the wire was flexible, and the scarab was strung like a bead and fastened round the finger.
In the course of time the wire was metamorphosed into a band of metal, no longer flexible but fashioned into a stiff hoop, one side of which carried what is known as the bezel. The bezel is that part of a ring where a gem is set for where the metal itself is enlarged to bear an inscription.
At this point the finger ring might be said to have reached maturity. It could, and did, and still does, take on many differing styles of ornamental design, but in the main its general form was the same then as today.
Of course a ring at this early stage was not considered merely as a piece of jewelry to adorn a hand. Its owner was wont to demand of it powers both supernatural and entirely practical. Hence a scarab set in a ring possessed a particularly efficient combination of desirable uses.
The scarab itself might be made of metal or clay, but more often was carved in soapstone, serpentine, ‘fire-fretted’ lapis lazuli, or hematite—and opaque stone ranging in color from dark steely gray to iron black. Carnelian, jasper, or whatever gemstone its owner could afford would take the form of a scarab. The convex back of the beetle was realistically carved and often decorated with small hieroglyphics, and a gold rim usually encircled the stone.
On the flat base was engraved the owner’s name, the name of the reigning king and emblems of certain deities. But a most ingenious device the scarab became efficient in two ways. Lengthwise through its center ran a wire, each end of which was fastened to the shank of the ring-band thus forming a pivot. On this pivot the scarab could revolve and not only exercise its original magic function as an amulet, but by a twist of thumb and finger could be turned over and made to serve the practical purpose of a signet. Such rings were called swivel rings.
‘The impression of the signet ring of a monarch,’ says one historian, ‘gave the force of a royal decree to any instrument to which it was attached.’
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Overwhelmed by his domestic sorrows—he lost his old mother two years before Saskia died—neglected by his former patrons, Rembrandt turned to Nature for consolation. He wandered about the countryside recording all he saw. Practically all his landscapes were painted between 1640 and 1652. Many of his most beautiful landscape etchings were also executed during this period. The most famous of them all, ‘The Three Trees’, was done in 1643. It shows a view of Amsterdam from a slight eminence outside the town, and a storm-cloud and its shadow are used to intensify the brilliance of the light and the dramatic aspect of this mood of Nature. This is landscape in the grand style; but its homelier, more intimate note appealed equally to the artist. A lovely example of the picturesque corner portrayed for its own intrinsic beauty is the etching executed in 1645 known as ‘Six Bridge’. Tradition relates that this plate was etched against time for a wager at the country house of Rembrandt’s most loyal friend, Jan Six, while the servant was fetching the mustard, that had been forgotten for a meal, from a neighboring village. There is nothing impossible in the story, for Rembrandt is known to have been an impetuous and rapid worker on occasion; but if this little masterpiece was done in haste, we must not forget that it was also done with ‘the knowledge of a lifetime.’
Even while Saskia was alive Rembrandt was in want of ready money, and when on his mother’s death in 1640 he inherited a half-share of a mill, he hastened to have it transferred to his brother Wilhelm and his nephew. Though he lost money by the transaction, he probably gained his end in keeping all the mill in the family instead of a share going to his creditors. Then in 1647 he became involved in lawsuits with Saskia’s family, who objected to Rembrandt’s connection with his servant Hendrickje Stoffels, and wished to prevent Rembrandt from being trustee for his and Saskia’s son Titus. These lawsuits, which lasted till after 1653, and ended in Saskia’s relatives obtaining the trusteeship but not the custody of Titus, greatly contributed to Rembrandt’s difficulties.
His marriage with Hendrickje Stoffels, a woman of humble birth, was another cause of offense to aristocratic patrons; all the same, it was a wise action. This devoted woman mothered Titus with loving and unremitting care; she made great efforts to stem the tide of ill-fortune, and when the crash came and Rembrandt was made bankrupt in 1656, she loyally shared her husband’s troubles and used her wits to rebuild their fortunes. As soon as Titus was old enough she combined with in keeping an old curiosity shop, starting, one imagines, with some relics of the treasures Rembrandt had amassed for Saskia. Money, or the want of it, however, was not a thing which could profoundly trouble a philosophic dreamer like Rembrandt. If he had it, he spent it royally; if he had it not, he went without. Only a year after his bankruptcy he achieved one of the world’s masterpieces of portraiture, ‘The Artist’s Son Titus,’ in the Wallace Collection. If you look at the Pellicorne portraits, also in the Wallace Collection, you will obtain a fair idea of Rembrandt’s ordinary professional style in 1632-4, when his painting was still popular. But how thin and shallow these early portraits of the son he loved so dearly. Turning to the ‘Titus’ after these early works, we see how far Rembrandt has traveled. Three or four years later he painted the wonderful ‘Portrait of Francoise van Wasserhoven’, in the National Gallery, one of the most reverent, sympathetic, and intimate studies of old age ever painted.
Throughout his life Rembrandt was a keen student of human nature, and no painter has ever penetrated further than he did into the inner lives of the men and women he painted. His wonderful insight into character made him the greatest psychologist in portraiture the world has yet seen, and since he searched faces above all for the marks of life’s experience which they bore, old people—who had had the longest experience—were inevitably subjects peculiarly dear to him and subjects which he interpreted with consummate mastery. His own face he painted over and over again, and if we study the sequence of his self-portraiture from early manhood to ripe old age, we see not only the gradual development of his technical powers but also the steady advance made by Rembrandt in expressing with poignant intensity the thoughts and emotions of humanity.
Of Rembrandt’s technique Sir John Everett Millais wrote: ‘In his first period Rembrandt was very careful and minute in detail, and there is evidence of stippling in his flesh paintings; but in the fullness of his power all appearance of such manipulation and minuteness vanished in the breadth and facility of his brush, though the advantage of his early manner remained....I have closely examined his pictures in the National Gallery, and have actually seen beneath the grand veil of breadth, the early work that his art conceals from untrained eyes—the whole science of painting.’ Among his contemporaries the minute detail in the work of his earlier period was far more admired than the ‘veil of breadth’ which he cast over his later paintings, and it was long before people who admired his early portraits could be persuaded that his later paintings were not only equally good, but vastly superior both in workmanship and expression.
Gradually among the discerning few the outstanding excellence of Rembrandt’s portraiture was again acknowledged, and in 1661 he received a commission for another official portrait group. He was asked to paint a portrait group of five officials of the Clothmaker’s Company, and staging them on the dais on which they presided over a meeting, Rembrandt produced the wonder-work known as ‘The Syndics.’ Avoiding the dangers of ‘The Sortie,’ Rembrandt places all five figures in a clear light and yet gives them the unity of a scene taken from life.
Alas! this fresh artistic triumph was dearly paid for by more domestic misfortunes. Soon after this work was completed, Hendrickje the loyal helpmate died. Titus, now grown up, married his cousin, and after less than a year of married life he also died. Now, indeed, Rembrandt was alone in the world, and though a posthumous daughter to Titus was born in 1669, the artist, now his sixty third year was too worn out to struggle much longer against ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ He lived long enough to see his little granddaughter Titia christened after father, and then, crushed by the accumulated sorrows of a lifetime, passed to his long rest on October 4, 1669. To all appearance the illness and death of the greatest man Holland ever produced passed unnoticed, and only the bare fact of his burial in the Westerkerck, Amsterdam, is attested by an official entry.
Overwhelmed by his domestic sorrows—he lost his old mother two years before Saskia died—neglected by his former patrons, Rembrandt turned to Nature for consolation. He wandered about the countryside recording all he saw. Practically all his landscapes were painted between 1640 and 1652. Many of his most beautiful landscape etchings were also executed during this period. The most famous of them all, ‘The Three Trees’, was done in 1643. It shows a view of Amsterdam from a slight eminence outside the town, and a storm-cloud and its shadow are used to intensify the brilliance of the light and the dramatic aspect of this mood of Nature. This is landscape in the grand style; but its homelier, more intimate note appealed equally to the artist. A lovely example of the picturesque corner portrayed for its own intrinsic beauty is the etching executed in 1645 known as ‘Six Bridge’. Tradition relates that this plate was etched against time for a wager at the country house of Rembrandt’s most loyal friend, Jan Six, while the servant was fetching the mustard, that had been forgotten for a meal, from a neighboring village. There is nothing impossible in the story, for Rembrandt is known to have been an impetuous and rapid worker on occasion; but if this little masterpiece was done in haste, we must not forget that it was also done with ‘the knowledge of a lifetime.’
Even while Saskia was alive Rembrandt was in want of ready money, and when on his mother’s death in 1640 he inherited a half-share of a mill, he hastened to have it transferred to his brother Wilhelm and his nephew. Though he lost money by the transaction, he probably gained his end in keeping all the mill in the family instead of a share going to his creditors. Then in 1647 he became involved in lawsuits with Saskia’s family, who objected to Rembrandt’s connection with his servant Hendrickje Stoffels, and wished to prevent Rembrandt from being trustee for his and Saskia’s son Titus. These lawsuits, which lasted till after 1653, and ended in Saskia’s relatives obtaining the trusteeship but not the custody of Titus, greatly contributed to Rembrandt’s difficulties.
His marriage with Hendrickje Stoffels, a woman of humble birth, was another cause of offense to aristocratic patrons; all the same, it was a wise action. This devoted woman mothered Titus with loving and unremitting care; she made great efforts to stem the tide of ill-fortune, and when the crash came and Rembrandt was made bankrupt in 1656, she loyally shared her husband’s troubles and used her wits to rebuild their fortunes. As soon as Titus was old enough she combined with in keeping an old curiosity shop, starting, one imagines, with some relics of the treasures Rembrandt had amassed for Saskia. Money, or the want of it, however, was not a thing which could profoundly trouble a philosophic dreamer like Rembrandt. If he had it, he spent it royally; if he had it not, he went without. Only a year after his bankruptcy he achieved one of the world’s masterpieces of portraiture, ‘The Artist’s Son Titus,’ in the Wallace Collection. If you look at the Pellicorne portraits, also in the Wallace Collection, you will obtain a fair idea of Rembrandt’s ordinary professional style in 1632-4, when his painting was still popular. But how thin and shallow these early portraits of the son he loved so dearly. Turning to the ‘Titus’ after these early works, we see how far Rembrandt has traveled. Three or four years later he painted the wonderful ‘Portrait of Francoise van Wasserhoven’, in the National Gallery, one of the most reverent, sympathetic, and intimate studies of old age ever painted.
Throughout his life Rembrandt was a keen student of human nature, and no painter has ever penetrated further than he did into the inner lives of the men and women he painted. His wonderful insight into character made him the greatest psychologist in portraiture the world has yet seen, and since he searched faces above all for the marks of life’s experience which they bore, old people—who had had the longest experience—were inevitably subjects peculiarly dear to him and subjects which he interpreted with consummate mastery. His own face he painted over and over again, and if we study the sequence of his self-portraiture from early manhood to ripe old age, we see not only the gradual development of his technical powers but also the steady advance made by Rembrandt in expressing with poignant intensity the thoughts and emotions of humanity.
Of Rembrandt’s technique Sir John Everett Millais wrote: ‘In his first period Rembrandt was very careful and minute in detail, and there is evidence of stippling in his flesh paintings; but in the fullness of his power all appearance of such manipulation and minuteness vanished in the breadth and facility of his brush, though the advantage of his early manner remained....I have closely examined his pictures in the National Gallery, and have actually seen beneath the grand veil of breadth, the early work that his art conceals from untrained eyes—the whole science of painting.’ Among his contemporaries the minute detail in the work of his earlier period was far more admired than the ‘veil of breadth’ which he cast over his later paintings, and it was long before people who admired his early portraits could be persuaded that his later paintings were not only equally good, but vastly superior both in workmanship and expression.
Gradually among the discerning few the outstanding excellence of Rembrandt’s portraiture was again acknowledged, and in 1661 he received a commission for another official portrait group. He was asked to paint a portrait group of five officials of the Clothmaker’s Company, and staging them on the dais on which they presided over a meeting, Rembrandt produced the wonder-work known as ‘The Syndics.’ Avoiding the dangers of ‘The Sortie,’ Rembrandt places all five figures in a clear light and yet gives them the unity of a scene taken from life.
Alas! this fresh artistic triumph was dearly paid for by more domestic misfortunes. Soon after this work was completed, Hendrickje the loyal helpmate died. Titus, now grown up, married his cousin, and after less than a year of married life he also died. Now, indeed, Rembrandt was alone in the world, and though a posthumous daughter to Titus was born in 1669, the artist, now his sixty third year was too worn out to struggle much longer against ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’ He lived long enough to see his little granddaughter Titia christened after father, and then, crushed by the accumulated sorrows of a lifetime, passed to his long rest on October 4, 1669. To all appearance the illness and death of the greatest man Holland ever produced passed unnoticed, and only the bare fact of his burial in the Westerkerck, Amsterdam, is attested by an official entry.
