If you ever get a chance to visit Russia, explore the Russian art collections at:
State Hermitage museum (www.hermitagemuseum.org)
State National museum (www.tretyakov.ru)
State Pushkin museum (www.russianmuseums.info)
State Tretyakov museum ( www.tretyakov.ru)
They are unique sources for inspiration.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
BPP – Getting Serious At Last
Total internal reflections of Chaim Even Zohar on Diamond Trading Company (DTC) Best Practice Principles (BPP) compliance + operational issues/failures + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
In Search Of The Precious Stone
Albert Ramsay (Albert Ramsay & Co, 1925) writes:
As the sun, like a glowing disc of molten copper, sank into the western sea, one involuntarily awaited the hissing steam which accompanies the immersion of hot metal in water. The afterglow, touching the detached fragments of cloud, transformed them into bits of opal floating against an iridescent background of pink, orange, and blue, marvelously blended. After ten days spend amid these pleasant surroundings we steamed up the Menam River to Bangkok, the capital of Siam.
Bangkok presented a singular yet imposing appearance. Here were balconied minarets, slender and delicately modeled, ornate in lacquer and gilt which refracted the rays of the tropical sun with dazzling brilliancy; here were pagodas, many storeyed and taping to needle-like points, with eaves whose corners curled up as does the toe of a Turkish slipper; here were houses with tiled roofs of brilliant colors. Over all was an air of mystic antiquity, unalloyed through contact with occidental progressiveness.
From Bangkok I took a coasting steamer to Chantabun, one hundred and twenty five miles to the southeastward. The sapphire mines in the Pailin district are three days journey through the jungle from Chantabun. This trip, made on horseback, indelibly impressed itself upon my memory. The native guides, their ugliness increased by their teeth, blackened through incessant chewing of the eternal betel nut of the Orient, led me along a path which would have been indiscernible to one unfamiliar with its existence. The arched branches of the trees were festooned with vines and sinuous creepers which necessitated lying flat along the horses’ backs if any progress was to be made. At times the members of the party were concealed from one another by this screen of hanging vegetation. No refreshing breeze penetrated the matted foliage to dissipate the unwholesome emanations of the damp ground, untouched by the purging beams of the sun; the atmosphere was heavy with humidity and the temperatures ranged above one hundred degrees, day and night. Eight hours of riding, ducking and dodging, brought us to a dak bungalow or rest house, where we were to spend the night. This bungalow was a bamboo shelter built upon a platform elevated about six feet above the ground to discourage any undue familiarity upon the parts of cobras, wild pigs, tigers or other rapacious beasts which roamed through the Siamese jungle in great numbers. The dak bungalow was in the middle of a small clearing upon all sides of which the forest was sending forth new growth, just as an army gradually closes in upon a besieged city. Resplendently-plumed birds flitted in and out among the lush bamboo and pendant vines; daintily-tinted orchids vied with gaudy flowers for the favor of the great butterflies which floated from one to the other like animated gems. The tout ensemble formed a never-to-be-forgotten picture of tropical luxuriance. It seemed a crime that the appreciation which such beauty merited should have been withheld owning to the oppressive and enervating heat. The intentness with which we scanned the bordering thickets and the care with which we clung to our rifles were in no way abated through the recollection of a tomb we passed in which were interred the remains of a miner who had been killed upon the spot by a tiger. Finally, hot, tired and thirsty we reached a waterhole. After thoroughly satisfying our thirst we filled the deerskin water bags and bathed our heads and hands in the ice cold water. Revived in body and spirit we proceeded and fifteen miles from the dark bungalow we arrived at a river across which we were ferried in sampans while the guides swam the stream with our horses. On the evening of the third day we reached the mines.
The following morning I inspected the sapphires and then began the strangest bargaining session to which I have ever been a party. Many of the miners are Burmese immigrants and it had been necessary for me to thoroughly acquaint myself with their methods in order to trade with them. Buyer and seller clasp hands. The miner throws his panung or waist cloth over the hands, thus concealing them from any witness who may be present. The bargaining is conducted in absolute silence, prices being indicated by pressure upon the joints of the fore and middle fingers in accordance with a code which I had previously learned in preparation. In this way the bystanders are prevented from knowing whether or not a deal has been consummated. The transfer of stones and cash takes place later.
For five days I squeezed the hand of a Burmese miner and had my own pressed by him in return. We were playing for high stakes and it was with a feeling of satisfaction that I ultimately felt the pressure which indicated that I had won. As a result I acquired in return for $200,000 in note currency, one of the finest collections that ever left the mines. Included in it was the sapphire par excellence of the Siamese mines. It had been given to the man from whom I bought it, fifteen years previous by his partner, upon the latter’s deathbed, to be held in trust for his son. Through a stroke of good fortune I had been able to save the life of the trustee’s grandson by the aid of my medical kit and as a token of appreciation he sold me the stone for $10000. The following day the old man died and although the superstitious natives interpreted his demise as a retributory punishment for having violated his trust I have often wondered if, in my eagerness, I had not worked his joints too strenuously.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continue)
As the sun, like a glowing disc of molten copper, sank into the western sea, one involuntarily awaited the hissing steam which accompanies the immersion of hot metal in water. The afterglow, touching the detached fragments of cloud, transformed them into bits of opal floating against an iridescent background of pink, orange, and blue, marvelously blended. After ten days spend amid these pleasant surroundings we steamed up the Menam River to Bangkok, the capital of Siam.
Bangkok presented a singular yet imposing appearance. Here were balconied minarets, slender and delicately modeled, ornate in lacquer and gilt which refracted the rays of the tropical sun with dazzling brilliancy; here were pagodas, many storeyed and taping to needle-like points, with eaves whose corners curled up as does the toe of a Turkish slipper; here were houses with tiled roofs of brilliant colors. Over all was an air of mystic antiquity, unalloyed through contact with occidental progressiveness.
From Bangkok I took a coasting steamer to Chantabun, one hundred and twenty five miles to the southeastward. The sapphire mines in the Pailin district are three days journey through the jungle from Chantabun. This trip, made on horseback, indelibly impressed itself upon my memory. The native guides, their ugliness increased by their teeth, blackened through incessant chewing of the eternal betel nut of the Orient, led me along a path which would have been indiscernible to one unfamiliar with its existence. The arched branches of the trees were festooned with vines and sinuous creepers which necessitated lying flat along the horses’ backs if any progress was to be made. At times the members of the party were concealed from one another by this screen of hanging vegetation. No refreshing breeze penetrated the matted foliage to dissipate the unwholesome emanations of the damp ground, untouched by the purging beams of the sun; the atmosphere was heavy with humidity and the temperatures ranged above one hundred degrees, day and night. Eight hours of riding, ducking and dodging, brought us to a dak bungalow or rest house, where we were to spend the night. This bungalow was a bamboo shelter built upon a platform elevated about six feet above the ground to discourage any undue familiarity upon the parts of cobras, wild pigs, tigers or other rapacious beasts which roamed through the Siamese jungle in great numbers. The dak bungalow was in the middle of a small clearing upon all sides of which the forest was sending forth new growth, just as an army gradually closes in upon a besieged city. Resplendently-plumed birds flitted in and out among the lush bamboo and pendant vines; daintily-tinted orchids vied with gaudy flowers for the favor of the great butterflies which floated from one to the other like animated gems. The tout ensemble formed a never-to-be-forgotten picture of tropical luxuriance. It seemed a crime that the appreciation which such beauty merited should have been withheld owning to the oppressive and enervating heat. The intentness with which we scanned the bordering thickets and the care with which we clung to our rifles were in no way abated through the recollection of a tomb we passed in which were interred the remains of a miner who had been killed upon the spot by a tiger. Finally, hot, tired and thirsty we reached a waterhole. After thoroughly satisfying our thirst we filled the deerskin water bags and bathed our heads and hands in the ice cold water. Revived in body and spirit we proceeded and fifteen miles from the dark bungalow we arrived at a river across which we were ferried in sampans while the guides swam the stream with our horses. On the evening of the third day we reached the mines.
The following morning I inspected the sapphires and then began the strangest bargaining session to which I have ever been a party. Many of the miners are Burmese immigrants and it had been necessary for me to thoroughly acquaint myself with their methods in order to trade with them. Buyer and seller clasp hands. The miner throws his panung or waist cloth over the hands, thus concealing them from any witness who may be present. The bargaining is conducted in absolute silence, prices being indicated by pressure upon the joints of the fore and middle fingers in accordance with a code which I had previously learned in preparation. In this way the bystanders are prevented from knowing whether or not a deal has been consummated. The transfer of stones and cash takes place later.
