The British government believes that the country has some of the best wind conditions for generating carbon-free electricity in the world, but high construction costs and a sluggish planning process has limited its growth.
Useful link:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20071210/sc_nm/britain_wind_power_dc
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Double Indemnity
Double Indemnity (1944)
Directed by: Billy Wilder
Screenplay: James M. Cain (novel); Billy Wilder, Raymond Chandler (screenplay)
Cast: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson
(via YouTube): Double Indemnity (1944) Full Film - Part 1/11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N76LY0tmV_M
Double Indemnity (Film Noir)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn-RWYZYbsY
Double Indemnity opening
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcjfAAOBQx0
Double Indemnity - Trailer (1944)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3wjJcuGsVE
A unique gem + I always enjoy Billy Wilder films + funny + compelling.
Directed by: Billy Wilder
Screenplay: James M. Cain (novel); Billy Wilder, Raymond Chandler (screenplay)
Cast: Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson
(via YouTube): Double Indemnity (1944) Full Film - Part 1/11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N76LY0tmV_M
Double Indemnity (Film Noir)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn-RWYZYbsY
Double Indemnity opening
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcjfAAOBQx0
Double Indemnity - Trailer (1944)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3wjJcuGsVE
A unique gem + I always enjoy Billy Wilder films + funny + compelling.
Views Of The Void
Total internal reflections of Eve M. Kahn on the World Trade Center + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1006
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Titian’s ideal of womanhood is seen not only in this picture, which inspired Mr Arnold Bennet’s novel with the same title, but in a number of exquisite portraits and figure paintings. According to Vasari, he painted mostly from his own imagination, and only used female models in case of necessity. Titian’s types have little in common with the small, brown, black-eyed maidens we usually associate with Venice. They are nearer akin to the fair-haired Lombard women or the Dianas and Junos of his Alpine home. Further, it is the proud majesty of the mature woman that Titian paints. His beautiful ‘Flora,’ in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, does not suggest spring time but, as Dr Muther has well said, ‘high summer in its rich, mature splendor.’ Never old, but never very young, Titian’s ‘mighty women’ seem to ‘beam in an eternal, powerful beauty.’
The same mature majesty characterises ‘The Magdalen’, to which Titian’s contemporary Vasari pays the following eloquent tribute: ‘Her hair falls about her neck and shoulders, her head is raised, and the eyes are fixed on Heaven, their redness and the tears still within them giving evidence of her sorrow for the sins of her past life. This picture, which is most beautiful, moves all who behold it to compassion.’
‘He touched nothing that he did not adorn.’ So it might be written of Titian, who ennobled all his sitters with something of his own majesty. The supreme example of his powers in this direction is the magnificent ‘Equestrian Portrait of Charles V’, now in the Prado at Madrid. In 1530, when the Emperor Charles V was in Bologna, Titian, by the intervention of his friend the poet Pietro Aretino, was invited to that city and commissioned to paint His Catholic Majesty in full armour. Vasari tells us the Emperor was so delighted with this portrait that he gave the artist a thousand gold crowns, declaring that he would never have his portrait done by any other painter; and he kept his imperial word, frequently employing Titian thereafter and always paying him a thousand crowns for each portrait.
Never was money better spent. This Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and King of Spain still fires our imagination, thanks to Titian. The historical truth about Charles V is that he was a pale, scrofulous, emaciated man, a prey to melancholy, full of hesitations and superstitious fears; so world-weary that in the end he abdicated from his imperial position, and shut himself up in a monastery where, with morbid satisfaction, surrounded by coffins and ticking clocks, he constantly rehearsed his own funeral. Titian shows us nothing of this. His wonderful imagination fastens on one great moment in the Emperor’s life, the day when he was the victor at Augsburg. A Black Knight in steel armor, riding over the battlefield at daybreak, the Emperor in this painting becomes ‘the personification of the coldness of a great general in battle, and of Destiny itself approaching, silent and unavoidable.’ Charles is here Napoleonic—but Napoleon had no Titian to immortalize his grandeur. Who would not pay a thousand crowns to be so transfigured for posterity?