Crystal Island
(via The Guardian) Tom Parfitt writes about Lord Foster's design for the world's biggest building in Moscow (Russia) + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/architecture/story/0,,2235255,00.html
Useful link:
www.fosterandpartners.com
Useful link:
www.fosterandpartners.com
Monday, January 07, 2008
True North Gems In Bangkok
Vancouver-based gemstone miner, True North Gems, has opened an office in Bangkok, to sort + grade rough gems from the company's Fiskenaesset Ruby Project, located on the southwest coast of Greenland.
Useful link:
www.truenorthgems.com
Useful link:
www.truenorthgems.com
Gold Phenomenon
It is interesting to note that major global gold jewelry sales occur in November during the Indian wedding season + in December during Christmas and Hanukah + in January during Asian Lunar New Year.
Arabic Diamond Report
Dubai-based International Diamond Laboratories has become the world’s first issuer of Arabic-language diamond certificates. International Diamond Laboratories provides diamond certification services from its headquarters in the UAE + Antwerp + Mumbai (India).
I think the concept is going to be very popular among the Arab consumers in the Middle East.
Useful link:
www.diamondlab.org
I think the concept is going to be very popular among the Arab consumers in the Middle East.
Useful link:
www.diamondlab.org
Andrew Grima
(via AP) Andrew Grima's jewelry adorned royalty and celebrities + today the items are sought after by collectors. He died on Dec 26, 2007. He was 86.
Useful link:
www.grimajewellery.com
Useful link:
www.grimajewellery.com
No Dry Holes
(via Forbes) The BP slogan: No dry holes = Geologists would have to make a much more compelling case before they ordered up the drilling rig. The idea got across. BP's hit rate, two in three, is three times the industry average.
I liked this one.
Useful link:
www.bp.com
I liked this one.
Useful link:
www.bp.com
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
3. The Scarab
Perhaps the most treasured and most widely used of all luck-bringing symbols was the scarab—an image of little beetle. The beetles were wrought in gold, or modeled in clay and glazed with green, or carved from any sort of ornamental stone known to the ancients, from the very soft steatite to the precious ruby. Tiny scarabs, no larger than a fly, were carved from turquoise, and huge ones, a yard wide across the back, were cut in basalt. Scarabs were set in jewelry—neck ornaments, armlets, rings, etc. They were even set into furniture and into walls of houses. In fact, one could scarcely have too many scarabs to guard against the evils of life, and they were as necessary to the dead as to the living.
Funeral scarabs, inscribed on the flat base with a magic charm quoted from the Book of the Dead, were an indispensable part of the Egyptian burial rites. In the elaborate preparation of a mummy the heart was removed and for it was substituted a scarab. If the dead were of royal blood the scarab might be a carved ruby or an emerald; and many of the little beetles, unstrung and unset, were scattered among the winding cloths and bound fast to the mummy. It has been suggested that the great quantities of scarabs found among the wrappings of the dead were intended as fees, to be paid by the soul of the deceased to the doorkeepers of the other world.
The Egyptian name given to the sacred beetle was Kheptra, or Kheper, a title which stems from a word meaning ‘to become, to come into being.’ The Egyptians, supposing that there was no female beetle, believed that the male laid the eggs ans was thus alone responsible for the propagation of the species. Therefore the beetle was looked upon as an emblem of the self-begotten deity, Kheperi, who typifies the rising sun born anew each morning. Also, the emergence from the earth-bound grub and the upward flight of the beetle were like the soul leaving the body and ascending toward the heavens.
Starting in ancient Egypt, where the scarab had significance as a religious symbol, the custom of wearing scarabs spread into Phonecia, Etruria, and Greece. Indeed, in the course of centuries the scarab has found its way into many lands and become what seems to be a time defying motive of design for jewelry.
Most of us, today, regard a jewel from two angles only. We ask, is it beautiful? Is it rare and costly? Further than that we do not inquire. Nevertheless, there is great interest added to our jewelry when we can trace in unbroken sequence the history of its design or understand its symbolism, if it has any. ‘Mirrors of ancient feeling,’ one writer calls jewels of past ages; therefore we may regard the little scarab as a particularly clear mirror which has caught and held fast a reflection of the minds and hearts of men who lived in a world thousands of years younger than the world we know.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
3. The Scarab
Perhaps the most treasured and most widely used of all luck-bringing symbols was the scarab—an image of little beetle. The beetles were wrought in gold, or modeled in clay and glazed with green, or carved from any sort of ornamental stone known to the ancients, from the very soft steatite to the precious ruby. Tiny scarabs, no larger than a fly, were carved from turquoise, and huge ones, a yard wide across the back, were cut in basalt. Scarabs were set in jewelry—neck ornaments, armlets, rings, etc. They were even set into furniture and into walls of houses. In fact, one could scarcely have too many scarabs to guard against the evils of life, and they were as necessary to the dead as to the living.
Funeral scarabs, inscribed on the flat base with a magic charm quoted from the Book of the Dead, were an indispensable part of the Egyptian burial rites. In the elaborate preparation of a mummy the heart was removed and for it was substituted a scarab. If the dead were of royal blood the scarab might be a carved ruby or an emerald; and many of the little beetles, unstrung and unset, were scattered among the winding cloths and bound fast to the mummy. It has been suggested that the great quantities of scarabs found among the wrappings of the dead were intended as fees, to be paid by the soul of the deceased to the doorkeepers of the other world.
The Egyptian name given to the sacred beetle was Kheptra, or Kheper, a title which stems from a word meaning ‘to become, to come into being.’ The Egyptians, supposing that there was no female beetle, believed that the male laid the eggs ans was thus alone responsible for the propagation of the species. Therefore the beetle was looked upon as an emblem of the self-begotten deity, Kheperi, who typifies the rising sun born anew each morning. Also, the emergence from the earth-bound grub and the upward flight of the beetle were like the soul leaving the body and ascending toward the heavens.
Starting in ancient Egypt, where the scarab had significance as a religious symbol, the custom of wearing scarabs spread into Phonecia, Etruria, and Greece. Indeed, in the course of centuries the scarab has found its way into many lands and become what seems to be a time defying motive of design for jewelry.
Most of us, today, regard a jewel from two angles only. We ask, is it beautiful? Is it rare and costly? Further than that we do not inquire. Nevertheless, there is great interest added to our jewelry when we can trace in unbroken sequence the history of its design or understand its symbolism, if it has any. ‘Mirrors of ancient feeling,’ one writer calls jewels of past ages; therefore we may regard the little scarab as a particularly clear mirror which has caught and held fast a reflection of the minds and hearts of men who lived in a world thousands of years younger than the world we know.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
Sex, Money, Glamour, Tractors
Nora FitzGerald writes about Vladimir Dubossarsky + Alexander Vinogradov using the concept of socialist realism to comment on contemporary Russia + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=2425
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Rembrandt had had his fun, and now came the time to pay. Already money was beginning to be scarce, and his popularity as a portrait-painter was beginning to wane. In the year Saskia died Rembrandt had completed his great picture, the ‘Sortie’ or ‘Night Watch’ which though today the most popular of all his works and universally ranked among his greatest achievements, almost destroyed the contemporary reputation of the painter and began that decline of his fortunes which ended in his bankruptcy.
The subject of this picture is explicitly stated in an inscription on the back of an old copy of it in water color which is in a private collection in Holland: ‘The young Laird of Purmerlandt (Frans Banning Cocq) in his capacity as Captain gives to his Lieutenant, the Laird of Vlaerdingen, the command to march out his burgher company.’ This amply justifies the more correct title of ‘The Sortie,’ but the purpose and hour of this ‘going out’ of a company of civic militia are not easy to define. In the eighteenth century it was assumed to be a nocturnal watch turning out on its rounds by artificial light, hence the French name for the picture ‘Ronde de Nuit,’ which has been anglicised as ‘The Night Watch’. But as Prof Baldwin Brown of Edinburgh University justly pointed out, the time is ‘certainly the day and not the night. The shadow of the captain’s outstretched hand and arm is thrown by the sun upon the yellow dress of the second in command, and it is easy to see by the relative positions of object, and shadow that the sun is still pretty high in the heavens.’
Before we too hastily condemn those who condemned this splendid picture, we must put ourselves in their position. To see what Captain Banning Cocq and his friends expected we should turn back and look at Hal’s portrait group of the Guild of Archers. They expected to be painted like that, and Rembrandt painted them like this! In point of fact, Rembrandt did not paint them, he painted the scene. Hals shows a collection of individual officers, each of whom is clearly seen and recognizable. Rembrandt shows a patrol many of whose members are lost in shadow and unable to be identified. As a picture Rembrandt’s work has splendid qualities of drama, lighting, and movement which we cannot find in the Hals; but Captain Banning Cocq and his friends did not want to see these qualities, they wanted to see themselves. Rembrandt had painted a great picture, but he had dealt a heavy blow to human vanity, and his contemporaries could not forgive him.
It must be admitted that Rembrandt was wilful and wayward. He would go his own way, and he was only justified by the greatness of his genius. He was, as Dr Muther has said, ‘the first artist who, in the modern sense, did not execute commissions, but expressed his own thoughts. The emotions which moved his inmost being were the only things which he expressed on canvas. He does not seem to think that anyone is listening to him, but only speaks with himself; he is anxious, not to be understood by others, but only to express his moods and feelings.’
An interesting example of the liberties Rembrandt took with his nominal subject will be found in the Wallace Collection. The picture now known as ‘The Centurion Cornelius’ used to be called ‘The Unmerciful Sevant,’ and commentators explained that the figure in the turban and red robe was Christ, and enlarged on the displeasure shown in his face and the guilt and fear of the Unrighteous Servant, whom they took to be the central of the three figures to the right. Then a mezzotint by James Ward, published in 1800, was discovered. The red-robed figure proved to be Cornelius, in no way ‘displeased,’ while the remaining three figures are ‘two of his household servants, and a devout soldier of them that waited on him continually’ (Acts x.7). This widely-spread error shows how easy it is to misread pictures if they are approached with preconceived ideas. The misunderstanding, of course, has been brought about by Rembrandt’s fondness for oriental splendor, which led him to put Roman centurion in Asiatic costume! It is not ‘correct’ in the way that Alma-Tadema’s classical scenes are; but real greatness in art does not depend on accuracy of antiquarian details—however praiseworthy this may be—but on largeness of conception, noble design, and splendid color.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
Rembrandt had had his fun, and now came the time to pay. Already money was beginning to be scarce, and his popularity as a portrait-painter was beginning to wane. In the year Saskia died Rembrandt had completed his great picture, the ‘Sortie’ or ‘Night Watch’ which though today the most popular of all his works and universally ranked among his greatest achievements, almost destroyed the contemporary reputation of the painter and began that decline of his fortunes which ended in his bankruptcy.
The subject of this picture is explicitly stated in an inscription on the back of an old copy of it in water color which is in a private collection in Holland: ‘The young Laird of Purmerlandt (Frans Banning Cocq) in his capacity as Captain gives to his Lieutenant, the Laird of Vlaerdingen, the command to march out his burgher company.’ This amply justifies the more correct title of ‘The Sortie,’ but the purpose and hour of this ‘going out’ of a company of civic militia are not easy to define. In the eighteenth century it was assumed to be a nocturnal watch turning out on its rounds by artificial light, hence the French name for the picture ‘Ronde de Nuit,’ which has been anglicised as ‘The Night Watch’. But as Prof Baldwin Brown of Edinburgh University justly pointed out, the time is ‘certainly the day and not the night. The shadow of the captain’s outstretched hand and arm is thrown by the sun upon the yellow dress of the second in command, and it is easy to see by the relative positions of object, and shadow that the sun is still pretty high in the heavens.’
Before we too hastily condemn those who condemned this splendid picture, we must put ourselves in their position. To see what Captain Banning Cocq and his friends expected we should turn back and look at Hal’s portrait group of the Guild of Archers. They expected to be painted like that, and Rembrandt painted them like this! In point of fact, Rembrandt did not paint them, he painted the scene. Hals shows a collection of individual officers, each of whom is clearly seen and recognizable. Rembrandt shows a patrol many of whose members are lost in shadow and unable to be identified. As a picture Rembrandt’s work has splendid qualities of drama, lighting, and movement which we cannot find in the Hals; but Captain Banning Cocq and his friends did not want to see these qualities, they wanted to see themselves. Rembrandt had painted a great picture, but he had dealt a heavy blow to human vanity, and his contemporaries could not forgive him.
It must be admitted that Rembrandt was wilful and wayward. He would go his own way, and he was only justified by the greatness of his genius. He was, as Dr Muther has said, ‘the first artist who, in the modern sense, did not execute commissions, but expressed his own thoughts. The emotions which moved his inmost being were the only things which he expressed on canvas. He does not seem to think that anyone is listening to him, but only speaks with himself; he is anxious, not to be understood by others, but only to express his moods and feelings.’