For five days I squeezed the hand of a Burmese miner and had my own pressed by him in return. We were playing for high stakes and it was with a feeling of satisfaction that I ultimately felt the pressure which indicated that I had won. As a result I acquired in return for $200,000 in note currency, one of the finest collections that ever left the mines. Included in it was the sapphire par excellence of the Siamese mines. It had been given to the man from whom I bought it, fifteen years previous by his partner, upon the latter’s deathbed, to be held in trust for his son. Through a stroke of good fortune I had been able to save the life of the trustee’s grandson by the aid of my medical kit and as a token of appreciation he sold me the stone for $10000. The following day the old man died and although the superstitious natives interpreted his demise as a retributory punishment for having violated his trust I have often wondered if, in my eagerness, I had not worked his joints too strenuously.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continue)
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
8. Beads For Barter
There are many people even today who consider an investment in precious stones (particularly diamonds) as one of the safest and most convenient ways of accumulating wealth. A compact fortune in the tabloid form of gems can be tucked in a small corner of one’s pocket and easily converted at need into the coin of any country. The practise of using precious stones and jewelry as a medium of exchange began before recorded history.
There is no record of any money in the world earlier than about 600 B.C. Before that time everything was bought and sold by barter, the generally accepted standard being cattle. Cattle, like well-invested funds, had the advantage of increasing, therefore cattle were satisfactory as a medium of exchange when the transaction was taking place between neighbors. But obviously cattle were difficult to transport long distances. Something valuable but easily carried was essential as a medium of exchange, and jewelry, precious stones and metals, the latter valued according to weight, fulfilled the requirements.
Perhaps, the most convenient and welcome of all substitutes for currency was beads. Beads are the Adam and Eve of the jewelry family and their countless progeny have spread over all the inhabited lands of the earth from the darkest jungles of Africa to the icebound countries of the far north. Beads were cherished in the magnificent courts of the Pharaohs, and they flourish today in the ‘five-and-tens’ of the New World.
The jeweler of ancient times seems to have delighted in seeing how many different kinds of beads he could make. There were minute carved beads, balls of amethysts, and melon-shaped beads of limpid rock crystal, pale red carnelian beads shaped like an hour-glass, and cylindrical beads of green feldspar. There were ‘crumb’ beads in which small bits of soapstone or faience were cemented together. ‘Eye’ beads with fixed stare of black-glass pupils surrounded by rings of white which protruded from the sides vied in popularity with eye-agate beads. Pendants of carnelian, lapis and green feldspar were carved in an endless variety of shapes such as locusts, birds (the hawk was a favorite), animals and figures; there were miniature vases and two-handled urns, and every bead was a symbol.
The demand for beads in Egypt did not lessen as the centuries passed. During the Eighteenth Dynasty beads and pendants by the million were being manufactured. Not only were they worn by the living, but vast quantities of them were used to decorate the dead. Sometimes woven together in patterns they quite covered the mummy like a cheerful pall.
Regardless of their lavish use at home in the Nile valley, there were still countless numbers of beads that traveled by sea into other countries. Fleets of Egyptian galleys sailed constantly across the eastern end of the Mediterranean, trading with primitive settlements that dotted the southern coast of Asia Minor. Or perhaps the merchant, using a small flat-bottomed boat, carried his jeweled ornaments and beads up the Nile into Nubia, to barter them for panther skins, ebony, ivory and ostrich feathers. The inventories of those ancient cargoes read like descriptions from the Arabian Nights.
The trade routes of early times may be traced by the beads which blazed their trails. And wherever the bead went there too, of necessity, went some wave of influence caused by the intercourse between various countries. One of the tide-marks used by the archaeologist to measure the degree of a nation’s civilization is its bead and jewelry culture.
A fresco from the tomb of an Egyptian nobleman lifts the curtain of time and gives us a glimpse of what the well-dressed Egyptian wore at a dinner party, especially in the way of jewels, for apparently the emphasis of a festive costume lay not so much in the dress as in the jewelry and accessories. The simple draperies of both men and women are quite eclipsed by enormous black wigs bound round the forehead with jeweled bands from which dangle large pendants of gold. Every one’s arms, necks, wrists, and in some cases ankles, are encircled with jewels, and from their ears hang heavy earrings. The serving maids, dispensing with all draperies whatsoever, are clad simply in wigs and jewels. As a final touch of luxurious sophistication every guest wears perched on top of his or her wig a rather sizable perfume-box shaped somewhat like a beehive.
At such a banquet as that pictured in the fresco, rings would be given to the guests as favors. These rings, made of faience, were brilliant blue in color and very perishable, but that was of no consequence since they were intended to be worn only during the festive occasion.
Egypt, however, was not permitted to continue developing her arts in peace. Many wars sapped her strength, and the land was overrun with foreigners. By 1000 B.C she was well on her way downhill and under such conditions the Egyptian goldsmith found little encouragement to develop new methods or new designs. Nevertheless, he did keep on making endless jewelry after the old patterns—there was a market for it in foreign lands, a market more widespread than ever before, because a new branch of transport was gradually coming into power. No longer did the merchant ships of Egypt herself put out to sea, but Phoenician galleys laden with spices, precious stones, and the products of Egyptian and Babylonian workshops, carried on a brisk trade with the coast settlements of Greece, Italy, Africa, Spain and Britain.
8. Beads For Barter
There are many people even today who consider an investment in precious stones (particularly diamonds) as one of the safest and most convenient ways of accumulating wealth. A compact fortune in the tabloid form of gems can be tucked in a small corner of one’s pocket and easily converted at need into the coin of any country. The practise of using precious stones and jewelry as a medium of exchange began before recorded history.
There is no record of any money in the world earlier than about 600 B.C. Before that time everything was bought and sold by barter, the generally accepted standard being cattle. Cattle, like well-invested funds, had the advantage of increasing, therefore cattle were satisfactory as a medium of exchange when the transaction was taking place between neighbors. But obviously cattle were difficult to transport long distances. Something valuable but easily carried was essential as a medium of exchange, and jewelry, precious stones and metals, the latter valued according to weight, fulfilled the requirements.
Perhaps, the most convenient and welcome of all substitutes for currency was beads. Beads are the Adam and Eve of the jewelry family and their countless progeny have spread over all the inhabited lands of the earth from the darkest jungles of Africa to the icebound countries of the far north. Beads were cherished in the magnificent courts of the Pharaohs, and they flourish today in the ‘five-and-tens’ of the New World.
The jeweler of ancient times seems to have delighted in seeing how many different kinds of beads he could make. There were minute carved beads, balls of amethysts, and melon-shaped beads of limpid rock crystal, pale red carnelian beads shaped like an hour-glass, and cylindrical beads of green feldspar. There were ‘crumb’ beads in which small bits of soapstone or faience were cemented together. ‘Eye’ beads with fixed stare of black-glass pupils surrounded by rings of white which protruded from the sides vied in popularity with eye-agate beads. Pendants of carnelian, lapis and green feldspar were carved in an endless variety of shapes such as locusts, birds (the hawk was a favorite), animals and figures; there were miniature vases and two-handled urns, and every bead was a symbol.
The demand for beads in Egypt did not lessen as the centuries passed. During the Eighteenth Dynasty beads and pendants by the million were being manufactured. Not only were they worn by the living, but vast quantities of them were used to decorate the dead. Sometimes woven together in patterns they quite covered the mummy like a cheerful pall.
Regardless of their lavish use at home in the Nile valley, there were still countless numbers of beads that traveled by sea into other countries. Fleets of Egyptian galleys sailed constantly across the eastern end of the Mediterranean, trading with primitive settlements that dotted the southern coast of Asia Minor. Or perhaps the merchant, using a small flat-bottomed boat, carried his jeweled ornaments and beads up the Nile into Nubia, to barter them for panther skins, ebony, ivory and ostrich feathers. The inventories of those ancient cargoes read like descriptions from the Arabian Nights.
The trade routes of early times may be traced by the beads which blazed their trails. And wherever the bead went there too, of necessity, went some wave of influence caused by the intercourse between various countries. One of the tide-marks used by the archaeologist to measure the degree of a nation’s civilization is its bead and jewelry culture.
A fresco from the tomb of an Egyptian nobleman lifts the curtain of time and gives us a glimpse of what the well-dressed Egyptian wore at a dinner party, especially in the way of jewels, for apparently the emphasis of a festive costume lay not so much in the dress as in the jewelry and accessories. The simple draperies of both men and women are quite eclipsed by enormous black wigs bound round the forehead with jeweled bands from which dangle large pendants of gold. Every one’s arms, necks, wrists, and in some cases ankles, are encircled with jewels, and from their ears hang heavy earrings. The serving maids, dispensing with all draperies whatsoever, are clad simply in wigs and jewels. As a final touch of luxurious sophistication every guest wears perched on top of his or her wig a rather sizable perfume-box shaped somewhat like a beehive.
At such a banquet as that pictured in the fresco, rings would be given to the guests as favors. These rings, made of faience, were brilliant blue in color and very perishable, but that was of no consequence since they were intended to be worn only during the festive occasion.