Still painting in his ninetieth year with unabated vigor, still able as a nonagenarian to play the host with undiminished magnificence to King Henry III of France, this grand old patriarch finally went down in 1576, like some battered but indomitable man-of-war, with his colors still proudly flying. Even then it was not of old age that he died; he was a victim to the same pestilence which, sixty six years earlier, had carried off his young fellow pupil Giorgione. All Venice went into mourning when the greatest of her sons passed away, and the Senate set aside the decree that excluded victims of the plague from burial within church walls, so that Titian might be laid to rest in the Church of the Frari, within sight of his own picture of ‘The Assumption’.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
Titian’s ideal of womanhood is seen not only in this picture, which inspired Mr Arnold Bennet’s novel with the same title, but in a number of exquisite portraits and figure paintings. According to Vasari, he painted mostly from his own imagination, and only used female models in case of necessity. Titian’s types have little in common with the small, brown, black-eyed maidens we usually associate with Venice. They are nearer akin to the fair-haired Lombard women or the Dianas and Junos of his Alpine home. Further, it is the proud majesty of the mature woman that Titian paints. His beautiful ‘Flora,’ in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, does not suggest spring time but, as Dr Muther has well said, ‘high summer in its rich, mature splendor.’ Never old, but never very young, Titian’s ‘mighty women’ seem to ‘beam in an eternal, powerful beauty.’
The same mature majesty characterises ‘The Magdalen’, to which Titian’s contemporary Vasari pays the following eloquent tribute: ‘Her hair falls about her neck and shoulders, her head is raised, and the eyes are fixed on Heaven, their redness and the tears still within them giving evidence of her sorrow for the sins of her past life. This picture, which is most beautiful, moves all who behold it to compassion.’
‘He touched nothing that he did not adorn.’ So it might be written of Titian, who ennobled all his sitters with something of his own majesty. The supreme example of his powers in this direction is the magnificent ‘Equestrian Portrait of Charles V’, now in the Prado at Madrid. In 1530, when the Emperor Charles V was in Bologna, Titian, by the intervention of his friend the poet Pietro Aretino, was invited to that city and commissioned to paint His Catholic Majesty in full armour. Vasari tells us the Emperor was so delighted with this portrait that he gave the artist a thousand gold crowns, declaring that he would never have his portrait done by any other painter; and he kept his imperial word, frequently employing Titian thereafter and always paying him a thousand crowns for each portrait.
Never was money better spent. This Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and King of Spain still fires our imagination, thanks to Titian. The historical truth about Charles V is that he was a pale, scrofulous, emaciated man, a prey to melancholy, full of hesitations and superstitious fears; so world-weary that in the end he abdicated from his imperial position, and shut himself up in a monastery where, with morbid satisfaction, surrounded by coffins and ticking clocks, he constantly rehearsed his own funeral. Titian shows us nothing of this. His wonderful imagination fastens on one great moment in the Emperor’s life, the day when he was the victor at Augsburg. A Black Knight in steel armor, riding over the battlefield at daybreak, the Emperor in this painting becomes ‘the personification of the coldness of a great general in battle, and of Destiny itself approaching, silent and unavoidable.’ Charles is here Napoleonic—but Napoleon had no Titian to immortalize his grandeur. Who would not pay a thousand crowns to be so transfigured for posterity?
Still painting in his ninetieth year with unabated vigor, still able as a nonagenarian to play the host with undiminished magnificence to King Henry III of France, this grand old patriarch finally went down in 1576, like some battered but indomitable man-of-war, with his colors still proudly flying. Even then it was not of old age that he died; he was a victim to the same pestilence which, sixty six years earlier, had carried off his young fellow pupil Giorgione. All Venice went into mourning when the greatest of her sons passed away, and the Senate set aside the decree that excluded victims of the plague from burial within church walls, so that Titian might be laid to rest in the Church of the Frari, within sight of his own picture of ‘The Assumption’.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Immediately, making me jump with surprise, the bird in the cage found its voice and echoed its mistress’s words. ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’
I turned to Mirzah. ‘What does the lady say?’
‘She says ‘black spot’,’ he said. ‘She say the dimon’ he have a black spot.’
‘So it has,’ I admitted readily. ‘I was going to tell her so, but she was too quick for me.’
‘I tell her,’ said Mirzah.
‘Do so,’ I said. ‘and say also that the spot is so very, very small that even I, an expert trained to detect blemishes, can barely see it with my strong glass.’