An interesting example of the liberties Rembrandt took with his nominal subject will be found in the Wallace Collection. The picture now known as ‘The Centurion Cornelius’ used to be called ‘The Unmerciful Sevant,’ and commentators explained that the figure in the turban and red robe was Christ, and enlarged on the displeasure shown in his face and the guilt and fear of the Unrighteous Servant, whom they took to be the central of the three figures to the right. Then a mezzotint by James Ward, published in 1800, was discovered. The red-robed figure proved to be Cornelius, in no way ‘displeased,’ while the remaining three figures are ‘two of his household servants, and a devout soldier of them that waited on him continually’ (Acts x.7). This widely-spread error shows how easy it is to misread pictures if they are approached with preconceived ideas. The misunderstanding, of course, has been brought about by Rembrandt’s fondness for oriental splendor, which led him to put Roman centurion in Asiatic costume! It is not ‘correct’ in the way that Alma-Tadema’s classical scenes are; but real greatness in art does not depend on accuracy of antiquarian details—however praiseworthy this may be—but on largeness of conception, noble design, and splendid color.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
Chiff
(via Forbes) Chiff = Clever, High-quality, Innovative, Friendly, Fun.
Cranium, a Seattle board game company, uses Chiff, an in-house jargon word, to remind executives strive to remind themselves + their suppliers + their employees to be incessantly innovative, in everything from package design to the choice of questions for their brain-teasers.
I liked it.
Useful link:
www.cranium.com
Cranium, a Seattle board game company, uses Chiff, an in-house jargon word, to remind executives strive to remind themselves + their suppliers + their employees to be incessantly innovative, in everything from package design to the choice of questions for their brain-teasers.
I liked it.
Useful link:
www.cranium.com
Blast From The Past
Pernilla Holmes writes about the concept of socialist realism + socialist realist style of art by painters from Communist and formerly Communist countries + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=2424
Early Baguettes, Also Termed Batons
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The term Baguette is often misunderstood because it has been used both widely and loosely. In the context of diamonds it takes its meaning from the French bague, ring. Nowadays this is used only to denote for any type of jewel. The diminutive form, baguette, consequently meant a small jewel, a ‘petit bijou sans valeur’. However, the cut which we now call a Baguette was developed from the Hogback into a design which is similar to a normal Table Cut.
To begin with, Baguettes and Hogbacks were considered unimportant and were mainly used in small jewels of little value. Since the early sixteenth century they were frequently ‘tailored’ for use in letters, initials and monograms, and joined together to give an impression of unbroken length. ‘Tailoring’ involved, for instance, the omission of one or both of the shortened facets. Two types were developed, one with quite narrow table facets and one with large table facets. The pavilions in both types were shaped as for full and mirror cut Table diamonds and noted as almost invisible reflectors. Unfortunately, with the increasing accumulation of dirt in the closed box setting, the impression of unbroken unity was gradually lost. This no doubt accounts for the short life of this cut.
Small Baguettes were frequently replaced by similar but flat-bottomed diamonds. In portraits and drawings the difference cannot always be detected. Our modern Baguettes, found so extensively in jewelry nowadays, are obtained by fashioning fragments in precisely the same way as the old Hogback which has, in fact, survived all through the history of diamond fashioning, though now renamed and with minor modifications.
Two types of rough Hogback can be obtained simply by cleaving. The number can be increased, depending on which cleavage face is eventually to be exposed to the viewer. These rough Hogbacks are then fashioned. One or both ends may be pointed and the ridges replaced by narrow facets. Finished gems are often multifaceted. Extensive transformation often makes it difficult to recognize the original cleavage.
With the growing demand for Hogbacks, cutters began to imitate them. They found that by limiting the fashioning to the crown and omitting the pavilion altogether, they could make use of the plentiful supply of thin diamond slices. The crown could be shaped and faceted in the same way as the pavilion-based Hogbacks. There was, certainly, a reduction in light effects, but brilliance and fire were not yet in demand and these small flat-bottomed Hogbacks proved to be perfectly acceptable. Nowadays, if a Hogback is in a closed setting, and especially if the foiling is stained, it is very difficult to tell whether the stone has a pavilion at all.
There are a great many portraits of sitters wearing large crosses of Hogbacks fashioned and combined in imitation of staurolite. This is a dark-colored mineral whose crystals are often found as ‘penetration twins’ in the form of a cross (from the Greek stauros, cross).
The Double Eagle pendant (catalogue number 49 in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich) is one of the pieces which Archduke Albrecht of Bavaria and his wife, Maria Anna of Hapsburg, decided to add to the collection of the treasures of their House. It was most probably a wedding present to the Princess by her father, Emperor Ferdinand I. It is one of the few jewels containing a large number of Hogbacks to have survived from the sixteenth century.
The term Baguette is often misunderstood because it has been used both widely and loosely. In the context of diamonds it takes its meaning from the French bague, ring. Nowadays this is used only to denote for any type of jewel. The diminutive form, baguette, consequently meant a small jewel, a ‘petit bijou sans valeur’. However, the cut which we now call a Baguette was developed from the Hogback into a design which is similar to a normal Table Cut.
To begin with, Baguettes and Hogbacks were considered unimportant and were mainly used in small jewels of little value. Since the early sixteenth century they were frequently ‘tailored’ for use in letters, initials and monograms, and joined together to give an impression of unbroken length. ‘Tailoring’ involved, for instance, the omission of one or both of the shortened facets. Two types were developed, one with quite narrow table facets and one with large table facets. The pavilions in both types were shaped as for full and mirror cut Table diamonds and noted as almost invisible reflectors. Unfortunately, with the increasing accumulation of dirt in the closed box setting, the impression of unbroken unity was gradually lost. This no doubt accounts for the short life of this cut.
Small Baguettes were frequently replaced by similar but flat-bottomed diamonds. In portraits and drawings the difference cannot always be detected. Our modern Baguettes, found so extensively in jewelry nowadays, are obtained by fashioning fragments in precisely the same way as the old Hogback which has, in fact, survived all through the history of diamond fashioning, though now renamed and with minor modifications.
Two types of rough Hogback can be obtained simply by cleaving. The number can be increased, depending on which cleavage face is eventually to be exposed to the viewer. These rough Hogbacks are then fashioned. One or both ends may be pointed and the ridges replaced by narrow facets. Finished gems are often multifaceted. Extensive transformation often makes it difficult to recognize the original cleavage.
With the growing demand for Hogbacks, cutters began to imitate them. They found that by limiting the fashioning to the crown and omitting the pavilion altogether, they could make use of the plentiful supply of thin diamond slices. The crown could be shaped and faceted in the same way as the pavilion-based Hogbacks. There was, certainly, a reduction in light effects, but brilliance and fire were not yet in demand and these small flat-bottomed Hogbacks proved to be perfectly acceptable. Nowadays, if a Hogback is in a closed setting, and especially if the foiling is stained, it is very difficult to tell whether the stone has a pavilion at all.
There are a great many portraits of sitters wearing large crosses of Hogbacks fashioned and combined in imitation of staurolite. This is a dark-colored mineral whose crystals are often found as ‘penetration twins’ in the form of a cross (from the Greek stauros, cross).
The Double Eagle pendant (catalogue number 49 in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich) is one of the pieces which Archduke Albrecht of Bavaria and his wife, Maria Anna of Hapsburg, decided to add to the collection of the treasures of their House. It was most probably a wedding present to the Princess by her father, Emperor Ferdinand I. It is one of the few jewels containing a large number of Hogbacks to have survived from the sixteenth century.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
2. Ornaments And Magic
Long before man had either the implements or the skill to shape and engrave hard stones he had the desire to use them for adornment and apparently some obscure ideas concerning their occult powers.
‘The first spiritual want of a barbarous man is decoration,’ says Carlyle; and archeology confirms that statement. The ‘jewelry’ of primitive man might be made of almost any small objects that could easily be strung together. Necklaces of perishable things such as bright berries, seeds, and feathers have, of course, left no trace; but sea-shells, bits of bone, the teeth and claws of animals, all pierced for stringing, bear mute and permanent witness to the fact that jewelry, such as it was, became fashionable at a date so remote as to baffle any exact reckoning of centuries.
When archaeological research uncovered the early Neolithic strata of the cavern of Mas ď Azil, many pierced stagś teeth were found. Of the length of sinew or bit of vine which once strung them together no trace remained, but the arrangement of the teeth in the form of a necklace clearly told their story.
Many of the shells and the claws and teeth of animals found in ancient graves are ornamented with thin decorative lines suggestive of magic symbols, which leads us to surmise that the people of the Stone Age, even as the people who lived thousands of years later, wore their necklaces and pendants for the double purpose of ornament and amulet endowed with magic powers.
Magic, to the modern mind, is ‘the art (or pretended art) of producing by occult means effects contrary to the known order of nature.’
To primitive peoples, however, nature was not subject to undeviating laws. Sun, moon, clouds, rain, trees, and rocks, all were endowed with life and personality. They could think, feel and act in accordance with some unpredictable mood or whim; they could bring good or evil to mankind. Naturally everyone wished to attract and cajole the friendly elemental beings who brought good fortune, and to render powerless all harmful beings. The gods must be propitiated: the demons must be bribed or driven off by some compelling force. But how were these things to be done? Obviously the matter was beyond the knowledge of the common man. Here and there, however, various men became known for their ability to find out what pleased the gods and inclined them to bestow favors, and also how best to handle beings of mischievous intent. These men became the first priests.
In Egypt there had gradually been evolved a complicated mythology wherein religion, magic, and the power to heal the sick were closely interwoven; therefore priest, magician and physician were one and the same. All of which has direct bearing on our subject, because precious stones held an important place in the rites and ceremonies which made the connecting link between mankind and the supernatural powers.
For example, if a man’s body was full of aches and pains, doubtless he was possessed by a demon. So the man betook himself to the house of a priest who knew how to deal with the idiosyncrasies of these evil creatures. Now it would seem that from earliest times, even down to the voodoo ceremonies still practised today, one of the strongest powers of magic lay in the principle that like has relation to like—or, as the saying is, ‘A hair of the dog that bit you’ will cure you. Accordingly the priest, recognizing by the nature of the pain which particular demon was tormenting the patient, selected an amulet made of the proper precious stone, whereon was engraved the image of that particular demon. Then he pressed it against that part of the man’s body most affected, and with due ceremony repeated certain incantations addressed to the gods. Presumably, this was more than a demon could endure, and thereupon it was supposed to flee headlong, leaving the man restored to health.
And so it came about that a large part of the work of the jeweler of early times was the making of amulets and talismans. Rings, necklaces, pendants—especially pendants—beads, and bracelets, when properly inscribed with a magic symbol, were in constant demand, for the custom of wearing them was universal. In our times, a rabbit’s foot or a four leaf clover is rather jocosely regarded as a form of talisman. The ancients, however, since the wearing of a charm had relation to their religion, treated the whole subject with a respect due to the supernatural beings whom they sought to influence one way or another.
Everybody owned beads—men, women and children, whether of royal blood or humble workers—for the materials ranged from pearls to pot clay and therefore even the poor could possess a string of beads. The Egyptian word for beads was sha-sha, and the syllable sha was the word for luck.
A magic inscription on any kind of bead gave it amuletic significance, no matter what substance the bead was made of. But gemstones in themselves, even without any inscription, had supernatural powers according to their colors, characteristics, and such mystic legends as were associated with them. Agate was a recognized protection against spider bites and thunderstorms. Green jasper could bring rain. And he who wore lapis lazuli would be free from the attacks of serpents. A gem that could be cut so that its various markings or strata of color would resemble an eye was very desirable, and ‘eyes’ of banded agate—with three bands of color to represent the pupil, iris, and white of an eye as in nature—were especially potent.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
2. Ornaments And Magic
Long before man had either the implements or the skill to shape and engrave hard stones he had the desire to use them for adornment and apparently some obscure ideas concerning their occult powers.
‘The first spiritual want of a barbarous man is decoration,’ says Carlyle; and archeology confirms that statement. The ‘jewelry’ of primitive man might be made of almost any small objects that could easily be strung together. Necklaces of perishable things such as bright berries, seeds, and feathers have, of course, left no trace; but sea-shells, bits of bone, the teeth and claws of animals, all pierced for stringing, bear mute and permanent witness to the fact that jewelry, such as it was, became fashionable at a date so remote as to baffle any exact reckoning of centuries.
When archaeological research uncovered the early Neolithic strata of the cavern of Mas ď Azil, many pierced stagś teeth were found. Of the length of sinew or bit of vine which once strung them together no trace remained, but the arrangement of the teeth in the form of a necklace clearly told their story.