Egypt, however, was not permitted to continue developing her arts in peace. Many wars sapped her strength, and the land was overrun with foreigners. By 1000 B.C she was well on her way downhill and under such conditions the Egyptian goldsmith found little encouragement to develop new methods or new designs. Nevertheless, he did keep on making endless jewelry after the old patterns—there was a market for it in foreign lands, a market more widespread than ever before, because a new branch of transport was gradually coming into power. No longer did the merchant ships of Egypt herself put out to sea, but Phoenician galleys laden with spices, precious stones, and the products of Egyptian and Babylonian workshops, carried on a brisk trade with the coast settlements of Greece, Italy, Africa, Spain and Britain.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
We have seen now with what variety and perfection the Dutch artists painted their national hearthside: and next we must consider how they painted their homeland. Midway between the genre painters and the landscape-painters stands Aart van der Neer (1603-77), who forms a bridge, as it were, between the two groups. Born three years before Rembrandt, he, like Jan van Goyen (1596-1656), is one of the early pioneers of landscape painting, yet by the the little figures in his landscapes he tells us a great deal of the life of Holland. Thus his ‘Skating Scene’ in the Wallace Collection has been ranked by the famous Dr Bode as ‘among the most perfect landscape delineations of winter,’ but it is also a charming picture of manners, giving us a glimpse of the life on the ice in seventeenth-century Holland.
Towards the end of his life Aart van der Neer deteriorated as other ‘Little Master’ did also; in addition to painting, he kept a tavern, and possibly business losses in the wine trade drove him to do inferior but more immediately saleable work during his last years. Nearly all his best work was done before 1665, when he was not dependent on painting for a livelihood, but a happy amateur who could paint what he liked. He was one of the first artists to attempt painting night scenes, but though the novelty of his moonlit views attracted attention his winter landscapes in daylight are usually considered to be his best work.
Agriculture has always been an important industry in Holland, and the local artists who catered so well for the needs of the citizen did not forget to make an appeal also to farmers. Of many who made a specialty of painting cattle, Paul Potter (1623-54) is the most celebrated, though he died in his twenty-ninth year. His big picture ‘The Bull’ is a favourite show piece at The Hague, where guides—most conservative critics—wax enthusiastic about its accuracy. Courageous people, however, have been known to confess that they find its precise statement of fact a little dull, though few dare to be so severe as Dr Muther, who once described Potter’s cattle as ‘essentially Dutch, for they know neither passions, nor struggles, nor movement, but chew the cud phlegmatically or lie down in comfortable repose.’
Cattle also figure largely in the paintings of Albert Cuyp (1620-91), who is splendidly represented in English collections. Cuyp was no mere animal painter: his principal interest lay neither in the beast nor in the earth, but above in the mighty vault of the heavens. He does not so much set out to paint cattle as to use cattle, and we may see in his ‘River Scene’ how effectively cows can be used as dark spots which bring out by contrast the luminosity of the sky, and as prominent objects in the foreground which emphasize the great stretch of flat landscape which reaches out to the horizon. The glowing light and golden color of Cuyp have placed him among the great sky painters of the world, and his work has for centuries been an example and an incentive to British landscape painting.
Apart from all other Dutch painters of landscape—seeming, indeed, to belong to another race—stands the austere and majestic figure of Jacob van Ruisdael (1628-82). Though he took all Nature for his province, and in his youth painted her more peaceful aspects, we instinctively associate his sublime spirit with holy spots ‘both savage and enchanted.’ It is difficult to think of him as eight years younger than Cuyp, for so serious and austere is his vision that we can hardly believe Ruisdael was ever young. Even when he paints a simple seaside scene like ‘The Shore at Scheveningen’ he gives dramatic intensity to the scene by the rolling clouds in the sky which seem to repeat the restlessness of the agitated waves. Again, in his famous painting of ‘The Mill’, for all the stillness of the scene, we feel that this is the calm before the storm—as, indeed, the sky betokens. Grandly designed as this painting is, it is one of the quietest works of the artist, who, though infinitely varied in his choice of subject delighted especially in painting waterfalls, cascades, and rocky cliffs, Ruisdael, says a gifted American painter, Mr John La Farge,
Is as different from Cuyp as shadow is from sunshine; and his grave and solemn mind gives to the simplest and most commonplace of landscapes a look of sad importance, which is almost like a reproach of lightmindedness to any other man’s work which happens to hand alongside.
Meindert Hobbema (1638-1700) was Ruisdael’s pupil and friend, but as different in temperament from his master as a man could well be. Ruisdael approaches Nature with devoutness of a worshipper approaching a shrine; Hobbema, with the unconscious ease of a man entering his own home. He painted the same subjects over and over again, but he painted them so naturally, so freshly and convincingly, that they take us straight back to Nature, not to the pictures of another artist. In the humbleness and sincerity of his naturalism he expresses everybody’s feeling of delight and thankfulness in sunny weather and fresh country air. ‘The Avenue’ is probably the best beloved landscape in the National Gallery, London, and this and other works by Hobbema have had a profound and far-reaching effect on British landscape. Out of his smiling and friendly art grew our Norwich school of landscape. Gainsborough acknowledged his worth by word and deed, and the last sentence ever uttered by John Crome was, ‘Oh, Hobbema, my dear Hobbema, how I have loved you!’ It is sad to think that this simple, honest, and most easily understood painter, a man of genius who has given happiness to millions for six generations, fared so poorly in his profession of painting that when he was thirty he sought another means of livelihood. He sought and obtained a small position in the wine customs, and thus made himself independent of picture buyers and dealers. He saw his master, the great painter Ruisdael, battling with poverty and becoming no more prosperous as the years rolled on, so Hobbema wisely determined to look elsewhere for his bread and butter and make landscape painting his hobby and pastime. It is significant to note that his supreme masterpiece, ‘The Avenue’ was painted some years after he had become a civil servant, and when, without having to think of what the buyer might or might not like, he could indulge to the full his feeling for the pattern in landscape and his sense of beauty in the elements of Nature.
It must be admitted that if Holland had a galaxy of artistic talent during the seventeenth century she did little to encourage genius. As so often happens in modern times, the mediocre painters made the best income, while the men of genius starved. This state of affairs is not satisfactory, but it is not inexplicable. The men who prospered and made money were, as a rule, painters like Gerard Dou, who painted every feather on a bird, every scale of a fish, the shine of a copper pan, and the luster of an earthenware pot. These were things within the range of everybody’s observation and interest, and demanded no imagination, no culture. Therefore the painters of pots and pans, of insects, fruit and flowers, all prospered, while great artists like Rembrandt, Hals, Vermeer, and Ruisdael, who concentrated their attention on higher things, were neglected. Anybody could understand a picture of a cat stealing a fish, but appreciate the beauty of pearly light stealing through high windows to lighten an apartment, presupposes some sense of poetry in the mind of the beholder.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
3
We have seen now with what variety and perfection the Dutch artists painted their national hearthside: and next we must consider how they painted their homeland. Midway between the genre painters and the landscape-painters stands Aart van der Neer (1603-77), who forms a bridge, as it were, between the two groups. Born three years before Rembrandt, he, like Jan van Goyen (1596-1656), is one of the early pioneers of landscape painting, yet by the the little figures in his landscapes he tells us a great deal of the life of Holland. Thus his ‘Skating Scene’ in the Wallace Collection has been ranked by the famous Dr Bode as ‘among the most perfect landscape delineations of winter,’ but it is also a charming picture of manners, giving us a glimpse of the life on the ice in seventeenth-century Holland.
Towards the end of his life Aart van der Neer deteriorated as other ‘Little Master’ did also; in addition to painting, he kept a tavern, and possibly business losses in the wine trade drove him to do inferior but more immediately saleable work during his last years. Nearly all his best work was done before 1665, when he was not dependent on painting for a livelihood, but a happy amateur who could paint what he liked. He was one of the first artists to attempt painting night scenes, but though the novelty of his moonlit views attracted attention his winter landscapes in daylight are usually considered to be his best work.
Agriculture has always been an important industry in Holland, and the local artists who catered so well for the needs of the citizen did not forget to make an appeal also to farmers. Of many who made a specialty of painting cattle, Paul Potter (1623-54) is the most celebrated, though he died in his twenty-ninth year. His big picture ‘The Bull’ is a favourite show piece at The Hague, where guides—most conservative critics—wax enthusiastic about its accuracy. Courageous people, however, have been known to confess that they find its precise statement of fact a little dull, though few dare to be so severe as Dr Muther, who once described Potter’s cattle as ‘essentially Dutch, for they know neither passions, nor struggles, nor movement, but chew the cud phlegmatically or lie down in comfortable repose.’