Mirzah translated, and my compliment brought a smile to her lips, a sure indication that she was not too ancient to be impervious to flattery. When you have a young woman, flatter her about her beauty, when the lady’s age is doubtful flatter her about her charm, her intelligence, her wit, but when she is old compliment her on her eyesight. These are very useful rules.
None the less, I had not entirely succeeded in placating my shrewd client, for she raised her voice to a somewhat higher pitch and spoke volubly. Mirzah translated: ‘Why does the Englishman show a dimon’ good for beggarmen. Have you not told the merchant who I am, and that I can buy the best there is?’
‘So that’s it,’ I thought. ‘Then why was the fellow so emphatic about the price limit?’ But there was no time for speculation of that kind. The lady had to be answered.
‘Tell the lady,’ I commanded, ‘that I beg for her gracious pardon. My mistake arose from the facet that I am not familiar with the customs of this country. In my own land merchants show their meanest goods first and by degrees work up to their finest.’
He translated. She came back with: ‘Why is that?’
‘It is good showmanship,’ said I, ‘and frequently it saves the client’s face.’
‘How may that be?’
I replied that if we merchants were to begin by displaying our best, some customers on learning the price might not care to admit that it was good for their purse and then might not ask to see the inferior goods. But by using the other method the customer remained master of the situation, for he could say as long as he pleased: ‘Show me better—better—better.’
I saw that she was pleased with this explanation, and Mirzah said that she agreed there might be some little wisdom in my argument. But I also noticed that like the very old she was soon tired of talk and distraction, for she picked unceasingly at the folds of the tablecloth. It was clear to me that I must display at once the best that I had in stock, and make no more ado, and this I did. But she looked at each gem in perfunctory fashion, and at last burst forth: ‘It is true that I have been used to buying only the best. But this was for my own use and now I have given up bedecking myself in such finery. Let the merchant bear in mind that one may buy to give away. But black-spotted stones are omen of ill luck. One cannot give them, for the wearer might sicken or meet with misfortune. It is better to make no gifts at all than such stones.’
Finally I had brought out everything I had. But she remained petulant. If one stone was too thick another was too flat, a third had not sufficient fire to warm her into buying, and yet others must be rejected on the score of shape of tint. Nothing seemed to be right. Patience? Yes, I had plenty of that commodity and displayed stone after stone with the best of grace. But no! she knew what she wanted—that she would have or nothing at all.
Well, I dearly love clients who know what they want. It relieves me of great responsibility and much work. Obviously, I had nothing in my collection that was in the least desirable in her eyes. So I packed up in readiness to take my departure and would perhaps have been allowed to go forthwith but that I happened to look up and found her gaze riveted upon one particular wallet of the four—the very one into which I had thrust the paper containing the offending black-spotted stone which had earned her little lecture.
Was I right in suspecting that she might want that stone, after all, and that she was only restrained from asking to see it again by the remarks she had made? She could not lose face, and I, for my part, could not presume to exhibit the stone again. I would thus lose a sale and she would have to go without the very piece she wanted. What was to be done?
At that moment the unexpected happened. The old lady rose from her chair and turned her back upon us, in order to pick up from a table behind her the dish of sectioned fruit of which we were to partake by way of enjoying the traditional hospitality. I seized my chance, extracted from the wallet the slightly flawed stone, and slipped it into my trousers pocket. When she came back to the table, dish in hand, the four wallets had gone back into my attache-case.
Turning to Mirzah I said: ‘Tell the lady that I am sorry that so large a selection as I have shown should have contained nothing to please her; nevertheless I have yet one more diamond in my pocket which I should like to show with her kind permission before I go.’
‘It could do no harm,’ she said graciously.
So I brought the black-spotted stone out of my pocket, and she examined it most critically.
‘Why, this is just what I want!’ she exclaimed. ‘See how these European merchants will insist on showing their poor goods first, and will only bring out what is good when the customer refuses to be fooled.’ For I had this time put a fairly stiff price on the diamond.
She clapped her hands. A Chinese amah appeared. She handed her a bunch of keys and when the woman returned with the money she counted out to me the price I had asked. We had taken our refreshment and now paid our final respects. As I made my final bows to the old lady, she raised her forefinger admonishingly.