Many of the shells and the claws and teeth of animals found in ancient graves are ornamented with thin decorative lines suggestive of magic symbols, which leads us to surmise that the people of the Stone Age, even as the people who lived thousands of years later, wore their necklaces and pendants for the double purpose of ornament and amulet endowed with magic powers.
Magic, to the modern mind, is ‘the art (or pretended art) of producing by occult means effects contrary to the known order of nature.’
To primitive peoples, however, nature was not subject to undeviating laws. Sun, moon, clouds, rain, trees, and rocks, all were endowed with life and personality. They could think, feel and act in accordance with some unpredictable mood or whim; they could bring good or evil to mankind. Naturally everyone wished to attract and cajole the friendly elemental beings who brought good fortune, and to render powerless all harmful beings. The gods must be propitiated: the demons must be bribed or driven off by some compelling force. But how were these things to be done? Obviously the matter was beyond the knowledge of the common man. Here and there, however, various men became known for their ability to find out what pleased the gods and inclined them to bestow favors, and also how best to handle beings of mischievous intent. These men became the first priests.
In Egypt there had gradually been evolved a complicated mythology wherein religion, magic, and the power to heal the sick were closely interwoven; therefore priest, magician and physician were one and the same. All of which has direct bearing on our subject, because precious stones held an important place in the rites and ceremonies which made the connecting link between mankind and the supernatural powers.
For example, if a man’s body was full of aches and pains, doubtless he was possessed by a demon. So the man betook himself to the house of a priest who knew how to deal with the idiosyncrasies of these evil creatures. Now it would seem that from earliest times, even down to the voodoo ceremonies still practised today, one of the strongest powers of magic lay in the principle that like has relation to like—or, as the saying is, ‘A hair of the dog that bit you’ will cure you. Accordingly the priest, recognizing by the nature of the pain which particular demon was tormenting the patient, selected an amulet made of the proper precious stone, whereon was engraved the image of that particular demon. Then he pressed it against that part of the man’s body most affected, and with due ceremony repeated certain incantations addressed to the gods. Presumably, this was more than a demon could endure, and thereupon it was supposed to flee headlong, leaving the man restored to health.
And so it came about that a large part of the work of the jeweler of early times was the making of amulets and talismans. Rings, necklaces, pendants—especially pendants—beads, and bracelets, when properly inscribed with a magic symbol, were in constant demand, for the custom of wearing them was universal. In our times, a rabbit’s foot or a four leaf clover is rather jocosely regarded as a form of talisman. The ancients, however, since the wearing of a charm had relation to their religion, treated the whole subject with a respect due to the supernatural beings whom they sought to influence one way or another.
Everybody owned beads—men, women and children, whether of royal blood or humble workers—for the materials ranged from pearls to pot clay and therefore even the poor could possess a string of beads. The Egyptian word for beads was sha-sha, and the syllable sha was the word for luck.
A magic inscription on any kind of bead gave it amuletic significance, no matter what substance the bead was made of. But gemstones in themselves, even without any inscription, had supernatural powers according to their colors, characteristics, and such mystic legends as were associated with them. Agate was a recognized protection against spider bites and thunderstorms. Green jasper could bring rain. And he who wore lapis lazuli would be free from the attacks of serpents. A gem that could be cut so that its various markings or strata of color would resemble an eye was very desirable, and ‘eyes’ of banded agate—with three bands of color to represent the pupil, iris, and white of an eye as in nature—were especially potent.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
There is this initial difference between Hals and Rembrandt, that whereas Hals passed the greater part of his working life during a time of war, Rembrandt attained his maturity and executed most of his greatest works after the conclusion of peace. Hals lived in and depicted a life of action, when men must be up and doing and there was no time to think; Rembrandt’s middle years and old age were spent in an age of comparative peace and quite, when Holland had the leisure to think and to meditate not only on the greatness of her political achievements but on the problems of life. Hals expressed the gallantry of Holland in action; Rembrandt, the profundity of her thought.
One ought not to lay too much stress on a mere coincidence, yet when we remember the philosophical temper of his art it seems peculiarly appropriate that Rembrandt should have been born in the university town of Leyden, the headquarters of Dutch philosophy and learning. He came into the world on July 15, 1607, being the fifth and youngest son of Hermon Gerritzoon van Rijn, a prosperous miller who possessed a mill, several fields, and other property. The parents were ambitious for their youngest son and sent him to school ‘to learn the Latin tongue to prepare himself for the Academy of Leyden, so that in the fullness of time he might serve the city and the Republic with his knowledge.’
The boy, however, did not take kindly to book learning, but was for ever drawing and designing. At school Rembrandt is said to have been one of the idle pupils who ‘during their writing lessons, when they ought to be writing, scrawl figures of vessels and animals all over the margins of their books.’ He was at the University in 1620, but it soon became clear to his father that it was unprofitable for Rembrandt to continue his studies there. His aptitude for art was unmistakable, and accordingly he was apprenticed first to Jacob can Swanenburch, and afterwards to Pieter Lastman, of Amsterdam, a fashionable portrait painter of the day.
Six months were enough to satiate this earnest young student with the smooth and flattering trivialities of a fashionable merchant of likeness, and in 1624 he returned to Leyden to study and practise painting by himself. One of the earliest of his known and dated pictures is ‘St Paul in Prison’, painted in 1627, and now at Stuttgart. This picture shows the precise rendering of detail characteristic of his early style, but also anticipates the light effect of his later work by the way in which the light is concentrated on the head of the apostle. That the painter had already attracted some attention is clear from the fact that in the following year Gerard Dou, a promising boy of fifteen, was placed with him as a pupil.
About 1631 Rembrandt removed from Leyden to Amsterdam, an important step taken no doubt owing to the increasing number of portrait commissions he received from the rich merchants of this flourishing city. He had also made some reputation for himself as an etcher, and in 1632 Hendrik van Uylenburg, who had previously published some of his etchings, commissioned Rembrandt to paint a portrait of Saskia van Uylenburg, a young cousin of the print seller. The acquaintance thus begun soon ripened into love, and the form and face of this dainty little patrician, an orphan who had lost both her parents, suddenly becomes the prevailing theme both in the painted and etched work of Rembrandt. The attraction was mutual, and though her relatives disapproved of the attachment, considering the painter not good enough for a well-dowered young lady of quality, yet love won the day, and Rembrandt and Saskia were married in 1634. The veiled hostility shown by his bride’s relations led the painter to relieve his feelings by painting a series of pictures illustrating the life of Samson, in which Saskia is the Delilah, the artist Samson, and the Philistines, of course, are his wife’s relatives. These paintings not only express the artist’s defiance of family pride, but also his attitude towards the world at large, and his recurring amazement at his having won for himself so sweet a maid. The joyous picture of himself with Saskia on his knee, shows Rembrandt at the zenith of his happiness. Still popular as a painter, his portraits were sought after, he had a crowd of pupils, and a charming wife who brought him a moderate fortune. The young couple felt that the world was their own, and behaved like children in their utter disregard of the value of money. Rembrandt kept on buying new jewels and fine stuffs with which to deck his beloved and paint her in a new guise: he bought the works of other artists and beautiful objects of all kinds, wishing to create a fairy world around a fairy wife. But soon all this luxurious beauty was overshadowed by sorrow. Two children died one after the other, and in 1642 Saskia herself died after giving birth to the boy Titus.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
2
There is this initial difference between Hals and Rembrandt, that whereas Hals passed the greater part of his working life during a time of war, Rembrandt attained his maturity and executed most of his greatest works after the conclusion of peace. Hals lived in and depicted a life of action, when men must be up and doing and there was no time to think; Rembrandt’s middle years and old age were spent in an age of comparative peace and quite, when Holland had the leisure to think and to meditate not only on the greatness of her political achievements but on the problems of life. Hals expressed the gallantry of Holland in action; Rembrandt, the profundity of her thought.
One ought not to lay too much stress on a mere coincidence, yet when we remember the philosophical temper of his art it seems peculiarly appropriate that Rembrandt should have been born in the university town of Leyden, the headquarters of Dutch philosophy and learning. He came into the world on July 15, 1607, being the fifth and youngest son of Hermon Gerritzoon van Rijn, a prosperous miller who possessed a mill, several fields, and other property. The parents were ambitious for their youngest son and sent him to school ‘to learn the Latin tongue to prepare himself for the Academy of Leyden, so that in the fullness of time he might serve the city and the Republic with his knowledge.’
The boy, however, did not take kindly to book learning, but was for ever drawing and designing. At school Rembrandt is said to have been one of the idle pupils who ‘during their writing lessons, when they ought to be writing, scrawl figures of vessels and animals all over the margins of their books.’ He was at the University in 1620, but it soon became clear to his father that it was unprofitable for Rembrandt to continue his studies there. His aptitude for art was unmistakable, and accordingly he was apprenticed first to Jacob can Swanenburch, and afterwards to Pieter Lastman, of Amsterdam, a fashionable portrait painter of the day.
Six months were enough to satiate this earnest young student with the smooth and flattering trivialities of a fashionable merchant of likeness, and in 1624 he returned to Leyden to study and practise painting by himself. One of the earliest of his known and dated pictures is ‘St Paul in Prison’, painted in 1627, and now at Stuttgart. This picture shows the precise rendering of detail characteristic of his early style, but also anticipates the light effect of his later work by the way in which the light is concentrated on the head of the apostle. That the painter had already attracted some attention is clear from the fact that in the following year Gerard Dou, a promising boy of fifteen, was placed with him as a pupil.
About 1631 Rembrandt removed from Leyden to Amsterdam, an important step taken no doubt owing to the increasing number of portrait commissions he received from the rich merchants of this flourishing city. He had also made some reputation for himself as an etcher, and in 1632 Hendrik van Uylenburg, who had previously published some of his etchings, commissioned Rembrandt to paint a portrait of Saskia van Uylenburg, a young cousin of the print seller. The acquaintance thus begun soon ripened into love, and the form and face of this dainty little patrician, an orphan who had lost both her parents, suddenly becomes the prevailing theme both in the painted and etched work of Rembrandt. The attraction was mutual, and though her relatives disapproved of the attachment, considering the painter not good enough for a well-dowered young lady of quality, yet love won the day, and Rembrandt and Saskia were married in 1634. The veiled hostility shown by his bride’s relations led the painter to relieve his feelings by painting a series of pictures illustrating the life of Samson, in which Saskia is the Delilah, the artist Samson, and the Philistines, of course, are his wife’s relatives. These paintings not only express the artist’s defiance of family pride, but also his attitude towards the world at large, and his recurring amazement at his having won for himself so sweet a maid. The joyous picture of himself with Saskia on his knee, shows Rembrandt at the zenith of his happiness. Still popular as a painter, his portraits were sought after, he had a crowd of pupils, and a charming wife who brought him a moderate fortune. The young couple felt that the world was their own, and behaved like children in their utter disregard of the value of money. Rembrandt kept on buying new jewels and fine stuffs with which to deck his beloved and paint her in a new guise: he bought the works of other artists and beautiful objects of all kinds, wishing to create a fairy world around a fairy wife. But soon all this luxurious beauty was overshadowed by sorrow. Two children died one after the other, and in 1642 Saskia herself died after giving birth to the boy Titus.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Heard On The Street
The greatest wealth is created during the bad times + economic contraction is creating opportunities for each of us to create real wealth for ourselves.
Viewpoints Of A Commodity Trader
Viewpoints of a Commodity Trader by Roy W. Longstreet is a great book. There are lessons for everyone, especially gem traders and art dealers.
(via Amazon) Here is what the description of Viewpoints of a Commodity Trader says:
The psychological aspect of trading is considered by many to be the most important. In this classic, veteran trader Roy Longstreet explores many areas that are of psychological significance to the futures trader and offers guidance on how to deal with each effectively.
This is a behind the scenes book in the strictest sense of the phrase. When Roy Longstreet was first confronted with the question: If you know so much about commodity trading, then why aren't you rich? He determined that the best answer would be a conspicuous measure of financial success in the trading of commodities futures. That he achieved his objective is evident, because now he is the head of the largest brokerage firm in the country dealing exclusively in commodities.
The techniques and the methods he employed over the years to achieve financial success is what is important to the reader and in this book we have those methods ably described by Mr. Longstreet. His approach to commodity trading is more fundamental than technical. He believes that psychology plays a basic role in the movement of commodity prices. As a matter of fact, he has often expressed the desire to hire a psychologist to apply specialized knowledge and find out what people who trade commodities think and why they make the mistakes they do.
Roy Longstreet's views will prove to be invaluable for those who want to increase their financial standing along intelligent, crystal-clear and forthright lines. As publishers of many books in the financial field, we recommend Roy Longstreet's book to you.
Here is an excerpt:
The great philosopher Emerson stated that a man is as a tree and his wealth is as a vine. The vine can grow no higher than the tree.