Cattle also figure largely in the paintings of Albert Cuyp (1620-91), who is splendidly represented in English collections. Cuyp was no mere animal painter: his principal interest lay neither in the beast nor in the earth, but above in the mighty vault of the heavens. He does not so much set out to paint cattle as to use cattle, and we may see in his ‘River Scene’ how effectively cows can be used as dark spots which bring out by contrast the luminosity of the sky, and as prominent objects in the foreground which emphasize the great stretch of flat landscape which reaches out to the horizon. The glowing light and golden color of Cuyp have placed him among the great sky painters of the world, and his work has for centuries been an example and an incentive to British landscape painting.
Apart from all other Dutch painters of landscape—seeming, indeed, to belong to another race—stands the austere and majestic figure of Jacob van Ruisdael (1628-82). Though he took all Nature for his province, and in his youth painted her more peaceful aspects, we instinctively associate his sublime spirit with holy spots ‘both savage and enchanted.’ It is difficult to think of him as eight years younger than Cuyp, for so serious and austere is his vision that we can hardly believe Ruisdael was ever young. Even when he paints a simple seaside scene like ‘The Shore at Scheveningen’ he gives dramatic intensity to the scene by the rolling clouds in the sky which seem to repeat the restlessness of the agitated waves. Again, in his famous painting of ‘The Mill’, for all the stillness of the scene, we feel that this is the calm before the storm—as, indeed, the sky betokens. Grandly designed as this painting is, it is one of the quietest works of the artist, who, though infinitely varied in his choice of subject delighted especially in painting waterfalls, cascades, and rocky cliffs, Ruisdael, says a gifted American painter, Mr John La Farge,
Is as different from Cuyp as shadow is from sunshine; and his grave and solemn mind gives to the simplest and most commonplace of landscapes a look of sad importance, which is almost like a reproach of lightmindedness to any other man’s work which happens to hand alongside.
Meindert Hobbema (1638-1700) was Ruisdael’s pupil and friend, but as different in temperament from his master as a man could well be. Ruisdael approaches Nature with devoutness of a worshipper approaching a shrine; Hobbema, with the unconscious ease of a man entering his own home. He painted the same subjects over and over again, but he painted them so naturally, so freshly and convincingly, that they take us straight back to Nature, not to the pictures of another artist. In the humbleness and sincerity of his naturalism he expresses everybody’s feeling of delight and thankfulness in sunny weather and fresh country air. ‘The Avenue’ is probably the best beloved landscape in the National Gallery, London, and this and other works by Hobbema have had a profound and far-reaching effect on British landscape. Out of his smiling and friendly art grew our Norwich school of landscape. Gainsborough acknowledged his worth by word and deed, and the last sentence ever uttered by John Crome was, ‘Oh, Hobbema, my dear Hobbema, how I have loved you!’ It is sad to think that this simple, honest, and most easily understood painter, a man of genius who has given happiness to millions for six generations, fared so poorly in his profession of painting that when he was thirty he sought another means of livelihood. He sought and obtained a small position in the wine customs, and thus made himself independent of picture buyers and dealers. He saw his master, the great painter Ruisdael, battling with poverty and becoming no more prosperous as the years rolled on, so Hobbema wisely determined to look elsewhere for his bread and butter and make landscape painting his hobby and pastime. It is significant to note that his supreme masterpiece, ‘The Avenue’ was painted some years after he had become a civil servant, and when, without having to think of what the buyer might or might not like, he could indulge to the full his feeling for the pattern in landscape and his sense of beauty in the elements of Nature.
It must be admitted that if Holland had a galaxy of artistic talent during the seventeenth century she did little to encourage genius. As so often happens in modern times, the mediocre painters made the best income, while the men of genius starved. This state of affairs is not satisfactory, but it is not inexplicable. The men who prospered and made money were, as a rule, painters like Gerard Dou, who painted every feather on a bird, every scale of a fish, the shine of a copper pan, and the luster of an earthenware pot. These were things within the range of everybody’s observation and interest, and demanded no imagination, no culture. Therefore the painters of pots and pans, of insects, fruit and flowers, all prospered, while great artists like Rembrandt, Hals, Vermeer, and Ruisdael, who concentrated their attention on higher things, were neglected. Anybody could understand a picture of a cat stealing a fish, but appreciate the beauty of pearly light stealing through high windows to lighten an apartment, presupposes some sense of poetry in the mind of the beholder.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Sherlock, Jr.
Sherlock, Jr. (1924)
Directed by: Buster Keaton
Screenplay: Clyde Bruckman, Jean C. Havez, Joseph A. Mitchell
Cast: Buster Keaton, Kathryn McGuire, Joe Keaton, Ward Crane
(via YouTube): Sherlock Jr. (Silent, 1924) - Buster Keaton Pt 1 of 5
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrfzXSUQ2J0
Sherlock Jr. (1924)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1pvu1fOxCU
An impeccable silent comedy + I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Buster Keaton
Screenplay: Clyde Bruckman, Jean C. Havez, Joseph A. Mitchell
Cast: Buster Keaton, Kathryn McGuire, Joe Keaton, Ward Crane
(via YouTube): Sherlock Jr. (Silent, 1924) - Buster Keaton Pt 1 of 5
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrfzXSUQ2J0
Sherlock Jr. (1924)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1pvu1fOxCU
An impeccable silent comedy + I enjoyed it.
Everybody's An Expert
(via New Yorker) Louis Menand's review: I think knowing a lot can actually make a person less reliable.
Useful link:
http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2005/12/05/051205crbo_books1
Useful link:
http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2005/12/05/051205crbo_books1
Crimes Of Persuasion
I came upon www.crimes-of-persuasion.com which features a list (s) of scams + it's insightful + valuable.
Macau
Macau, the Las Vegas of the Far East is becoming the newest hot spot for business + entertainment in Asia + I think in time Macau would rival Hong Kong as a jewelry hub.
Useful links:
www.macaujewelryfair.com
www.macautourism.gov.mo
www.gov.mo
Useful links:
www.macaujewelryfair.com
www.macautourism.gov.mo
www.gov.mo
Virtual Reconstruction Of Ancient Rome
A unique voyage through the past and present + roam the ancient Via Flaminia @ www.vhlab.itabc.cnr.it/flaminia + RomeReborn1.0 a project that will soon be made available to the public by university researchers.
In Search Of The Precious Stone
Albert Ramsay (Albert Ramsay & Co, 1925) writes:
The camp at Lightning Ridge consisted of a group of tents and a few shacks. Accommodations were of the crudest sort and I established my headquarters in a tent, shared with a miner. While at Walgett I had heard tales of numerous holdups and not caring to augment the natural dangers of a trip through the bush by the risk of robbery, I deposited the large sum of cash I had brought from Sydney in the town’s single bank. As a result of that decision I was the first man to pay by check at the Lightning Ridge mines. Commercial missionaries have their troubles as well do religious ones. An amusing incident in connection with my transaction will serve to illustrate the point.
Having selected a considerable parcel of opals I tendered the miner from whom I was purchasing them a check in payment. He examined it skeptically and it was after I had nearly exhausted my patience and vocabulary that he could be persuaded to accept it in lieu of cash. A group of miners who had witnessed the scene while waiting to deal with me lost interest immediately when they saw that their companion had received a slip of paper for his opals instead of currency. Neither argument not pleading availed. They were adamant, and it was not until two days later, after one of their number had gone to Walgett and verified my statements, that I was able to procure any more stones.
While at Lightning Ridge I had an experience which I never recall without a flutter. One day I decided to go shooting. I deemed it advisable to work toward the west in order that I might have the setting sun on my back as a guide during the return trip but the miner whose tent i was sharing suggested another route as being more likely to afford me a shot at a kangaroo. I followed his advice and was rewarded by the promised kangaroo and some rabbits. I was getting late and if I was to avoid being overtaken by nightfall it was imperative that I start back. Whether I was excited over my first kangaroo or whether I was too engrossed in the beauty surrounding me I do not know, but at any rate I forgot that I had altered my original intention, and proceeded away from the sun. After trudging for a long time without encountering any familiar objects the realization that I was ‘bushed’ burst upon me—in other words, I was lost in the tangled brush with darkness fast approaching. Through some psychological phenomenon it seems that in a crisis we are reminded of the most unpleasant things in connection with our particular predicament. My case was no exception and I recalled in vivid detail the story of a miner who had been ‘bushed’ the week previous and was found dead from thirst forty miles from camp. The thought of the poor chap’s fate and the excruciating torture which must have preceded it, filled me with panic and I immediately became obsessed by a mad desire for water, as commonly occurs when men realize that they are ‘bushed’. Wandering in circles, momentarily suffering more and more from thirst, I plucked handfulls of grass which I chewed in an attempt to allay my anguish. Exhausted, mentally and physically, I was about to lie down when I heard the faint tinkle of a bell. This imbued me with fresh courage and I set out to locate the source of the sound. At nine o’clock, scratched and bleeding from the briars, I stumbled upon a horse with a bell around the neck. Never before had the sight of a horse been so welcome for his presence might portend the proximity of human habitation or, things came to the worst,men had lived on horseflesh. Darkness had spread its ebon all over the wilderness and I decided to camp where I was until daybreak. Night birds called to their mates and my active imagination filled the brush with the forms of prowling beasts. As a result I was unable to sleep and in that, fate was kind to me, for about midnight the penetrating tones of an Australian ‘coo-ee’ were borne to me upon the wings of the night breeze. I fired my rifle in response and the horse bolted, but fortunately my signal had been heard and finally a black tracker appeared. My tentmate, worried over my failure to return, had spread the alarm and as a result four hundred miners set out to beat the brush in search of me. We reached camp early next morning. Perhaps it is base ingratitude to question the motives of my rescuers but I have since debated whether their solicitude for my welfare was not prompted more through the fear of losing a good customer than it was through any spirit of brotherly love.