It was only then that I realized that the tell-tale mirror she had faced, when I took the opportunity of slipping the stone into my pocket, had betrayed me. As I turned and skated warily in my clumsy shoes over the crystal floor I heard behind me the beating of wings and accusing falsetto screech: ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’ The cockatoo had had the last word.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Immediately, making me jump with surprise, the bird in the cage found its voice and echoed its mistress’s words. ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’
I turned to Mirzah. ‘What does the lady say?’
‘She says ‘black spot’,’ he said. ‘She say the dimon’ he have a black spot.’
‘So it has,’ I admitted readily. ‘I was going to tell her so, but she was too quick for me.’
‘I tell her,’ said Mirzah.
‘Do so,’ I said. ‘and say also that the spot is so very, very small that even I, an expert trained to detect blemishes, can barely see it with my strong glass.’
Mirzah translated, and my compliment brought a smile to her lips, a sure indication that she was not too ancient to be impervious to flattery. When you have a young woman, flatter her about her beauty, when the lady’s age is doubtful flatter her about her charm, her intelligence, her wit, but when she is old compliment her on her eyesight. These are very useful rules.
None the less, I had not entirely succeeded in placating my shrewd client, for she raised her voice to a somewhat higher pitch and spoke volubly. Mirzah translated: ‘Why does the Englishman show a dimon’ good for beggarmen. Have you not told the merchant who I am, and that I can buy the best there is?’
‘So that’s it,’ I thought. ‘Then why was the fellow so emphatic about the price limit?’ But there was no time for speculation of that kind. The lady had to be answered.
‘Tell the lady,’ I commanded, ‘that I beg for her gracious pardon. My mistake arose from the facet that I am not familiar with the customs of this country. In my own land merchants show their meanest goods first and by degrees work up to their finest.’
He translated. She came back with: ‘Why is that?’
‘It is good showmanship,’ said I, ‘and frequently it saves the client’s face.’
‘How may that be?’
I replied that if we merchants were to begin by displaying our best, some customers on learning the price might not care to admit that it was good for their purse and then might not ask to see the inferior goods. But by using the other method the customer remained master of the situation, for he could say as long as he pleased: ‘Show me better—better—better.’
I saw that she was pleased with this explanation, and Mirzah said that she agreed there might be some little wisdom in my argument. But I also noticed that like the very old she was soon tired of talk and distraction, for she picked unceasingly at the folds of the tablecloth. It was clear to me that I must display at once the best that I had in stock, and make no more ado, and this I did. But she looked at each gem in perfunctory fashion, and at last burst forth: ‘It is true that I have been used to buying only the best. But this was for my own use and now I have given up bedecking myself in such finery. Let the merchant bear in mind that one may buy to give away. But black-spotted stones are omen of ill luck. One cannot give them, for the wearer might sicken or meet with misfortune. It is better to make no gifts at all than such stones.’
Finally I had brought out everything I had. But she remained petulant. If one stone was too thick another was too flat, a third had not sufficient fire to warm her into buying, and yet others must be rejected on the score of shape of tint. Nothing seemed to be right. Patience? Yes, I had plenty of that commodity and displayed stone after stone with the best of grace. But no! she knew what she wanted—that she would have or nothing at all.
Well, I dearly love clients who know what they want. It relieves me of great responsibility and much work. Obviously, I had nothing in my collection that was in the least desirable in her eyes. So I packed up in readiness to take my departure and would perhaps have been allowed to go forthwith but that I happened to look up and found her gaze riveted upon one particular wallet of the four—the very one into which I had thrust the paper containing the offending black-spotted stone which had earned her little lecture.
Was I right in suspecting that she might want that stone, after all, and that she was only restrained from asking to see it again by the remarks she had made? She could not lose face, and I, for my part, could not presume to exhibit the stone again. I would thus lose a sale and she would have to go without the very piece she wanted. What was to be done?
At that moment the unexpected happened. The old lady rose from her chair and turned her back upon us, in order to pick up from a table behind her the dish of sectioned fruit of which we were to partake by way of enjoying the traditional hospitality. I seized my chance, extracted from the wallet the slightly flawed stone, and slipped it into my trousers pocket. When she came back to the table, dish in hand, the four wallets had gone back into my attache-case.