The evidence is conclusive that commodity trading is an art. To be successful at it one must be an artist. Such a trader can scale the heights of accomplishment, realizing achievements comparable to those of a renowned concert pianist, or a painter whose works merit a place in the great galleries of the world.
What, then, are the attributes needed by one who would be a true artist in the world of commodities? There are many. A few are vital. Such men will be wise, be mighty, be already rich.
He who is wise learns from every man. He who is mighty has achieved control over his most formidable adversary, himself. He who is rich is satisfied with his lot. 'He who seeks silver only will never be satisfied with silver.'
(via Amazon) Here is what the description of Viewpoints of a Commodity Trader says:
The psychological aspect of trading is considered by many to be the most important. In this classic, veteran trader Roy Longstreet explores many areas that are of psychological significance to the futures trader and offers guidance on how to deal with each effectively.
This is a behind the scenes book in the strictest sense of the phrase. When Roy Longstreet was first confronted with the question: If you know so much about commodity trading, then why aren't you rich? He determined that the best answer would be a conspicuous measure of financial success in the trading of commodities futures. That he achieved his objective is evident, because now he is the head of the largest brokerage firm in the country dealing exclusively in commodities.
The techniques and the methods he employed over the years to achieve financial success is what is important to the reader and in this book we have those methods ably described by Mr. Longstreet. His approach to commodity trading is more fundamental than technical. He believes that psychology plays a basic role in the movement of commodity prices. As a matter of fact, he has often expressed the desire to hire a psychologist to apply specialized knowledge and find out what people who trade commodities think and why they make the mistakes they do.
Roy Longstreet's views will prove to be invaluable for those who want to increase their financial standing along intelligent, crystal-clear and forthright lines. As publishers of many books in the financial field, we recommend Roy Longstreet's book to you.
Here is an excerpt:
The great philosopher Emerson stated that a man is as a tree and his wealth is as a vine. The vine can grow no higher than the tree.
The evidence is conclusive that commodity trading is an art. To be successful at it one must be an artist. Such a trader can scale the heights of accomplishment, realizing achievements comparable to those of a renowned concert pianist, or a painter whose works merit a place in the great galleries of the world.
What, then, are the attributes needed by one who would be a true artist in the world of commodities? There are many. A few are vital. Such men will be wise, be mighty, be already rich.
He who is wise learns from every man. He who is mighty has achieved control over his most formidable adversary, himself. He who is rich is satisfied with his lot. 'He who seeks silver only will never be satisfied with silver.'
Bankable Contemporary Artists: India
The contemporary artists are catching up with the masters. You will hear more about them in 2008.
- N S Harsha
- Atul Dodiya
- Chintan Upadhyay
- Subodh Gupta
- T V Santhosh
- Thukral & Tagra
- G Ravinder Reddy
- Anju Dodiya
- Baiju Parthan
- Herman Linde
- N S Harsha
- Atul Dodiya
- Chintan Upadhyay
- Subodh Gupta
- T V Santhosh
- Thukral & Tagra
- G Ravinder Reddy
- Anju Dodiya
- Baiju Parthan
- Herman Linde
Upstream Mining Risks: Security Of Tenure
Chaim Even-Zohar writes about diamond merchants investing in mining properties + mineral rights issues/risks and rewards, especially in Africa + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. The Goldsmith’s Shop
Prefaced by the first groping efforts of primitive man toward personal adornment, comes the story of gems and jewelry as developed by civilization. This story begins in Egypt, because it is there that we find the oldest of all records concerning the making of jewelry. That record is to be found on the stone wall of an oblong room, the chapel chamber of an ancient tomb.
The chapel chamber is but one of many flat, oblong structures which surround the pyramids of Gizeh. It was the custom in ancient Egypt to provide the dead of high estate with a room to which the departed spirit might return each day to find the necessities, amusements and various interests which concerned him during life. For those things which could not be supplied in concrete form, pictures were substituted. From floor to ceiling, the inside walls of a chapel chamber were covered with rich murals, carved in low relief and painted in colors—which have in many cases remained unfaded through nearly fifty centuries.
These pictures are like some moment of arrested time: they convey to us, far better than history written in words, the manner of life and the industries which occupied the Egyptians of that period.
Most pertinent to our subject is a certain panel which shows the interior of a jeweler’s shop where work is in full swing, master and apprentices all earnestly engaged in making jewelry. The master weighs out precious stones on scales amazingly like those in use today. Near him stands the scribe who keeps the accounts. Six workers kneel before a small clay furnace and keep the fire glowing with their long blowpipes. Four apprentices beat gold into thin leaves, while still others hammer and solder gold, forming it into fine jewelry. One man, seated on a low bench, fashions an elaborate collar, and another grinds and polishes bits of sky blue turquoise for inlay work.
Perhaps the pictured jewelry shop was intended to provide a fresh supply of ornaments of gold and precious stones whenever needed by the spirit of the nobleman whose tomb it decorated. For, according to Egyptian belief, pictures and symbols took on the properties of real things by virtue of magical formulae recited over them as part of the funeral rites.
Fortunately for us, however, the jewelry that decorated a mummy was real and tangible; and it is due to the ancient custom of adorning the dead with jewels that many beautiful specimens have come down to us.
Among modern jewels there is an equivalent for most of the ancient jewelry. We have rings, bracelets, brooches, girdles, earrings, crowns, coronets; but the Egyptians had certain characteristic forms of jeweled ornament for which we have no equivalent. For example, the pectoral, which is found on nearly all mummies. It was a breast ornament, worn suspended from the neck by a ribbon or chain. Its design represented various deities, a kind of portable shrine for the gods. Many pectorals were made of bronze and covered over with thin gold leaf, but the finest were of pure gold, sometimes inlaid with lapis, carnelian and turquoise. And the beauty of Egyptian princesses and ladies of high degree was enhanced by a particularly becoming head-dress, nothing even, remotely approaching which is to be found in the jeweler’s shop of today. Often worn over a wig, which was arranged in a multitude of small braids, the head-dress itself might be said to take the form of an outer wig, fitting closely to the crown of the head and falling loosely in long flexible strings of gold beads or jeweled medallions over the shoulders. A gold head-band held it in place.
Very regal the princess must have looked when she donned this gorgeous wig-covering, and considering the tropical climate of Egypt, it must have taken Spartan courage to wear first the opulent wig and then all that weight of metal on top of it. But judging from the stunning effect of these curious head-dresses, even as displayed on artificial heads at the Metropolitan Museum, the game was worth the candle, which is not always the case when discomfort is the price of fashion.
By way of contrast Queen Nefertiti (of somewhat later date), as represented by her portrait head, is wigless. Her high crown is blue, and around it is a band of gold inset with precious stones. About her throat is the rich usekh collar—a wide collar-shaped necklace especially typical of Egyptian jewelry. It is found on nearly all mummies and painted on all mummy cases.
In early days of a jeweler was not only a highly skilled craftsman who made ornaments for personal adornment, he was also a goldsmith and an engraver of metals for any purpose. In fact, his craft was so inclusive as to cover all branches of decoration calling for the use of metals and gems. For the king, the Egyptian jeweler made such ornaments as magnificent bracelets composed of alternate plaques as hammered gold and engraved turquoise, or spiral bracelets of twisted bands of gold; but he also made emblems of royal authority—wonderful scepters of gold and sard. Even the king’s chariot had to be overlaid with sheets of gold and adorned with stone inlay. All these things were tasks for the goldsmith-jeweler.
For the adornment of the queen he made jewels richly engraved and delicately wrought, and he also made the jewel-cases to contain them. Her vanity box of filigree gold, shaped like a shell, her perfume caskets, and whatever receptacles she required for the unguents and paints employed in her elaborate art of make-up were fashioned by the versatile goldsmith.
The use of precious metals and gemstones was not as limited as it is today, but often spread itself lavishly wherever ornament was desired. Vases were shaped from gold and inlaid with turquoise; and furniture shone gorgeous with gold and lapis lazuli, which is a beautiful ultramarine stone frequently flecked with metallic specks ‘like to the serene blue heavens fretted with fire’.
Now to us, the rich and elaborate Egyptian jewelry, apart from its archaeological interest, is simply beautiful ornament. But to those who made and to those who wore that ancient jewelry much of it carried another value, one with which we must reckon if we are fully to understand and appreciate the work of the goldsmith of that day. His designs, for the most part, were not merely arbitrary—they were symbolic; and the symbols, according to popular belief, exercised a magic power in behalf of the wearer. Over and over again we find the lotus flower, the falcon, the scarab, or some Egyptian deity wrought in gold and precious stones, each one of which was an emblem held to exert some particular influence over daily life. The Egyptians, however, were not the first to wear gems as ornaments, nor were they the first to invest their ornaments with powers of magic.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
1. The Goldsmith’s Shop
Prefaced by the first groping efforts of primitive man toward personal adornment, comes the story of gems and jewelry as developed by civilization. This story begins in Egypt, because it is there that we find the oldest of all records concerning the making of jewelry. That record is to be found on the stone wall of an oblong room, the chapel chamber of an ancient tomb.
The chapel chamber is but one of many flat, oblong structures which surround the pyramids of Gizeh. It was the custom in ancient Egypt to provide the dead of high estate with a room to which the departed spirit might return each day to find the necessities, amusements and various interests which concerned him during life. For those things which could not be supplied in concrete form, pictures were substituted. From floor to ceiling, the inside walls of a chapel chamber were covered with rich murals, carved in low relief and painted in colors—which have in many cases remained unfaded through nearly fifty centuries.
These pictures are like some moment of arrested time: they convey to us, far better than history written in words, the manner of life and the industries which occupied the Egyptians of that period.
Most pertinent to our subject is a certain panel which shows the interior of a jeweler’s shop where work is in full swing, master and apprentices all earnestly engaged in making jewelry. The master weighs out precious stones on scales amazingly like those in use today. Near him stands the scribe who keeps the accounts. Six workers kneel before a small clay furnace and keep the fire glowing with their long blowpipes. Four apprentices beat gold into thin leaves, while still others hammer and solder gold, forming it into fine jewelry. One man, seated on a low bench, fashions an elaborate collar, and another grinds and polishes bits of sky blue turquoise for inlay work.
Perhaps the pictured jewelry shop was intended to provide a fresh supply of ornaments of gold and precious stones whenever needed by the spirit of the nobleman whose tomb it decorated. For, according to Egyptian belief, pictures and symbols took on the properties of real things by virtue of magical formulae recited over them as part of the funeral rites.
Fortunately for us, however, the jewelry that decorated a mummy was real and tangible; and it is due to the ancient custom of adorning the dead with jewels that many beautiful specimens have come down to us.
Among modern jewels there is an equivalent for most of the ancient jewelry. We have rings, bracelets, brooches, girdles, earrings, crowns, coronets; but the Egyptians had certain characteristic forms of jeweled ornament for which we have no equivalent. For example, the pectoral, which is found on nearly all mummies. It was a breast ornament, worn suspended from the neck by a ribbon or chain. Its design represented various deities, a kind of portable shrine for the gods. Many pectorals were made of bronze and covered over with thin gold leaf, but the finest were of pure gold, sometimes inlaid with lapis, carnelian and turquoise. And the beauty of Egyptian princesses and ladies of high degree was enhanced by a particularly becoming head-dress, nothing even, remotely approaching which is to be found in the jeweler’s shop of today. Often worn over a wig, which was arranged in a multitude of small braids, the head-dress itself might be said to take the form of an outer wig, fitting closely to the crown of the head and falling loosely in long flexible strings of gold beads or jeweled medallions over the shoulders. A gold head-band held it in place.
Very regal the princess must have looked when she donned this gorgeous wig-covering, and considering the tropical climate of Egypt, it must have taken Spartan courage to wear first the opulent wig and then all that weight of metal on top of it. But judging from the stunning effect of these curious head-dresses, even as displayed on artificial heads at the Metropolitan Museum, the game was worth the candle, which is not always the case when discomfort is the price of fashion.
By way of contrast Queen Nefertiti (of somewhat later date), as represented by her portrait head, is wigless. Her high crown is blue, and around it is a band of gold inset with precious stones. About her throat is the rich usekh collar—a wide collar-shaped necklace especially typical of Egyptian jewelry. It is found on nearly all mummies and painted on all mummy cases.
In early days of a jeweler was not only a highly skilled craftsman who made ornaments for personal adornment, he was also a goldsmith and an engraver of metals for any purpose. In fact, his craft was so inclusive as to cover all branches of decoration calling for the use of metals and gems. For the king, the Egyptian jeweler made such ornaments as magnificent bracelets composed of alternate plaques as hammered gold and engraved turquoise, or spiral bracelets of twisted bands of gold; but he also made emblems of royal authority—wonderful scepters of gold and sard. Even the king’s chariot had to be overlaid with sheets of gold and adorned with stone inlay. All these things were tasks for the goldsmith-jeweler.