During my two weeks stay I purchased about $50000 worth of rough stones. The return journey to Walgett was negotiated without mishap, riding at night, under the protection of an armed escort.
The fact that I had been fortunate beyond my fondest hopes in obtaining such wonderful specimens of opals whetted my desire to continue the search and I accordingly decided to proceed to Siam in quest of sapphires. As steamer ploughed northwestward across the Indian Ocean, the sea was an ever changing marvel of beauty. It resembled a huge casket, into which the jewels had been cast in promiscuous disarray. Jade and sapphire, turquoise and emerald, aquamarine and amethyst—all were inseparably mixed by nature’s magic hand. Schools of flying fish emerged, glided through the air for a brief moment, and then, with a splash that rippled the ocean’s calm surface, were gone into the depths from whence they had come. Porpoises, their backs as sleek and shiny as velvet, sported about the bow of the ship.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continued)
The camp at Lightning Ridge consisted of a group of tents and a few shacks. Accommodations were of the crudest sort and I established my headquarters in a tent, shared with a miner. While at Walgett I had heard tales of numerous holdups and not caring to augment the natural dangers of a trip through the bush by the risk of robbery, I deposited the large sum of cash I had brought from Sydney in the town’s single bank. As a result of that decision I was the first man to pay by check at the Lightning Ridge mines. Commercial missionaries have their troubles as well do religious ones. An amusing incident in connection with my transaction will serve to illustrate the point.
Having selected a considerable parcel of opals I tendered the miner from whom I was purchasing them a check in payment. He examined it skeptically and it was after I had nearly exhausted my patience and vocabulary that he could be persuaded to accept it in lieu of cash. A group of miners who had witnessed the scene while waiting to deal with me lost interest immediately when they saw that their companion had received a slip of paper for his opals instead of currency. Neither argument not pleading availed. They were adamant, and it was not until two days later, after one of their number had gone to Walgett and verified my statements, that I was able to procure any more stones.
While at Lightning Ridge I had an experience which I never recall without a flutter. One day I decided to go shooting. I deemed it advisable to work toward the west in order that I might have the setting sun on my back as a guide during the return trip but the miner whose tent i was sharing suggested another route as being more likely to afford me a shot at a kangaroo. I followed his advice and was rewarded by the promised kangaroo and some rabbits. I was getting late and if I was to avoid being overtaken by nightfall it was imperative that I start back. Whether I was excited over my first kangaroo or whether I was too engrossed in the beauty surrounding me I do not know, but at any rate I forgot that I had altered my original intention, and proceeded away from the sun. After trudging for a long time without encountering any familiar objects the realization that I was ‘bushed’ burst upon me—in other words, I was lost in the tangled brush with darkness fast approaching. Through some psychological phenomenon it seems that in a crisis we are reminded of the most unpleasant things in connection with our particular predicament. My case was no exception and I recalled in vivid detail the story of a miner who had been ‘bushed’ the week previous and was found dead from thirst forty miles from camp. The thought of the poor chap’s fate and the excruciating torture which must have preceded it, filled me with panic and I immediately became obsessed by a mad desire for water, as commonly occurs when men realize that they are ‘bushed’. Wandering in circles, momentarily suffering more and more from thirst, I plucked handfulls of grass which I chewed in an attempt to allay my anguish. Exhausted, mentally and physically, I was about to lie down when I heard the faint tinkle of a bell. This imbued me with fresh courage and I set out to locate the source of the sound. At nine o’clock, scratched and bleeding from the briars, I stumbled upon a horse with a bell around the neck. Never before had the sight of a horse been so welcome for his presence might portend the proximity of human habitation or, things came to the worst,men had lived on horseflesh. Darkness had spread its ebon all over the wilderness and I decided to camp where I was until daybreak. Night birds called to their mates and my active imagination filled the brush with the forms of prowling beasts. As a result I was unable to sleep and in that, fate was kind to me, for about midnight the penetrating tones of an Australian ‘coo-ee’ were borne to me upon the wings of the night breeze. I fired my rifle in response and the horse bolted, but fortunately my signal had been heard and finally a black tracker appeared. My tentmate, worried over my failure to return, had spread the alarm and as a result four hundred miners set out to beat the brush in search of me. We reached camp early next morning. Perhaps it is base ingratitude to question the motives of my rescuers but I have since debated whether their solicitude for my welfare was not prompted more through the fear of losing a good customer than it was through any spirit of brotherly love.
During my two weeks stay I purchased about $50000 worth of rough stones. The return journey to Walgett was negotiated without mishap, riding at night, under the protection of an armed escort.
The fact that I had been fortunate beyond my fondest hopes in obtaining such wonderful specimens of opals whetted my desire to continue the search and I accordingly decided to proceed to Siam in quest of sapphires. As steamer ploughed northwestward across the Indian Ocean, the sea was an ever changing marvel of beauty. It resembled a huge casket, into which the jewels had been cast in promiscuous disarray. Jade and sapphire, turquoise and emerald, aquamarine and amethyst—all were inseparably mixed by nature’s magic hand. Schools of flying fish emerged, glided through the air for a brief moment, and then, with a splash that rippled the ocean’s calm surface, were gone into the depths from whence they had come. Porpoises, their backs as sleek and shiny as velvet, sported about the bow of the ship.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continued)
The Single Rosette
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The Pyramidal Point Cut was in fashion for at least three centuries, until it was gradually replaced by square and rectangular Table Cuts. At the same time fancy shapes and cuts also became popular, with the result that the original four-petalled Rosettes developed more complex shapes, with anything from five to ten fan-shaped petals. The pointed ends of the fan-shaped stones which made up these Single Rosettes were held in place by a central gold knob, or under a setting containing a tiny emerald or some other colored precious stone. The wider, rounded end was partly hidden under the surrounding border, and prongs were placed between the diamonds. If the stones were not quite regular in shape, extra prongs were sometimes added.
A single ‘flower’ of small diamonds gave light effect not very much better than adamantine surface reflections, and size was usually limited to around 10mm, so Rosettes of this type were used mainly for romantic decorative details on large objects ďart such as the Munich crystal bowl and the St Michael Goblet. They were seldom used alone or as central ornaments.
A five petalled rosette, based on one from the bridal crown of Princess Margaret, dating from 1468 (now in the Domshatz, Aachen) was made up of regularly formed ‘wases’, fashioned from rock crystal. Obviously, diamonds of exactly the same shape and size could not be found in sufficient quantities and they had to be fashioned from suitable cleavages. This called for very special skills, and for diamond cutters who could produce large quantities of stones and then select matching ones for all the different types of Rosette. It would have be prohibitive, as experiments have shown, to fashion one Rosette at a time.
The bridal crown of Margaret, daughter of King Edward VI of England, appears to be the earliest surviving object to contain single Rosettes. It was probably made for her wedding to Charles the Bold in 1468 and Fritz Falk believes that it came from the workshop of a Burgundian jeweler.
The St Michael Goblet is decorated with five five-petalled, five six-petalled and two seven-petalled Single Rosettes, as well as other interesting gems. The stones are actually set very close to one another, so that they almost touch.
Rosettes were not always fashioned with diamonds. Rubies, spinels and amethysts were also used. A statuette reproduced in color in Codex Aschaffenburg, with a long accompanying text, has two red single rosettes, one of them clearly nine-petalled; it is dated 1513. Among the numerous colored illustrations in the inventory of monastic objects from Halle, in Germany, are some beautiful reproductions of fifteenth and sixteenth century diamond cuts. Many of these are diamond or ruby Rosettes mostly five-petalled; a few are even Double Rosettes. An angel in the Codex Aschaffenburg has a diamond Rosette on each shoulder and a number of ruby Rosettes on its dress; the accompanying text dates the statuette to 1518.