Turning to Mirzah I said: ‘Tell the lady that I am sorry that so large a selection as I have shown should have contained nothing to please her; nevertheless I have yet one more diamond in my pocket which I should like to show with her kind permission before I go.’
‘It could do no harm,’ she said graciously.
So I brought the black-spotted stone out of my pocket, and she examined it most critically.
‘Why, this is just what I want!’ she exclaimed. ‘See how these European merchants will insist on showing their poor goods first, and will only bring out what is good when the customer refuses to be fooled.’ For I had this time put a fairly stiff price on the diamond.
She clapped her hands. A Chinese amah appeared. She handed her a bunch of keys and when the woman returned with the money she counted out to me the price I had asked. We had taken our refreshment and now paid our final respects. As I made my final bows to the old lady, she raised her forefinger admonishingly.
It was only then that I realized that the tell-tale mirror she had faced, when I took the opportunity of slipping the stone into my pocket, had betrayed me. As I turned and skated warily in my clumsy shoes over the crystal floor I heard behind me the beating of wings and accusing falsetto screech: ‘Tanda hitam! Tanda hitam!’ The cockatoo had had the last word.
New Emerald Treatment
The gem industry reports that the gem chefs (gem treaters) are treating highly fractured rough Colombian emeralds with polymers that act as a glue to hold stones together. The level of treatment can vary considerably and impact the durability + price. If in doubt, always consult a reputed gem testing laboratory.
Sergei Rachmaninoff
Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninoff was a Russian composer, pianist, and conductor + he was regarded as one of the most influential + finest pianists of the 20th century. Rachmaninoff's style was distinctively Russian.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.rachmaninoff.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Rachmaninoff
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.rachmaninoff.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergei_Rachmaninoff
Monday, December 10, 2007
Generosity May Be In The Genes
(via BBC): A study by The Hebrew University of Jerusalem reveals that those who had certain variants of a gene called AVPR1a were on average nearly 50% more likely to give money away + the experts see an interesting relationship between DNA variability and real human altruism. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/7133079.stm
Useful link:
www.ibngs.org
Useful link:
www.ibngs.org
Drunken Master II
Drunken Master II (1994)
Directed by: Chia-Liang Liu, Jackie Chan
Screenplay: Edward Tang, Man-Ming Tong, Kai-Chi Yun
Cast: Jackie Chan, Felix Wong
(via YouTube): Drunken Master II (1) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyExHRoIAjU
The Legend of Drunken Master (Jui kuen II)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffQGz3DMoyQ
Drunken Master II (3) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypPSnUcLJNA
I enjoy watching Jackie Chan's beautifully choreographed action films + those death-defying stunts are stunning
Directed by: Chia-Liang Liu, Jackie Chan
Screenplay: Edward Tang, Man-Ming Tong, Kai-Chi Yun
Cast: Jackie Chan, Felix Wong
(via YouTube): Drunken Master II (1) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyExHRoIAjU
The Legend of Drunken Master (Jui kuen II)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffQGz3DMoyQ
Drunken Master II (3) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypPSnUcLJNA
I enjoy watching Jackie Chan's beautifully choreographed action films + those death-defying stunts are stunning
Coffee Legends
National Geographic writes about the history of coffee + descriptions of different varieties + map of coffee-producing countries + other viewpoints @ http://www.nationalgeographic.com/coffee
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
A Good Eye
Economist writes about the superb art collections of Giorgio Marsan and Umberta Nasi + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10273868
Aftershocks
Kelly Devine Thomas writes about art loss from the attacks on the World Trade Center + local perspectives + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1005
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Elton John
Elton John is a five-time Grammy and one-time Academy Award-winning English pop/rock singer, composer and pianist + he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994 + he frequently collaborates with other artists + he has a distinctive vocal style + founded the Elton John AIDS Foundation in 1992 as a charity to fund programmes for HIV/AIDS + he continues to inspire musicians today.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
The Hidden Language Of Baseball
In my view, the intricate system (s) of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal is comparable to the hidden, and inner aspects of colored stone/diamond/art market (s). One must reread Paul Dickson's The Hidden Language of Baseball to understand the scientific aspects of the game and relate the concept to the gem/jewelry/art markets.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
Rose Cuts
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
A Rose cut diamond has a flat bottom which is usually a cleavage plane. Therefore, by definition, it has no pavilion. The crown is more or less dome-shaped, and covered with triangular facets in a specific design, terminating in a point. It is, in fact, a Point Cut. As a rule, Roses are round, triangular or drop-shaped, but more fancy outlines also exist. Almost all diamond of this cut are foiled in order to improve their light effects. Most modern writers refer to faceted diamonds of the fifteenth, sixteenth and most of the seventeenth centuries as Rose Cuts, regardless of the type of faceting. This over-simplification is probably partly due to Cellini’s Trattato dell’ Oreficeria of 1565, in which he calls the three main types of diamond cut in tavola, a facette and in punta. A facette was erroneously understood to refer to the Rose Cut. Another source of confusion has been the term ‘Rose’, originally used to describe the clusters of small stones now called Rosettes.