For the adornment of the queen he made jewels richly engraved and delicately wrought, and he also made the jewel-cases to contain them. Her vanity box of filigree gold, shaped like a shell, her perfume caskets, and whatever receptacles she required for the unguents and paints employed in her elaborate art of make-up were fashioned by the versatile goldsmith.
The use of precious metals and gemstones was not as limited as it is today, but often spread itself lavishly wherever ornament was desired. Vases were shaped from gold and inlaid with turquoise; and furniture shone gorgeous with gold and lapis lazuli, which is a beautiful ultramarine stone frequently flecked with metallic specks ‘like to the serene blue heavens fretted with fire’.
Now to us, the rich and elaborate Egyptian jewelry, apart from its archaeological interest, is simply beautiful ornament. But to those who made and to those who wore that ancient jewelry much of it carried another value, one with which we must reckon if we are fully to understand and appreciate the work of the goldsmith of that day. His designs, for the most part, were not merely arbitrary—they were symbolic; and the symbols, according to popular belief, exercised a magic power in behalf of the wearer. Over and over again we find the lotus flower, the falcon, the scarab, or some Egyptian deity wrought in gold and precious stones, each one of which was an emblem held to exert some particular influence over daily life. The Egyptians, however, were not the first to wear gems as ornaments, nor were they the first to invest their ornaments with powers of magic.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
The Hogback
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
In the mid-sixteenth century only three types of diamond cut were actually given names: the Point Cut, the Table Cut, the Hogback, and the Dos ďâne. This last was the term used in the Renaissance to describe long, narrow diamonds which had two main sloping facets in the crown meeting at an acute angle in a horizontal ridge, and two similar facets in the pavilion. All four facets terminated at either end in smaller facets. In regular Hogbacks the girdle was rectangular.
The rough crystal was usually a distorted, elongated octahedron with two pairs of long faces, one pair above and one pair below. The shape could have emerged simply through unequal face development, or it may have been the result of a natural cleavage, or the cutter may have cleaved off segments from a normal octahedron, or split it twice.
Hogbacks served many purposes: as ‘petals’ of Rosettes, as arms of crosses, as strokes of letters in ‘IHS’ pendants, and so on. The pavilion was often given four facets and a culet, as in a Table Cut, and the ridge of the crown could also be flattened into a narrow Table facet. In fact, the Hogback eventually developed into a long narrower Table Cut.
In the mid-sixteenth century only three types of diamond cut were actually given names: the Point Cut, the Table Cut, the Hogback, and the Dos ďâne. This last was the term used in the Renaissance to describe long, narrow diamonds which had two main sloping facets in the crown meeting at an acute angle in a horizontal ridge, and two similar facets in the pavilion. All four facets terminated at either end in smaller facets. In regular Hogbacks the girdle was rectangular.
The rough crystal was usually a distorted, elongated octahedron with two pairs of long faces, one pair above and one pair below. The shape could have emerged simply through unequal face development, or it may have been the result of a natural cleavage, or the cutter may have cleaved off segments from a normal octahedron, or split it twice.
Hogbacks served many purposes: as ‘petals’ of Rosettes, as arms of crosses, as strokes of letters in ‘IHS’ pendants, and so on. The pavilion was often given four facets and a culet, as in a Table Cut, and the ridge of the crown could also be flattened into a narrow Table facet. In fact, the Hogback eventually developed into a long narrower Table Cut.
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
Contemporary with Velazquez, but influenced in his style of painting not so much by him as by Caravaggio, was the monastic painter Francisco Zurbaran (1598-1662), who, though born in the province of Estremadura, came to Seville when he was only sixteen and is generally regarded as a member of the School of Seville. He is chiefly famous for his religious pictures, and particularly for his monastic visions, among which ‘The Apotheosis of St Thomas’ in the Museum of Seville ranks as his masterpiece. His monks in white sheets often appear to be carved owing to the effect of high relief obtained by strong contrasts of light and shade, and the feeling of austerity and grandeur they display makes the paintings of Zurbaran illuminating documents of monastic life in Spain during the seventeenth century.
Among the immediate pupils of Velazquez were Juan Battista del Mazo (1600-67), who (in 1634) became his son-in-law and imitated his portraiture so cleverly that some of his paintings were at one time confounded with those by his master; and one who became still more famous, Bartolome Esteban Murillo (1617-82). Also born at Seville, Murillo passed through a whole gamut of influences before he developed a distinct style of his own. When he was twenty four he came to Madrid for a couple of years and when he returned he did not forget the lessons of Velazquez. From this period date those popular pictures of beggar boys and low life subjects which were the first to bring him fame. ‘The Melon Eaters’ is a fine example of this side of Murillo’s art. It charms the layman by its warm and graceful sympathy with life; it delights the artist by the skill and taste shown in the painting of the accessories. The rind of the melon, the bloom of the grapes, the wicker of the woven baskets, all are depicted not only with great beauty of color but with rare fidelity to the textures of the different objects.
Later in life Murillo altered his methods and employed a softer and more suave style, in which outlines are lost in the delicate fusion of graduated colors. The mysterious vaporous effect thus obtained was a variant of Correggio’s famous ‘smoky’ style but has been distinguished from his by being technically described as vaporoso. Among the multitude of Murillo’s religious paintings in this style the most famous is ‘The Immaculate Conception’, now in Louvre, which the French Government acquired in 1852 for the sum of £23440. The change in the type of religious presentation is market if we compare this painting with the frenzy of El Greco or the dramatic action displayed in a Titian or a Tintoretto. The storm and strife of the Reformation and counter-Reformation is passing away, and the enervation of the once combative Spain finds expression in a soft serenity that dreams of an ideal world. Not tragedy nor power, but innocence and sweetness characterize this vision of Mary, whose eyes, as a modern critic has pointed out, are not filled with inspiration and longing, but ‘astonished as those of a child gazing upon the splendor of the candles of a Christmas tree.’
Murillo was very famous in his lifetime, and the sweet sentimentality of his paintings appealed so strongly to the eighteenth and nineteenth century that for nearly two hundred years after his death he was considered the foremost of Spanish painters. Today at least three Spanish painters, Velazquez, Goya, and El Greco are rated more highly. Senhor A. de Beruete y Moret, the learned director of the Prado Museum at Madrid, has stated that:
The art of Murillo is of less interest than formerly, owing to present day preferences, which seek spirituality in art, a force, and even a restlessness which we do not find in the work of this artist....His conceptions are beautiful, but superficial. There is in them no more skillful groundwork, dramatic impulse, nor exaltation than appears at first sight. To comprehend and enjoy them it is not necessary to think; their contemplation leaves the beholder tranquil, they do not possess the power to distract, they have no warmth, nor that distinction which makes a work unique.
Historically the art of Murillo must be regarded as a sign of the decadence of Spain, and it was not till a century later that the country gave birth to another great artist; then the agony of the Wars of Succession found expression through the grim, satirical powers of Goya, whose work will be considered when we come to the art of the Napoleonic period.
The political power and prosperity of Spain rose to its zenith between the reigns of Philip II and Philip IV, and flowered in the paintings of El Greco and Velazquez. But as the power of Spain weakened and her prosperity dwindled, so also did the glory of her art begin to wane. It is not without significance that all the great painters of Spain, Murillo included, were born before 1648, the year in which the humbled Spanish empire was compelled to recognize the independence of the Netherlands by the Peace of Munster. Immediately after Velazquez we must look for the great masters of the seventeenth century, not in decaying Spain, but in Holland, victorious and independent, the country of Hals and Rembrandt.
3
Contemporary with Velazquez, but influenced in his style of painting not so much by him as by Caravaggio, was the monastic painter Francisco Zurbaran (1598-1662), who, though born in the province of Estremadura, came to Seville when he was only sixteen and is generally regarded as a member of the School of Seville. He is chiefly famous for his religious pictures, and particularly for his monastic visions, among which ‘The Apotheosis of St Thomas’ in the Museum of Seville ranks as his masterpiece. His monks in white sheets often appear to be carved owing to the effect of high relief obtained by strong contrasts of light and shade, and the feeling of austerity and grandeur they display makes the paintings of Zurbaran illuminating documents of monastic life in Spain during the seventeenth century.
Among the immediate pupils of Velazquez were Juan Battista del Mazo (1600-67), who (in 1634) became his son-in-law and imitated his portraiture so cleverly that some of his paintings were at one time confounded with those by his master; and one who became still more famous, Bartolome Esteban Murillo (1617-82). Also born at Seville, Murillo passed through a whole gamut of influences before he developed a distinct style of his own. When he was twenty four he came to Madrid for a couple of years and when he returned he did not forget the lessons of Velazquez. From this period date those popular pictures of beggar boys and low life subjects which were the first to bring him fame. ‘The Melon Eaters’ is a fine example of this side of Murillo’s art. It charms the layman by its warm and graceful sympathy with life; it delights the artist by the skill and taste shown in the painting of the accessories. The rind of the melon, the bloom of the grapes, the wicker of the woven baskets, all are depicted not only with great beauty of color but with rare fidelity to the textures of the different objects.
Later in life Murillo altered his methods and employed a softer and more suave style, in which outlines are lost in the delicate fusion of graduated colors. The mysterious vaporous effect thus obtained was a variant of Correggio’s famous ‘smoky’ style but has been distinguished from his by being technically described as vaporoso. Among the multitude of Murillo’s religious paintings in this style the most famous is ‘The Immaculate Conception’, now in Louvre, which the French Government acquired in 1852 for the sum of £23440. The change in the type of religious presentation is market if we compare this painting with the frenzy of El Greco or the dramatic action displayed in a Titian or a Tintoretto. The storm and strife of the Reformation and counter-Reformation is passing away, and the enervation of the once combative Spain finds expression in a soft serenity that dreams of an ideal world. Not tragedy nor power, but innocence and sweetness characterize this vision of Mary, whose eyes, as a modern critic has pointed out, are not filled with inspiration and longing, but ‘astonished as those of a child gazing upon the splendor of the candles of a Christmas tree.’
Murillo was very famous in his lifetime, and the sweet sentimentality of his paintings appealed so strongly to the eighteenth and nineteenth century that for nearly two hundred years after his death he was considered the foremost of Spanish painters. Today at least three Spanish painters, Velazquez, Goya, and El Greco are rated more highly. Senhor A. de Beruete y Moret, the learned director of the Prado Museum at Madrid, has stated that:
The art of Murillo is of less interest than formerly, owing to present day preferences, which seek spirituality in art, a force, and even a restlessness which we do not find in the work of this artist....His conceptions are beautiful, but superficial. There is in them no more skillful groundwork, dramatic impulse, nor exaltation than appears at first sight. To comprehend and enjoy them it is not necessary to think; their contemplation leaves the beholder tranquil, they do not possess the power to distract, they have no warmth, nor that distinction which makes a work unique.
Historically the art of Murillo must be regarded as a sign of the decadence of Spain, and it was not till a century later that the country gave birth to another great artist; then the agony of the Wars of Succession found expression through the grim, satirical powers of Goya, whose work will be considered when we come to the art of the Napoleonic period.
The political power and prosperity of Spain rose to its zenith between the reigns of Philip II and Philip IV, and flowered in the paintings of El Greco and Velazquez. But as the power of Spain weakened and her prosperity dwindled, so also did the glory of her art begin to wane. It is not without significance that all the great painters of Spain, Murillo included, were born before 1648, the year in which the humbled Spanish empire was compelled to recognize the independence of the Netherlands by the Peace of Munster. Immediately after Velazquez we must look for the great masters of the seventeenth century, not in decaying Spain, but in Holland, victorious and independent, the country of Hals and Rembrandt.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Consumer Confidence
According to recent data from the Conference Board Consumer Research Center consumer confidence continues to slide due to rising fuel prices + volatility in the financial markets.
I think political uncertainities may also add to global concerns as events unfold in developed + developing countries in the coming months.
Useful link:
www.conference-board.org
I think political uncertainities may also add to global concerns as events unfold in developed + developing countries in the coming months.
Useful link:
www.conference-board.org
Chinese Jade For Olympic Medals
According to the Organizing Committee of the Beijing Olympic Games jade from China’s plateau province of Quinghai will be used for make Beijing Olympic Games medals + gold medal will include a light, fine jade set in its back, the silver medal in white greenish jade, while a greenish jade will be used for the bronze medal. In Chinese culture jade represents honor and virtue + the medal designs will combine Olympic spirit and Chinese culture. The Beijing Olympic Games will open on Aug. 8, 2008.
Useful links:
http://en.beijing2008.cn
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qinghai
www.chinaview.cn
Useful links:
http://en.beijing2008.cn
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qinghai
www.chinaview.cn
The Mysterious Attraction Of Gems
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
2. The First Collector of Gemstones
As far we know, the ape, our nearest relative among beasts, possesses no appreciation of beauty. There is no loadstone in his makeup that draws him inexorably toward symmetry of form or glory of color. The naturalists tells us that no creature in the animal kingdom except ourselves seeks to adorn its own person. That fact would appear to lead to the conclusion that the trait is purely human and perhaps one of the factors in the evolution of the human spirit.