According to studies made in Prague and Venice by Hans R Hahnloser of Berne, the rock crystal bowl can be dated to before 1337 (now on display in Munich, as part of the Palatine Collection). The mounting, of enamelled gold, was commissioned by King Henry VIII of England, designed by Hans Holbein the Younger, and probably executed in France in about 1540. The richly ornamented setting is decorated with rubies, emeralds, pearls and diamonds, including five Single Diamond Rosettes. The bowl is 15cm high and 19cm in diameter. Careful investigations made using a needle confirmed that the adjacent stones were, in fact, the small fan-shaped petals of a diamond Rosette.
On a large cross in an oil painting on parchment attributed to Hans Mielich there are thirty four diamond rosettes. That admirable goldsmith and jewelry engraver, Etienne Delaune, also known as ‘Stephanus’, is said to have conceived his designs, not only to scale and in three dimensions, but with a totally professional understanding of the jeweler’s technique. The pendant probably dates from the period when he was working in Paris (possibly under Cellini) since he did not move to Strasbourg until 1573. These facts are relevant, because the components of this seven-petalled Single Rosette are exceptionally large and of a cut entirely different from that normally found. This suggests either that the diamonds actually existed or—more likely—that they were not diamonds at all but amethysts or some other colored stones.
The Pyramidal Point Cut was in fashion for at least three centuries, until it was gradually replaced by square and rectangular Table Cuts. At the same time fancy shapes and cuts also became popular, with the result that the original four-petalled Rosettes developed more complex shapes, with anything from five to ten fan-shaped petals. The pointed ends of the fan-shaped stones which made up these Single Rosettes were held in place by a central gold knob, or under a setting containing a tiny emerald or some other colored precious stone. The wider, rounded end was partly hidden under the surrounding border, and prongs were placed between the diamonds. If the stones were not quite regular in shape, extra prongs were sometimes added.
A single ‘flower’ of small diamonds gave light effect not very much better than adamantine surface reflections, and size was usually limited to around 10mm, so Rosettes of this type were used mainly for romantic decorative details on large objects ďart such as the Munich crystal bowl and the St Michael Goblet. They were seldom used alone or as central ornaments.
A five petalled rosette, based on one from the bridal crown of Princess Margaret, dating from 1468 (now in the Domshatz, Aachen) was made up of regularly formed ‘wases’, fashioned from rock crystal. Obviously, diamonds of exactly the same shape and size could not be found in sufficient quantities and they had to be fashioned from suitable cleavages. This called for very special skills, and for diamond cutters who could produce large quantities of stones and then select matching ones for all the different types of Rosette. It would have be prohibitive, as experiments have shown, to fashion one Rosette at a time.
The bridal crown of Margaret, daughter of King Edward VI of England, appears to be the earliest surviving object to contain single Rosettes. It was probably made for her wedding to Charles the Bold in 1468 and Fritz Falk believes that it came from the workshop of a Burgundian jeweler.
The St Michael Goblet is decorated with five five-petalled, five six-petalled and two seven-petalled Single Rosettes, as well as other interesting gems. The stones are actually set very close to one another, so that they almost touch.
Rosettes were not always fashioned with diamonds. Rubies, spinels and amethysts were also used. A statuette reproduced in color in Codex Aschaffenburg, with a long accompanying text, has two red single rosettes, one of them clearly nine-petalled; it is dated 1513. Among the numerous colored illustrations in the inventory of monastic objects from Halle, in Germany, are some beautiful reproductions of fifteenth and sixteenth century diamond cuts. Many of these are diamond or ruby Rosettes mostly five-petalled; a few are even Double Rosettes. An angel in the Codex Aschaffenburg has a diamond Rosette on each shoulder and a number of ruby Rosettes on its dress; the accompanying text dates the statuette to 1518.
According to studies made in Prague and Venice by Hans R Hahnloser of Berne, the rock crystal bowl can be dated to before 1337 (now on display in Munich, as part of the Palatine Collection). The mounting, of enamelled gold, was commissioned by King Henry VIII of England, designed by Hans Holbein the Younger, and probably executed in France in about 1540. The richly ornamented setting is decorated with rubies, emeralds, pearls and diamonds, including five Single Diamond Rosettes. The bowl is 15cm high and 19cm in diameter. Careful investigations made using a needle confirmed that the adjacent stones were, in fact, the small fan-shaped petals of a diamond Rosette.
On a large cross in an oil painting on parchment attributed to Hans Mielich there are thirty four diamond rosettes. That admirable goldsmith and jewelry engraver, Etienne Delaune, also known as ‘Stephanus’, is said to have conceived his designs, not only to scale and in three dimensions, but with a totally professional understanding of the jeweler’s technique. The pendant probably dates from the period when he was working in Paris (possibly under Cellini) since he did not move to Strasbourg until 1573. These facts are relevant, because the components of this seven-petalled Single Rosette are exceptionally large and of a cut entirely different from that normally found. This suggests either that the diamonds actually existed or—more likely—that they were not diamonds at all but amethysts or some other colored stones.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
7. Enamels and Mosaics
Jewelry-making in Egypt reached its highest level toward the close of the third millennium. In craftsmanship and creative design the work of the Twelfth Dynasty was never surpassed by the Egyptian goldsmith.
During this period jewelry became more colorful than ever before because, in addition to precious stones and metals, another substance—whose infinite variety of uses is still being explored today—was employed by the goldsmith. That substance was glass. Heretofore it had been used in only two ways—as a vitreous glaze for covering objects made of clay or stone and for solid glass beads. Such a thing as an entire vase or goblet of glass was as yet unheard of.
In earlier times when the goldsmith wished to add color to his jewelry he inlaid the gold with bits of sard, turquoise or lapis lazuli. These tiny pieces of stone had to be ground into the proper shape and size by rubbing them one against another before fitting them into their metal base—a long and tedious process. Glass, on the contrary, when used as enamel in place of insets of stone, required no such expenditure of laborious grinding, and when it was set in patterns rimmed with gold the effect of jewel-like color was scarcely distinguishable from that of stone inlay.
Glass enamel and paste (artificial glass gems) are made in much the same manner. Enamel is glass that has been pulverized, mixed with gum until it forms a paste which may be applied with a brush, and then hardened by firing. It must, of course, be a type of glass which is fusible at a moderate heat, that is, lower than the melting point of the metal base on which the enamel is used. The base, usually gold or bronze, is prepared in one of two ways, either Cloisonné or Champlevé.
The Cloisonné method calls for building up, on the metal surface, a series of small fences made of fine wire or thin strips of metal, and soldered into place. The resulting little compartments or cells—cloisons—are then filled with the glass paste which, after firing, becomes hard glassy bits of enamel. The little divisions or fences separating the jewel-like dots of color remain in evidence and are an essential part of the beauty of the design.
The Champlevé method differs from Cloisonné in that instead of little metal divisions being soldered to the surface, the solid base is itself scooped out, thus forming little compartments which hold the tiny pools of paste, each enclosed by thin dividing walls of metal.
Egyptian enamels were rich and colorful. They might be turquoise blue, cobalt, emerald green, purple, or milk white; but never colorless and transparent, for all glass, at that time and for centuries to follow, was opaque.
Another form in which the Egyptian of the Twelfth Dynasty used glass to ornament his jewelry was similar to that made famous in the Middle Ages by the glass-men of Venice and known to us by its Italian name, millefiori, which means ‘million flowers’.
The flower-like mosaics were composed of many tiny bits of glass put together in this manner: First, numbers of little glass rods, each of different color, were arranged so that their ends formed the desired pattern; then the bundle was fired and while still hot and pliable was drawn out lengthwise. This greatly reduced its diameter but did not alter the arrangement of colors. The composite bundle had now become a tiny rod of mosaic glass from which thin slices were cut crosswise, polished, and mounted in rings of pale gold.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
7. Enamels and Mosaics
Jewelry-making in Egypt reached its highest level toward the close of the third millennium. In craftsmanship and creative design the work of the Twelfth Dynasty was never surpassed by the Egyptian goldsmith.
During this period jewelry became more colorful than ever before because, in addition to precious stones and metals, another substance—whose infinite variety of uses is still being explored today—was employed by the goldsmith. That substance was glass. Heretofore it had been used in only two ways—as a vitreous glaze for covering objects made of clay or stone and for solid glass beads. Such a thing as an entire vase or goblet of glass was as yet unheard of.
In earlier times when the goldsmith wished to add color to his jewelry he inlaid the gold with bits of sard, turquoise or lapis lazuli. These tiny pieces of stone had to be ground into the proper shape and size by rubbing them one against another before fitting them into their metal base—a long and tedious process. Glass, on the contrary, when used as enamel in place of insets of stone, required no such expenditure of laborious grinding, and when it was set in patterns rimmed with gold the effect of jewel-like color was scarcely distinguishable from that of stone inlay.