Early sources contrasted faceted diamond with Points and Tables but did not go into further detail. For diamonds which are neither square nor rectangular they invented descriptive names such as Kite, Lozenge, Triangle and Shield. Fancy shapes with a flat top instead of the usual point were named Coxcomb, Calf’s Head, etc. These were, in fact, variations of the popular Table Cut, as opposed to the fancy pointed shapes with faceted crown and no pavilion which I have name Gothic Roses. One should really call this cut ‘the Gothic Flat Bottomed Cut’—a term more technically correct but impossibly unromantic! At first, Gothic Rose Cuts were only basically faceted and had no standard design, the cutter following the crystallography of his rough and applying only a small number of facets. He was forced to add further facets only when the rough did not favor simplicity, or in order to obtain a good polish, or to dispose of disturbing flaws and irregularities.
During the transition from the Renaissance period to the Baroque, the Table Cut gradually lost its long-lasting popularity and finally ceded to the Brilliant Cut. Glittering diamonds became the fashion, but there was often a great shortage of rough suitable for this new, pavilion-based cut. So a design of a richly patterned type was introduced, a pattern with six-part symmetry and a stepped crown on a flat base. In other words, the crown had two concentric rows of facets, the lower row to the bottom of the stone and the upper row meeting in a point. This ‘stepping’ or ‘crowning’ was the innovation which produced light effects previously unknown in the Gothic Rose. It looked like a small, half-opened rosebud, and this was no doubt why it got its name. The old Rosettes were by now forgotten, so the name Rose Cut could happily be given to a new cut. This was clearly a commercial follower of the forsaken Double Rosette, inspired by it and the Pointed Star Cut, and hardly, as frequently claimed, by the Mughal Cut.
The legendary collection of religious objects known as La Chapelle de Richelieu became Crown property. Among other marvels, it contained a statue of the Virgin said to have been set with ‘1253 small Rose Cut diamonds’. Another French document also mentioned by Bapst in 1889 refers to ‘une roze ronde taille a facettes de grande etendu and ‘ung autre diamant en roze fort jaulni’ in 1649. Two Dutch documents also mention this cut—the first, in 1640, recording two pairs of pendants set with large and small Rose diamonds. The second, dated 1688, describes a jewel set with ‘een heel groote Roos facet diamant of een crustal’, meaning that it was fashioned from a single crystal.
In 1661 Cardinal Mazarin, successor to Richelieu, bequeathed part of his large collection of jewelry to the Crown and the inventory refers to a large diamond called the Rose d’Angleterre, long thought to be a Rose Cut but now proved to have been something totally different, with an unusually large table. Bernard Morel discovered that the gem was given this name because, during the reign of Charles I and Henrietta Maria, it was set in a jewel decorated with the roses of York and Lancaster. Morel believes that the diamond ‘was fashioned much like a brilliant but with fewer facets round the large table, and multifaceted below the girdle.’
A Rose cut diamond has a flat bottom which is usually a cleavage plane. Therefore, by definition, it has no pavilion. The crown is more or less dome-shaped, and covered with triangular facets in a specific design, terminating in a point. It is, in fact, a Point Cut. As a rule, Roses are round, triangular or drop-shaped, but more fancy outlines also exist. Almost all diamond of this cut are foiled in order to improve their light effects. Most modern writers refer to faceted diamonds of the fifteenth, sixteenth and most of the seventeenth centuries as Rose Cuts, regardless of the type of faceting. This over-simplification is probably partly due to Cellini’s Trattato dell’ Oreficeria of 1565, in which he calls the three main types of diamond cut in tavola, a facette and in punta. A facette was erroneously understood to refer to the Rose Cut. Another source of confusion has been the term ‘Rose’, originally used to describe the clusters of small stones now called Rosettes.