Shades of our Purtian ancestry! Such an idea merits the stocks! Nevertheless, the instinctive pleasure felt by the man or woman who first cherished the beauty of a colorful pebble has gripped us fast ever since and become a part of our heritage, stocks or no stocks.
Of course all we can be certain of about that pleasurable moment when man first found a gemstone is that it actually did happen. For details we can only inquire of the archaeologist and then turn the spotlight of imagination on his findings.
Suppose we construct the situation: There has been a prolonged drought, and the river—only source of the man’s water supply—has gone dry, so that rocks and pebbles in its bed are exposed to view. The man walks along the river bed looking for some pool that has yet withstood the glaring heat of the sun.
The man is stoop-shouldered, for it is not so many ages since some ancestor of his first learned to walk on two feet instead of four. And he is shaggy. Indeed he needs a good deal of hair for protection against weather, because he is quite innocent of clothing. Seen at a distance you might believe he was not a man at all, but if you continue to watch he will prove the point for you.
In his search for water in the dry river bed he has discovered a pebble unlike the other pebbles. It is frosted red like a berry. With the infantile desire to taste anything that attracts the eye, he pops the pretty stone into his mouth. No. It is too hard, not good to eat. So he takes it out and sees that being wet the color has deepened and increased in beauty. His pleasure is so great that he must share it....So with much shouting and various other inarticulate noises he makes for the home cave, there to show the treasure to dame wife, who immediately claims it, gets it, and eventually wears it too.
No ape ever felt impelled to do things like that. By recognition of beauty and is fitness for personal adornment these creatures prove themselves human beings. In some fashion man first discovered a gemstone. From our point of view it all happened very long ago; but reckoning time in relation to the birth of the gemstone, it was only yesterday.
2. The First Collector of Gemstones
As far we know, the ape, our nearest relative among beasts, possesses no appreciation of beauty. There is no loadstone in his makeup that draws him inexorably toward symmetry of form or glory of color. The naturalists tells us that no creature in the animal kingdom except ourselves seeks to adorn its own person. That fact would appear to lead to the conclusion that the trait is purely human and perhaps one of the factors in the evolution of the human spirit.
Shades of our Purtian ancestry! Such an idea merits the stocks! Nevertheless, the instinctive pleasure felt by the man or woman who first cherished the beauty of a colorful pebble has gripped us fast ever since and become a part of our heritage, stocks or no stocks.
Of course all we can be certain of about that pleasurable moment when man first found a gemstone is that it actually did happen. For details we can only inquire of the archaeologist and then turn the spotlight of imagination on his findings.
Suppose we construct the situation: There has been a prolonged drought, and the river—only source of the man’s water supply—has gone dry, so that rocks and pebbles in its bed are exposed to view. The man walks along the river bed looking for some pool that has yet withstood the glaring heat of the sun.
The man is stoop-shouldered, for it is not so many ages since some ancestor of his first learned to walk on two feet instead of four. And he is shaggy. Indeed he needs a good deal of hair for protection against weather, because he is quite innocent of clothing. Seen at a distance you might believe he was not a man at all, but if you continue to watch he will prove the point for you.
In his search for water in the dry river bed he has discovered a pebble unlike the other pebbles. It is frosted red like a berry. With the infantile desire to taste anything that attracts the eye, he pops the pretty stone into his mouth. No. It is too hard, not good to eat. So he takes it out and sees that being wet the color has deepened and increased in beauty. His pleasure is so great that he must share it....So with much shouting and various other inarticulate noises he makes for the home cave, there to show the treasure to dame wife, who immediately claims it, gets it, and eventually wears it too.
No ape ever felt impelled to do things like that. By recognition of beauty and is fitness for personal adornment these creatures prove themselves human beings. In some fashion man first discovered a gemstone. From our point of view it all happened very long ago; but reckoning time in relation to the birth of the gemstone, it was only yesterday.
The Knob Cut
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The Knob Cut (also known as the Nail Cut, Duke Cut and occasionally Prince or Prinz Cut) was a development of the standard Pyramidal Cut, in that the original, possibly damaged, apex was ground away to make a tiny table facet. A cubic formation modifying the points of an octahedron is quite often found in nature. This no doubt inspired both the Knob Cut and the blunt corners in some pyramidal cuts, as well as various types of tables. This particular modification of the point cut seems to have been popular from the second half of the fourteenth century to the beginning of the sixteenth, and can be seen in a number of contemporary paintings. It is described in some inventories as Nail Cut, the term referring to the crown, which is shaped like the head of an antique nail.
An octahedral rough with broken apexes can be improved by ‘lowering’—that is, by grinding its large faces until the desired sharp apex is obtained. However, this is a delicate and laborious operation and it is easier to fashion the damaged, missing or misshapen point into a small table. Additional facets may be applied, for instance on broken edges. The Knob Cuts were fashioned in this manner, and it is clear that they were precursors of the Table Cuts.
Very early Knobs can be seen in German engravings of royal crowns dating from the beginning of the twelfth century. In a number of inventories tiny Knob Cut diamonds are described as representing the nails that pierced Christ’s hands and feet on the cross. In the Kleinodienbuch der Herzogin Anna (c.1550) there are several illustrations by Mielich of jewels belonging to Anna, Duchess of Bavaria. One of these is a natural Point reproduced with a clear, full-sized reflection, but symmetrized just sufficiently to give a tiny Knob facet at the top. A crown sketched for Christian IV of Denmark by Corvinianus Sauer (1594) also features Knob Cuts. In a portrait by Rubens, dating from about 1620, the French Queen, Anna of Austria, wears a large necklace which displays several Knob Cut diamonds, all fashioned from Hogbacks—that is, long rectangular stones.
Only a very few Knob Cuts have survived; apparently most of them were recut into Tables. One important exception, a 10 ct yellow diamond called the Jonquil (on display at the Musée ďHistoire Naturelle, Paris), has been part of the Royal French Treasury since at least the seventeenth century. The Jonquil is richly faceted and has the same arrangement of twenty four facets in both the crown and the pavilion. Both the table facet and the culet are octagonal and the same size as each other. This disposition of facets is very like that of the relatively modern Split Brilliant Cut. Even the octagonal angles have to some extent been retained.
The Knob Cut (also known as the Nail Cut, Duke Cut and occasionally Prince or Prinz Cut) was a development of the standard Pyramidal Cut, in that the original, possibly damaged, apex was ground away to make a tiny table facet. A cubic formation modifying the points of an octahedron is quite often found in nature. This no doubt inspired both the Knob Cut and the blunt corners in some pyramidal cuts, as well as various types of tables. This particular modification of the point cut seems to have been popular from the second half of the fourteenth century to the beginning of the sixteenth, and can be seen in a number of contemporary paintings. It is described in some inventories as Nail Cut, the term referring to the crown, which is shaped like the head of an antique nail.
An octahedral rough with broken apexes can be improved by ‘lowering’—that is, by grinding its large faces until the desired sharp apex is obtained. However, this is a delicate and laborious operation and it is easier to fashion the damaged, missing or misshapen point into a small table. Additional facets may be applied, for instance on broken edges. The Knob Cuts were fashioned in this manner, and it is clear that they were precursors of the Table Cuts.
Very early Knobs can be seen in German engravings of royal crowns dating from the beginning of the twelfth century. In a number of inventories tiny Knob Cut diamonds are described as representing the nails that pierced Christ’s hands and feet on the cross. In the Kleinodienbuch der Herzogin Anna (c.1550) there are several illustrations by Mielich of jewels belonging to Anna, Duchess of Bavaria. One of these is a natural Point reproduced with a clear, full-sized reflection, but symmetrized just sufficiently to give a tiny Knob facet at the top. A crown sketched for Christian IV of Denmark by Corvinianus Sauer (1594) also features Knob Cuts. In a portrait by Rubens, dating from about 1620, the French Queen, Anna of Austria, wears a large necklace which displays several Knob Cut diamonds, all fashioned from Hogbacks—that is, long rectangular stones.
Only a very few Knob Cuts have survived; apparently most of them were recut into Tables. One important exception, a 10 ct yellow diamond called the Jonquil (on display at the Musée ďHistoire Naturelle, Paris), has been part of the Royal French Treasury since at least the seventeenth century. The Jonquil is richly faceted and has the same arrangement of twenty four facets in both the crown and the pavilion. Both the table facet and the culet are octagonal and the same size as each other. This disposition of facets is very like that of the relatively modern Split Brilliant Cut. Even the octagonal angles have to some extent been retained.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
If in the intoxication of victory, coming and assured, some of the soldier-patriots of Holland became boisterous in their exuberance, who will blame them? And who will blame Hals if in this great and exhilarating period his art also becomes boisterous and exuberant?
It was nearly a quarter of a century before the final victory and the Spanish acknowledgment of Holland’s independence, when Frans Hals about 1624 painted that portrait of an officer known all over the world as ‘The Laughing Cavalier’. The treatment and the subject are in complete unity, for the swagger of the brushwork is in harmony with the swaggering pose of the officer. Mr Davies, the Master of Charterhouse, has commented on the extraordinary mobility of feature in the expression of this portrait—how at one moment the face of the cavalier seems provocatively disdainful, at another full of amused good humor. Another brilliant example of the unrivalled power of Hals to catch a fleeting expression will be found in his later painting, ‘Nurse and Child’, a work which with its wonderfully elaborate and intricate detail no alcoholic hand could possibly have painted. Look well at this babe with its odd little old face, and you will see it ‘just beginning to ripple all over with the laughter that will come in a minute.’ Mr Davies thinks Hals must have learnt the knack of this from watching his own children in his own home, and surely we may say with conviction that the man who could paint babies with so penetrating an eye was a good father.
Splendid as these two paintings are, good as the portraits by Hals in the National Gallery, London, yet to know Hals to the uttermost it is necessary to visit his hometown of Haarlem and to see there the series of great portrait groups he painted of the Guilds, the ‘Archers of St George’ (Joris) and the ‘Archers of Saint Adriaen.’ These shooting guilds may be roughly described as equivalent to our own Honorable Artillery Company when it was first instituted.
It is in these paintings of the citizen soldiers of his own city that Hals displays his highest gifts both as a decorator and as a painter of actuality. The figures are so real that we look at them seem to be one of the company; but though the arrangement appears so natural our eyes are always gladdened by a beauty of pattern, a flow of line, and a balancing of masses which testify to the painter’s science of design. There is nothing with which we can compare them save ‘The Surrender of Breda,’ and in making this comparison we must not forget that if Velazquez was his contemporary he was also by nearly twenty years the junior of Hals. It is easy to count up the qualities lacking in the art of Frans Hals, who had neither the grave dignity and mastery of light that Velazquez possessed nor the scenic splendor of Rubens, nor the thought of his contemporary Rembrandt; but a painter, like a man, must be judged by what he is—not what what he is not—and Hals keeps his place among the great masters by his own peculiar gifts as an exuberant, and indeed an inspired, portrayer of the bravery of Holland in her greatest hour.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
If in the intoxication of victory, coming and assured, some of the soldier-patriots of Holland became boisterous in their exuberance, who will blame them? And who will blame Hals if in this great and exhilarating period his art also becomes boisterous and exuberant?
It was nearly a quarter of a century before the final victory and the Spanish acknowledgment of Holland’s independence, when Frans Hals about 1624 painted that portrait of an officer known all over the world as ‘The Laughing Cavalier’. The treatment and the subject are in complete unity, for the swagger of the brushwork is in harmony with the swaggering pose of the officer. Mr Davies, the Master of Charterhouse, has commented on the extraordinary mobility of feature in the expression of this portrait—how at one moment the face of the cavalier seems provocatively disdainful, at another full of amused good humor. Another brilliant example of the unrivalled power of Hals to catch a fleeting expression will be found in his later painting, ‘Nurse and Child’, a work which with its wonderfully elaborate and intricate detail no alcoholic hand could possibly have painted. Look well at this babe with its odd little old face, and you will see it ‘just beginning to ripple all over with the laughter that will come in a minute.’ Mr Davies thinks Hals must have learnt the knack of this from watching his own children in his own home, and surely we may say with conviction that the man who could paint babies with so penetrating an eye was a good father.
Splendid as these two paintings are, good as the portraits by Hals in the National Gallery, London, yet to know Hals to the uttermost it is necessary to visit his hometown of Haarlem and to see there the series of great portrait groups he painted of the Guilds, the ‘Archers of St George’ (Joris) and the ‘Archers of Saint Adriaen.’ These shooting guilds may be roughly described as equivalent to our own Honorable Artillery Company when it was first instituted.