Glass enamel and paste (artificial glass gems) are made in much the same manner. Enamel is glass that has been pulverized, mixed with gum until it forms a paste which may be applied with a brush, and then hardened by firing. It must, of course, be a type of glass which is fusible at a moderate heat, that is, lower than the melting point of the metal base on which the enamel is used. The base, usually gold or bronze, is prepared in one of two ways, either Cloisonné or Champlevé.
The Cloisonné method calls for building up, on the metal surface, a series of small fences made of fine wire or thin strips of metal, and soldered into place. The resulting little compartments or cells—cloisons—are then filled with the glass paste which, after firing, becomes hard glassy bits of enamel. The little divisions or fences separating the jewel-like dots of color remain in evidence and are an essential part of the beauty of the design.
The Champlevé method differs from Cloisonné in that instead of little metal divisions being soldered to the surface, the solid base is itself scooped out, thus forming little compartments which hold the tiny pools of paste, each enclosed by thin dividing walls of metal.
Egyptian enamels were rich and colorful. They might be turquoise blue, cobalt, emerald green, purple, or milk white; but never colorless and transparent, for all glass, at that time and for centuries to follow, was opaque.
Another form in which the Egyptian of the Twelfth Dynasty used glass to ornament his jewelry was similar to that made famous in the Middle Ages by the glass-men of Venice and known to us by its Italian name, millefiori, which means ‘million flowers’.
The flower-like mosaics were composed of many tiny bits of glass put together in this manner: First, numbers of little glass rods, each of different color, were arranged so that their ends formed the desired pattern; then the bundle was fired and while still hot and pliable was drawn out lengthwise. This greatly reduced its diameter but did not alter the arrangement of colors. The composite bundle had now become a tiny rod of mosaic glass from which thin slices were cut crosswise, polished, and mounted in rings of pale gold.
The Goldsmith – Jeweler Of Egypt (continued)
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
Jan van der Meer, commonly known as Vermeer of Delft (1632-75), is one of the Old Masters whom modern research has rescued from unmerited neglect. Houbraken, a historian who wrote only forty years after his death, does not even mention him, and for two centuries his name was almost forgotten and his paintings were sold as works by De Hooch, Terborch, Metsu, or even Rembrandt. Then in the middle of the nineteenth century a French exile named Thoré spent three years (1858-60) studying records and archives in Holland and patiently searching out Vermeer’s paintings. Since Thoré published his account of his studies, the fame of Vermeer has rapidly spread and increased. Today he is one of the most costly and one of the most popular of the old masters.
Of his private life very little is known. Vermeer was three years younger than De Hooch, and fifteen years younger than Teborch. We know that as soon as he came of age in 1653 he married Catherine Bolenes and by her had eight children. He was evidently esteemed in his native city, for in 1662 and again in 1670 he was elected one of the principal officers of the Guild of St Luke of Delft. But fame is one thing and fortune is another. When Vermeer died in 1675 he had nothing to leave his wife and family but twenty six unsold pictures. If these were put into the market today they might fetch anything over a quarter of a million pounds—not a penny less—but there were no American millionaires in the seventeenth century; so poor Vermeer was judged to have died insolvent and his widow’s affairs had to be put in the hands of a liquidator, who happened to be the naturalist Leeuwenhoek.
To explain in words the incomparable charm of Vermeer’s painting is as simple and as difficult as to explain the beauty of light. The illumination in his pictures is as perfect as it is in the best works of De Hooch; and if the pictures of Vermeer are still more beautiful than those of De Hooch it is because Vermeer was a still finer and more subtle colorist. He was, indeed, one of the greatest colorists the world has ever known. He excelled in all subjects. His ‘Head of a Young Girl’ is one of the loveliest portraits in the world. This young girl is not strikingly beautiful in herself. She has a sweet face, and Vermeer has brought out the sweetness of her disposition and the charm of her youth; but he has done more than this: by the loveliness of his color—particularly by the contrast of the blue and lemon-yellow of which he was so fond—Vermeer has made her a joy for ever. Color of this lyrical beauty sings its own sweet song.
Vermeer’s ‘View of Delft’, also at The Hague, is the loveliest street scene or town view in art. It has the crystal purity of color and limpid atmosphere of Delft itself, which a living writer has described as ‘the cleanest city in Europe, looking as if all the houses were thoroughly scrubbed down and polished each day before sunrise.’ Nothing could be more natural, more true to the thing seen, than this painting, yet nothing could be more perfect in every quality that goes to the making of a work of art.
These two pictures are exceptional even among the paintings of Vermeer, and we come to consider his more numerous paintings of small figures in interiors, the richness he offers us makes selection embarrassing. It would be perilous to say ‘The Pearl Necklace’ is better than ‘The Milkmaid’ or other pictures one could mention; but it is certainly one of the best and shows how Vermeer could compete with De Hooch in ‘bottling sunlight’ and beat that master even at his own favorite game.
Vermeer’s art undoubtedly affected his contemporaries, those of his own age as well as those who were his juniors. Gabriel Metsu (1630-67) sometimes comes near to Vermeer, and the color of ‘The Letter Writer Surprised’ in the Wallace Collection has a tenderness which is apt to make even Terborch look a little hard. Metsu knows how to set his stage decoratively; his pictures are always sprightly; but his observation is less subtle, and his research into light and shade is not carried to the point of perfection reached by De Hooch and Vermeer.
Nicolas Maes (1632-93), another pupil of Rembrandt, though less gifted than Metsu, used to be thought of chiefly as a portrait-painter, but is now much esteemed for the anecdotal pictures he painted in his youth. ‘The Idle Servant’ is an amusing example of his work in this style, and shows both his own powers of observation and what he learnt from Rembrandt in the way of using lighting to enhance a dramatic effect. But if we look critically at the picture, say at the cat stealing the plucked bird, or at the whole area of the tiled floor, we shall have to admit that in drawing Maes was inferior to Dou, and in illumination far inferior to De Hooch or Vermeer. All these subject pictures were painted between 1655 and 1665 after which date circumstances drove Maes into ‘pot-boiling’ portraiture.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
2
Jan van der Meer, commonly known as Vermeer of Delft (1632-75), is one of the Old Masters whom modern research has rescued from unmerited neglect. Houbraken, a historian who wrote only forty years after his death, does not even mention him, and for two centuries his name was almost forgotten and his paintings were sold as works by De Hooch, Terborch, Metsu, or even Rembrandt. Then in the middle of the nineteenth century a French exile named Thoré spent three years (1858-60) studying records and archives in Holland and patiently searching out Vermeer’s paintings. Since Thoré published his account of his studies, the fame of Vermeer has rapidly spread and increased. Today he is one of the most costly and one of the most popular of the old masters.
Of his private life very little is known. Vermeer was three years younger than De Hooch, and fifteen years younger than Teborch. We know that as soon as he came of age in 1653 he married Catherine Bolenes and by her had eight children. He was evidently esteemed in his native city, for in 1662 and again in 1670 he was elected one of the principal officers of the Guild of St Luke of Delft. But fame is one thing and fortune is another. When Vermeer died in 1675 he had nothing to leave his wife and family but twenty six unsold pictures. If these were put into the market today they might fetch anything over a quarter of a million pounds—not a penny less—but there were no American millionaires in the seventeenth century; so poor Vermeer was judged to have died insolvent and his widow’s affairs had to be put in the hands of a liquidator, who happened to be the naturalist Leeuwenhoek.
To explain in words the incomparable charm of Vermeer’s painting is as simple and as difficult as to explain the beauty of light. The illumination in his pictures is as perfect as it is in the best works of De Hooch; and if the pictures of Vermeer are still more beautiful than those of De Hooch it is because Vermeer was a still finer and more subtle colorist. He was, indeed, one of the greatest colorists the world has ever known. He excelled in all subjects. His ‘Head of a Young Girl’ is one of the loveliest portraits in the world. This young girl is not strikingly beautiful in herself. She has a sweet face, and Vermeer has brought out the sweetness of her disposition and the charm of her youth; but he has done more than this: by the loveliness of his color—particularly by the contrast of the blue and lemon-yellow of which he was so fond—Vermeer has made her a joy for ever. Color of this lyrical beauty sings its own sweet song.
Vermeer’s ‘View of Delft’, also at The Hague, is the loveliest street scene or town view in art. It has the crystal purity of color and limpid atmosphere of Delft itself, which a living writer has described as ‘the cleanest city in Europe, looking as if all the houses were thoroughly scrubbed down and polished each day before sunrise.’ Nothing could be more natural, more true to the thing seen, than this painting, yet nothing could be more perfect in every quality that goes to the making of a work of art.
These two pictures are exceptional even among the paintings of Vermeer, and we come to consider his more numerous paintings of small figures in interiors, the richness he offers us makes selection embarrassing. It would be perilous to say ‘The Pearl Necklace’ is better than ‘The Milkmaid’ or other pictures one could mention; but it is certainly one of the best and shows how Vermeer could compete with De Hooch in ‘bottling sunlight’ and beat that master even at his own favorite game.