Early sources contrasted faceted diamond with Points and Tables but did not go into further detail. For diamonds which are neither square nor rectangular they invented descriptive names such as Kite, Lozenge, Triangle and Shield. Fancy shapes with a flat top instead of the usual point were named Coxcomb, Calf’s Head, etc. These were, in fact, variations of the popular Table Cut, as opposed to the fancy pointed shapes with faceted crown and no pavilion which I have name Gothic Roses. One should really call this cut ‘the Gothic Flat Bottomed Cut’—a term more technically correct but impossibly unromantic! At first, Gothic Rose Cuts were only basically faceted and had no standard design, the cutter following the crystallography of his rough and applying only a small number of facets. He was forced to add further facets only when the rough did not favor simplicity, or in order to obtain a good polish, or to dispose of disturbing flaws and irregularities.
During the transition from the Renaissance period to the Baroque, the Table Cut gradually lost its long-lasting popularity and finally ceded to the Brilliant Cut. Glittering diamonds became the fashion, but there was often a great shortage of rough suitable for this new, pavilion-based cut. So a design of a richly patterned type was introduced, a pattern with six-part symmetry and a stepped crown on a flat base. In other words, the crown had two concentric rows of facets, the lower row to the bottom of the stone and the upper row meeting in a point. This ‘stepping’ or ‘crowning’ was the innovation which produced light effects previously unknown in the Gothic Rose. It looked like a small, half-opened rosebud, and this was no doubt why it got its name. The old Rosettes were by now forgotten, so the name Rose Cut could happily be given to a new cut. This was clearly a commercial follower of the forsaken Double Rosette, inspired by it and the Pointed Star Cut, and hardly, as frequently claimed, by the Mughal Cut.
The legendary collection of religious objects known as La Chapelle de Richelieu became Crown property. Among other marvels, it contained a statue of the Virgin said to have been set with ‘1253 small Rose Cut diamonds’. Another French document also mentioned by Bapst in 1889 refers to ‘une roze ronde taille a facettes de grande etendu and ‘ung autre diamant en roze fort jaulni’ in 1649. Two Dutch documents also mention this cut—the first, in 1640, recording two pairs of pendants set with large and small Rose diamonds. The second, dated 1688, describes a jewel set with ‘een heel groote Roos facet diamant of een crustal’, meaning that it was fashioned from a single crystal.
In 1661 Cardinal Mazarin, successor to Richelieu, bequeathed part of his large collection of jewelry to the Crown and the inventory refers to a large diamond called the Rose d’Angleterre, long thought to be a Rose Cut but now proved to have been something totally different, with an unusually large table. Bernard Morel discovered that the gem was given this name because, during the reign of Charles I and Henrietta Maria, it was set in a jewel decorated with the roses of York and Lancaster. Morel believes that the diamond ‘was fashioned much like a brilliant but with fewer facets round the large table, and multifaceted below the girdle.’
How We Learn From Our Mistakes
Laura Blue writes about how a common gene variant affects some people's ability to respond to, and learn from, the negative repercussions of their actions + other viewpoints @ http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1691924,00.html
Charade
Charade (1963)
Directed by: Stanley Donen
Screenplay: Peter Stone , Marc Behm (story); Peter Stone (screenplay)
Cast: Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Walter Matthau, James Coburn
(via YouTube): Charade Opening Titles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjGDjwxRwpI
Charade - Criterion Collection Movie Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdM81YPt6FM
A unique thriller-romance-comedy. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Stanley Donen
Screenplay: Peter Stone , Marc Behm (story); Peter Stone (screenplay)
Cast: Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Walter Matthau, James Coburn
(via YouTube): Charade Opening Titles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjGDjwxRwpI
Charade - Criterion Collection Movie Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdM81YPt6FM
A unique thriller-romance-comedy. I enjoyed it.
This Is My Mark ... This Is Man
(via The Guardian) Jonathan Jones writes about a painted cave on a par with Lascaux in France + an underground odyssey - beginning in Wales + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/visualart/story/0,,2222879,00.html
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)