It is in these paintings of the citizen soldiers of his own city that Hals displays his highest gifts both as a decorator and as a painter of actuality. The figures are so real that we look at them seem to be one of the company; but though the arrangement appears so natural our eyes are always gladdened by a beauty of pattern, a flow of line, and a balancing of masses which testify to the painter’s science of design. There is nothing with which we can compare them save ‘The Surrender of Breda,’ and in making this comparison we must not forget that if Velazquez was his contemporary he was also by nearly twenty years the junior of Hals. It is easy to count up the qualities lacking in the art of Frans Hals, who had neither the grave dignity and mastery of light that Velazquez possessed nor the scenic splendor of Rubens, nor the thought of his contemporary Rembrandt; but a painter, like a man, must be judged by what he is—not what what he is not—and Hals keeps his place among the great masters by his own peculiar gifts as an exuberant, and indeed an inspired, portrayer of the bravery of Holland in her greatest hour.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
Diamond Certification In China
According to The National Standard Commission there are about 80 laboratories and institutions in China issuing diamond certificates. The National Gemstone Testing Center (NGTC) is perceived as the most prominent lab in China and is authorized to inspect and check certificates issued by other labs. The National Standard on Diamond Grading is the only standard used in disputes or disagreements about appraisal results. Most retailers send their diamond (s) that are certified by foreign labs to the NGTC/its local affiliated labs to get it recertified in order to avoid disputes in the local market.
Useful links:
www.ngtc.gov.cn
www.cnsde.com
Useful links:
www.ngtc.gov.cn
www.cnsde.com
Jewelry Trends
According to British research company Report Buyer, global luxury brand spending will rise considerably in the coming years + jewelry and watches are expected to become the next 'must have' luxury items as wealth increases worldwide due to emerging economies + mature markets + new marketing channels + the internet.
Useful link:
www.reportbuyer.com
Useful link:
www.reportbuyer.com
Candala Chrysoprase
Candala chrysoprase from Marlborough Mine in Queensland, Australia is perceived to be of the highest quality. Top quality chrysoprase may be confused for jade because of its color, but chrysoprase is not as tough as jade; its hard, durable, translucent, and takes a good polish.
Useful link:
www.candalachrysoprase.com
Useful link:
www.candalachrysoprase.com
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Diamond Industry News: India
With the introduction of amendments in law governing the diamond mining industry, the South African government is planning to restrict 100% export of rough diamonds + they want more polishing units to process diamonds in the country to generate more employment.
The Indian gem and jewelry sector is worried with the new developments + the appreciating Indian rupee against the dollar + competition from China + revoking of DTC Sightholder status of eight Indian diamond firms may lead to massive unemployment in the sector and affect small and medium manufacturers. There may be more surprises as events unfold.
The Indian gem and jewelry sector is worried with the new developments + the appreciating Indian rupee against the dollar + competition from China + revoking of DTC Sightholder status of eight Indian diamond firms may lead to massive unemployment in the sector and affect small and medium manufacturers. There may be more surprises as events unfold.
Fake Artwork Rises In Value
(via CNN/Jim Boulden) http://edition.cnn.com/video/#/video/living/2008/01/01/boulden.uk.genuine.fakes.cnn
It's amazing!
It's amazing!
Highest Priced Modern Indian Artists
- Tyeb Mehta
- Amrita Sher Gill
- F N Souza
- V S Gaitonde
- S H Raza
- Rameshwar Broota
- M F Husain
- J Swaminathan
- Akbar Padamsee
- Ram Kumar
- Amrita Sher Gill
- F N Souza
- V S Gaitonde
- S H Raza
- Rameshwar Broota
- M F Husain
- J Swaminathan
- Akbar Padamsee
- Ram Kumar
The Orloff
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
Descriptions of the Orloff diamond (The Diamond Fund, Moscow, about 190 ct) were published by the Academician A E von Fersmann in Moscow in 1925. The diamond is still in the sceptre of Catherine the Great, in the Kremlin Treasury. I have not been permitted to analyze this gem myself, but an analysis is promised by the authorities.
Descriptions of the Orloff diamond (The Diamond Fund, Moscow, about 190 ct) were published by the Academician A E von Fersmann in Moscow in 1925. The diamond is still in the sceptre of Catherine the Great, in the Kremlin Treasury. I have not been permitted to analyze this gem myself, but an analysis is promised by the authorities.
Underrated/Overrated
Total internal reflections of Robert Rigney and Penelope Rowlands on international artists + other viewpoints @
http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=828
http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=828
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Work Of Frans Hals And Rembrandt
Shortly before the Spanish army began its seven months siege of Haarlem in the winter of 1572-3, a burgher of that city named Pieter Hals made his escape with his wife and family, and found shelter in Antwerp. Well for the world that he did so, for had he taken part in the heroic defence of his native city he might have been killed in the general butchery that followed when the Spaniards at last took the town; and then one of the world’s greatest painters would never have been born.
Of the life of his son comparatively little is known, but it tolerably certain that Frans Hals was born at Antwerp in 1580, that is to say, about five years after El Greco’s arrival in Spain. Exactly when the Hals family returned to Haarlem is not known, but since the younger son, Dirk Hals (1591-1656), is reputed to have been born in Haarlem, it may be conjectured that the Hals family returned some time between 1590 and 1600. By the latter date Frans Hals was certainly working in Haarlem, and there he remained all his life.
The police records of Haarlem show that on February 20, 1616, Frans Hals was summoned for maltreating his wife (Anneke Hermans), was severely reprimanded, and dismissed on the undertaking that he would eschew drunken company and reform. On this one fact, which is indisputable, gossip has built up a legend that Hals was a man of imperfect morals and a continuous and habitual drunkard. But, as Mr Gerald S Davies has pointed out, drunkenness is not only a moral but a physical matter, and it is physically impossible that a confirmed inebriate should have had a hand steady enough to paint the pictures Hals painted when he was sixty and older.
We must admit an ugly passage in the painter’s life—though, as a Scottish critic once observed, we do not know what provocation Hal’s wife gave him—and we must conclude that his first marriage was miserable. The poor woman died soon after the police court case—though not, it would seem, as the result of her husband’s misconduct—and a year later Hals married again. His second wife became the mother of many children, surviving her husband after fifty years of married life, and since she never had occasion to take him to the police court, we may reasonably conclude that Hals was not an habitual wife beater.
He appears to have been a jovial and very human beings, fond of a glass in good company, and now and then, perhaps taking one too many; a real Bohemian, as his paintings of gypsies and strolling players attest; but he was not a social outcast, or he would not have been constantly employed by respectable citizens and important corporations, nor would he at the age of sixty four have been appointed a director of the Guild of St Lucas, which protected the interests of the artists and craftsmen of Haarlem.
Yet towards the end of his life, when his honorable position cannot be assailed, he was in sad financial difficulties. At one time he supplemented his income by teaching, and Adriaen Brouwer (1605-38) and A J van Ostade (1610-85) were among his pupils; but this connection did not last, and in 1652 he was distrained upon for debt by his baker, Jan Ykess. Ten years later his distress was such that he had to apply to the Municipal Council for aid, and was given the sum of 100 florins; two years later he had to apply again, and this time (1664) the Council voted the old man a yearly pension of 200 gulden. That year Hals, now eighty four years of age, painted his last two pictures, portraits of the ‘Managers of the Almshouses at Haarlem,’ and in 1666 he died, and was buried on September 7 in the choir of the Church of St Bavon.
Properly to appreciate the art of Frans Hals, there is one thing we must never forget, namely, that all the work of his maturity was done during the excitement of war. It was a war which must have thrilled every Dutchman through and through, for it was waged to defend hearth and home and to deliver the fatherland from a foreign yoke; it was a war in which one of the smallest nations in Europe had the hardihood to challenge the mightiest empire of the time. It began in 1568, about twelve years before Hals was born, and as he grew up the apparent hopelessness of the conflict disappeared, and the gaiety and elation of victory in sight began to sparkle in his paintings. When Hals first painted the officers of the St Joris’ Shooting Guild in 1616 the issue was still doubtful; when he painted the last of his great series of military groups in 1639, again of the ‘Officers of St Joris’ Shooting Guild,’ the ultimate triumph of Holland was a foregone conclusion. In the earliest group many of the faces appear anxious and worried, but see how happy they all are even in the ‘Reunion of the Officers of the Guild of Archers of St Adriaen’, a picture painted in 1633. These stout fellows bear their fortune with varying demeanors; some are smiling and jovial, some are grave and stern, one or two are evidently elated, one of two are thoughtful, but all are confident. In no countenance can a trace of doubt be felt, and their freedom from anxiety finds its parallel in the flowing brush of the painter, equally confident and unerring.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
The Work Of Frans Hals And Rembrandt
Shortly before the Spanish army began its seven months siege of Haarlem in the winter of 1572-3, a burgher of that city named Pieter Hals made his escape with his wife and family, and found shelter in Antwerp. Well for the world that he did so, for had he taken part in the heroic defence of his native city he might have been killed in the general butchery that followed when the Spaniards at last took the town; and then one of the world’s greatest painters would never have been born.
Of the life of his son comparatively little is known, but it tolerably certain that Frans Hals was born at Antwerp in 1580, that is to say, about five years after El Greco’s arrival in Spain. Exactly when the Hals family returned to Haarlem is not known, but since the younger son, Dirk Hals (1591-1656), is reputed to have been born in Haarlem, it may be conjectured that the Hals family returned some time between 1590 and 1600. By the latter date Frans Hals was certainly working in Haarlem, and there he remained all his life.
The police records of Haarlem show that on February 20, 1616, Frans Hals was summoned for maltreating his wife (Anneke Hermans), was severely reprimanded, and dismissed on the undertaking that he would eschew drunken company and reform. On this one fact, which is indisputable, gossip has built up a legend that Hals was a man of imperfect morals and a continuous and habitual drunkard. But, as Mr Gerald S Davies has pointed out, drunkenness is not only a moral but a physical matter, and it is physically impossible that a confirmed inebriate should have had a hand steady enough to paint the pictures Hals painted when he was sixty and older.
We must admit an ugly passage in the painter’s life—though, as a Scottish critic once observed, we do not know what provocation Hal’s wife gave him—and we must conclude that his first marriage was miserable. The poor woman died soon after the police court case—though not, it would seem, as the result of her husband’s misconduct—and a year later Hals married again. His second wife became the mother of many children, surviving her husband after fifty years of married life, and since she never had occasion to take him to the police court, we may reasonably conclude that Hals was not an habitual wife beater.
He appears to have been a jovial and very human beings, fond of a glass in good company, and now and then, perhaps taking one too many; a real Bohemian, as his paintings of gypsies and strolling players attest; but he was not a social outcast, or he would not have been constantly employed by respectable citizens and important corporations, nor would he at the age of sixty four have been appointed a director of the Guild of St Lucas, which protected the interests of the artists and craftsmen of Haarlem.
Yet towards the end of his life, when his honorable position cannot be assailed, he was in sad financial difficulties. At one time he supplemented his income by teaching, and Adriaen Brouwer (1605-38) and A J van Ostade (1610-85) were among his pupils; but this connection did not last, and in 1652 he was distrained upon for debt by his baker, Jan Ykess. Ten years later his distress was such that he had to apply to the Municipal Council for aid, and was given the sum of 100 florins; two years later he had to apply again, and this time (1664) the Council voted the old man a yearly pension of 200 gulden. That year Hals, now eighty four years of age, painted his last two pictures, portraits of the ‘Managers of the Almshouses at Haarlem,’ and in 1666 he died, and was buried on September 7 in the choir of the Church of St Bavon.
Properly to appreciate the art of Frans Hals, there is one thing we must never forget, namely, that all the work of his maturity was done during the excitement of war. It was a war which must have thrilled every Dutchman through and through, for it was waged to defend hearth and home and to deliver the fatherland from a foreign yoke; it was a war in which one of the smallest nations in Europe had the hardihood to challenge the mightiest empire of the time. It began in 1568, about twelve years before Hals was born, and as he grew up the apparent hopelessness of the conflict disappeared, and the gaiety and elation of victory in sight began to sparkle in his paintings. When Hals first painted the officers of the St Joris’ Shooting Guild in 1616 the issue was still doubtful; when he painted the last of his great series of military groups in 1639, again of the ‘Officers of St Joris’ Shooting Guild,’ the ultimate triumph of Holland was a foregone conclusion. In the earliest group many of the faces appear anxious and worried, but see how happy they all are even in the ‘Reunion of the Officers of the Guild of Archers of St Adriaen’, a picture painted in 1633. These stout fellows bear their fortune with varying demeanors; some are smiling and jovial, some are grave and stern, one or two are evidently elated, one of two are thoughtful, but all are confident. In no countenance can a trace of doubt be felt, and their freedom from anxiety finds its parallel in the flowing brush of the painter, equally confident and unerring.
How Art Rose With The Dutch Republic (continued)
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