Vermeer’s art undoubtedly affected his contemporaries, those of his own age as well as those who were his juniors. Gabriel Metsu (1630-67) sometimes comes near to Vermeer, and the color of ‘The Letter Writer Surprised’ in the Wallace Collection has a tenderness which is apt to make even Terborch look a little hard. Metsu knows how to set his stage decoratively; his pictures are always sprightly; but his observation is less subtle, and his research into light and shade is not carried to the point of perfection reached by De Hooch and Vermeer.
Nicolas Maes (1632-93), another pupil of Rembrandt, though less gifted than Metsu, used to be thought of chiefly as a portrait-painter, but is now much esteemed for the anecdotal pictures he painted in his youth. ‘The Idle Servant’ is an amusing example of his work in this style, and shows both his own powers of observation and what he learnt from Rembrandt in the way of using lighting to enhance a dramatic effect. But if we look critically at the picture, say at the cat stealing the plucked bird, or at the whole area of the tiled floor, we shall have to admit that in drawing Maes was inferior to Dou, and in illumination far inferior to De Hooch or Vermeer. All these subject pictures were painted between 1655 and 1665 after which date circumstances drove Maes into ‘pot-boiling’ portraiture.
Dutch Painting In The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Friday, January 11, 2008
2008 Tucson Show Information
The Tucson gem and mineral show is really a big gem show + here is the info @ http://www.tucsonshowguide.com/tsg/show_index.cfm
People Often Think An Opinion Heard Repeatedly From The Same Person Is Actually A Popular Opinion
I found the article via Science Daily @ http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/05/070520183447.htm educational + insightful. It could be applicable to gem/jewelry/art trading.
Useful link:
www.apa.org
Useful link:
www.apa.org
In Search Of The Precious Stone
Albert Ramsay (Albert Ramsay & Co, 1925) writes:
Man’s interest in gems has not been confined solely to their use as medium of ornament. The ancients invested them with certain talismanic qualities, a belief which has spanned the intervening centuries and which even modern science has failed to dispel entirely, as attested by the popularity of birth stones.
Jewels have been found in the tombs of pre-historic peoples, extinct long before the civilization of the Incas, of the Pharaohs or of the Montezumas prospered, and ever since, men have toiled and fought,stolen and lied for them.
Springing from a line of lapidaries as I do, the attraction which precious stones hold for me, unlike my fondness for olives, is a matter of heredity rather than an acquired taste. At the age when my playmates were reading fairy tales i was vividly devouring volumes about gems. I clung with breathless interest to every word of the tales of privation, adventure and romance which my uncle wove about the dull-colored little stones he brought home. As, under my brother’s masterful hand, they shed their rough coats and were transformed into scintillating globules of crystallized color, my admiration of the miracle was tempered by my envy of the skill which had made it possible. I impatiently awaited the time when I too might take my place at the wheel and conjure forth the charm and beauty which nature had so subtly concealed within the lifeless pebbles. At last the fated day arrived, when I was twelve years of age. Under the guidance of my uncle, I cut my first opal.
The initial estimate I formed of my ability as a cutter was destined to a depreciatory revision when I had learned more about the intricacies of the craft. A gem in the rough is to a lapidary what a plot is to a writer—both must be treated in the manner best calculated to accentuate their good points. The skilled artisan should not only be capable of recognizing the inherent possibilities of a stone but he must also be able to bring them out. The fact that each stone has its own peculiarities leads to a appreciation of the versatility which is necessarily one of the qualifications of an expert lapidary.
My experience and the years progressed apace and I became proficient in my chosen calling. In the application of my profession that spark of romance which had been responsible for my childhood interest in stories of travel was fanned into a consuming flame by the opportunities for adventure which the search for the gems I handled daily would afford. The stones which intrigued me most were the black opal, the sapphire, the star sapphire, the ruby, the cat’s eye and the emerald, all of which are accorded prominent niches in the fashion salon of the present day.
The black opal had been discovered but a short time previous in Australia and the popularity which greeted it was the last straw. I could resist the lure no longer and accordingly set out upon a quest and ultimately carried me to Australia, Siam, Burma, Ceylon and many other far and unfrequented corners of the globe.
Embarking in England I had an interesting and eventful voyage, nearly around the globe, to Sydney, the capital of New South Wales, on the southeastern coast of the island continent. Walgett, four hundred miles to the northward, was an outpost of civilization, and there the railroad ended. From that point it was necessary to proceed on horseback. The sixty mile journey to Lightning Ridge, where the black opal mines are located, was made amid the myriad wonders of the Australian bush. The horses picked their way with difficulty through the tangled undergrowth which clutched viciously with thorny fingers at man and steed. The plume-like fronds of the fern trees quivered and the cabbage palms swayed listlessly in the gentle breeze. Scattered over the terrain, beeches and cedar stood out above the surrounding brush like beacons above a rolling sea. Rabbits and other small game scurried frantically to cover and birds rose in flocks from beneath the horse’s hoofs, uttering shrill cries of protest against our incursion. At rare intervals man’s battle to wrest a living from the land was evidenced by sheep farms, nestling amid the dense tropical scrub. This district, one of the most delightful in Australia, was still untrammeled by the march of the empire.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continued)
Man’s interest in gems has not been confined solely to their use as medium of ornament. The ancients invested them with certain talismanic qualities, a belief which has spanned the intervening centuries and which even modern science has failed to dispel entirely, as attested by the popularity of birth stones.
Jewels have been found in the tombs of pre-historic peoples, extinct long before the civilization of the Incas, of the Pharaohs or of the Montezumas prospered, and ever since, men have toiled and fought,stolen and lied for them.
Springing from a line of lapidaries as I do, the attraction which precious stones hold for me, unlike my fondness for olives, is a matter of heredity rather than an acquired taste. At the age when my playmates were reading fairy tales i was vividly devouring volumes about gems. I clung with breathless interest to every word of the tales of privation, adventure and romance which my uncle wove about the dull-colored little stones he brought home. As, under my brother’s masterful hand, they shed their rough coats and were transformed into scintillating globules of crystallized color, my admiration of the miracle was tempered by my envy of the skill which had made it possible. I impatiently awaited the time when I too might take my place at the wheel and conjure forth the charm and beauty which nature had so subtly concealed within the lifeless pebbles. At last the fated day arrived, when I was twelve years of age. Under the guidance of my uncle, I cut my first opal.
The initial estimate I formed of my ability as a cutter was destined to a depreciatory revision when I had learned more about the intricacies of the craft. A gem in the rough is to a lapidary what a plot is to a writer—both must be treated in the manner best calculated to accentuate their good points. The skilled artisan should not only be capable of recognizing the inherent possibilities of a stone but he must also be able to bring them out. The fact that each stone has its own peculiarities leads to a appreciation of the versatility which is necessarily one of the qualifications of an expert lapidary.
My experience and the years progressed apace and I became proficient in my chosen calling. In the application of my profession that spark of romance which had been responsible for my childhood interest in stories of travel was fanned into a consuming flame by the opportunities for adventure which the search for the gems I handled daily would afford. The stones which intrigued me most were the black opal, the sapphire, the star sapphire, the ruby, the cat’s eye and the emerald, all of which are accorded prominent niches in the fashion salon of the present day.
The black opal had been discovered but a short time previous in Australia and the popularity which greeted it was the last straw. I could resist the lure no longer and accordingly set out upon a quest and ultimately carried me to Australia, Siam, Burma, Ceylon and many other far and unfrequented corners of the globe.
Embarking in England I had an interesting and eventful voyage, nearly around the globe, to Sydney, the capital of New South Wales, on the southeastern coast of the island continent. Walgett, four hundred miles to the northward, was an outpost of civilization, and there the railroad ended. From that point it was necessary to proceed on horseback. The sixty mile journey to Lightning Ridge, where the black opal mines are located, was made amid the myriad wonders of the Australian bush. The horses picked their way with difficulty through the tangled undergrowth which clutched viciously with thorny fingers at man and steed. The plume-like fronds of the fern trees quivered and the cabbage palms swayed listlessly in the gentle breeze. Scattered over the terrain, beeches and cedar stood out above the surrounding brush like beacons above a rolling sea. Rabbits and other small game scurried frantically to cover and birds rose in flocks from beneath the horse’s hoofs, uttering shrill cries of protest against our incursion. At rare intervals man’s battle to wrest a living from the land was evidenced by sheep farms, nestling amid the dense tropical scrub. This district, one of the most delightful in Australia, was still untrammeled by the march of the empire.
In Search Of The Precious Stone (continued)
The Four- Petalled Diamond Rosette
(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.
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.
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.
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