King Kong (1933)
Directed by: Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack
Screenplay: Merian C. Cooper, Edgar Wallace (story); James Ashmore Creelman, Ruth Rose
Cast: Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, Bruce Cabot
(via YouTube): King Kong 1933 movie part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlVZxzvRB-U
King Kong (1933) – colorized
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jz77RxYhtoQ
Ray Harryhausen in 1995 talks about King Kong (1933)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkHJ0Yp5IJU
A great movie + the look in his eyes as the planes shoot him off the Empire State building remains the greatest single special effects shot ever made. I enjoyed it.
Friday, December 28, 2007
George W. Bush
Seth Gitell writes about George W. Bush's taste for American Western art + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=792
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Art is the mirror of life, and a great part of the fascination of old pictures is that in them are reflected the great upheavals of history. We have seen how Florentine art was affected by the preaching first of St Francis of Assisi and afterwards of Savonarola. Now the most formidable antagonists that the Lutheran Reformers had to face, alike in action and in thought, were the Spaniards. The movement of the counter-Reformation originated and flourished in Spain. As the Spaniards in the Middle Ages had battled against the Moors till they won their land for Christianity, so they fought against the paganism of the Roman Church during the sixteenth century and strove with equal determination later against the Reformers, whom they regarded as heretics. The herald of this last battle was Ignatius Loyola, and he and his creation, the Order of the Jesuits, proved to be the most dangerous and powerful adversary of Protestantism.
El Greco’s picture ‘Christ driving the Traders from the Temple,’ in the National Gallery, may be regarded as symbolizing the purification of the Church by Loyola, but it is by his treatment infinitely more than by his choice of subject that El Greco expresses that vein of ‘convulsed mysticism which was the peculiar attribute of Spanish Catholicism. El Greco as he grew older seemed to take delight in distorting natural forms. There is something savage, brutal even, in his art, and his deep earnestness gives grandeur to terrible things. The generally acknowledged masterpiece and most characteristic work by El Greco is his picture in the church of San Tomé in Toledo, in which the members of a knightly order solemnly attend the funeral of Count Orgaz. The corpse is lowered into the ground by two saints, while Christ, Mary, martyrs, and angels hover in the air, and this ‘abrupt union of actual with transcendental’—as Dr Muther puts it—together with the uncanny, slightly exaggerated forms found in parts of the picture, confess a touch of hysteria.
By a curious coincidence the tercentenary of El Greco was celebrated in 1914, at a moment when the whole of Europe was again in a turmoil and minds were full of hatred and thoughts of violence. To a generation excited by war and rumors of war the suppressed violence in El Greco’s pictures was irresistibly attractive. Some very advanced critics and ultra progressive painters found in his neurotic temperament their ideal Old Master. El Greco was reputed to have held that color was of far more importance than form of drawing, and if this belief was once regarded as ‘curious anticipation of modern ideas,’ these ‘modern ideas’ are themselves now out of date, drawing and design being now generally accepted as the foundation of all good art. El Greco’s pictures are far from being formless. Historically and psychologically the paintings of El Greco are of the highest interest; but they are a dangerous model for the art student.
Another foreign artist, who if he did not succeed in expressing the spirit of the time nevertheless influenced Spanish painting considerably, was Sir Anthony More, who, visited Spain, and during his stay there, about 1551-2, set a style of portraiture which served as a model for Coello (1515-90) and other Spanish court-painters.
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain (continued)
Art is the mirror of life, and a great part of the fascination of old pictures is that in them are reflected the great upheavals of history. We have seen how Florentine art was affected by the preaching first of St Francis of Assisi and afterwards of Savonarola. Now the most formidable antagonists that the Lutheran Reformers had to face, alike in action and in thought, were the Spaniards. The movement of the counter-Reformation originated and flourished in Spain. As the Spaniards in the Middle Ages had battled against the Moors till they won their land for Christianity, so they fought against the paganism of the Roman Church during the sixteenth century and strove with equal determination later against the Reformers, whom they regarded as heretics. The herald of this last battle was Ignatius Loyola, and he and his creation, the Order of the Jesuits, proved to be the most dangerous and powerful adversary of Protestantism.
El Greco’s picture ‘Christ driving the Traders from the Temple,’ in the National Gallery, may be regarded as symbolizing the purification of the Church by Loyola, but it is by his treatment infinitely more than by his choice of subject that El Greco expresses that vein of ‘convulsed mysticism which was the peculiar attribute of Spanish Catholicism. El Greco as he grew older seemed to take delight in distorting natural forms. There is something savage, brutal even, in his art, and his deep earnestness gives grandeur to terrible things. The generally acknowledged masterpiece and most characteristic work by El Greco is his picture in the church of San Tomé in Toledo, in which the members of a knightly order solemnly attend the funeral of Count Orgaz. The corpse is lowered into the ground by two saints, while Christ, Mary, martyrs, and angels hover in the air, and this ‘abrupt union of actual with transcendental’—as Dr Muther puts it—together with the uncanny, slightly exaggerated forms found in parts of the picture, confess a touch of hysteria.
By a curious coincidence the tercentenary of El Greco was celebrated in 1914, at a moment when the whole of Europe was again in a turmoil and minds were full of hatred and thoughts of violence. To a generation excited by war and rumors of war the suppressed violence in El Greco’s pictures was irresistibly attractive. Some very advanced critics and ultra progressive painters found in his neurotic temperament their ideal Old Master. El Greco was reputed to have held that color was of far more importance than form of drawing, and if this belief was once regarded as ‘curious anticipation of modern ideas,’ these ‘modern ideas’ are themselves now out of date, drawing and design being now generally accepted as the foundation of all good art. El Greco’s pictures are far from being formless. Historically and psychologically the paintings of El Greco are of the highest interest; but they are a dangerous model for the art student.
Another foreign artist, who if he did not succeed in expressing the spirit of the time nevertheless influenced Spanish painting considerably, was Sir Anthony More, who, visited Spain, and during his stay there, about 1551-2, set a style of portraiture which served as a model for Coello (1515-90) and other Spanish court-painters.
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain (continued)
London, And So On: Low Company!
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 gem industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
But it must not be thought that the London police, with their widespread net of ‘information received’ and who are famed for their astuteness, did not from time to time gather in the fish whose predatory boldness had outgrown their caution. It is in the public interest that the police should often tolerate the existence of meeting places frequented by known ‘bad hats’. For where men walk in the twilight of the law, valuable information is liable to leak out from within, and what is more, many a suspect is steadily kept under observation until his cup of iniquity is full and he is duly gathered in.
But it is only the unthinking man who draws a thick line between the criminal and the honest classes, or who imagines that even a notorious breaker of the law is devoid of all good qualities, or per contra that he who is known as a good man and a law-abiding citizen has no criminal tendencies whatsoever. Just as we all carry millions of germs waiting for their opportunity in our moments of physical weakness, so do criminal tendencies lurk in the best of men. I have discovered from my own experience )and I am a more or less normal type) that nothing short of constant vigilance will keep a man from succumbing to temptations of one kind or another. Unchecked passions, the gradual and almost unperceived acquisition of expensive habits or tastes, the desire to shine or to go one better than one’s neighbor, any of those factors may bring an otherwise well-intentioned man into conflict with the law and so to social ruin. Half the impulses of mankind are honest and law-abiding; that is why we have police. But half are concerned with short cuts to getting what one wants; that is why we need police.
There occurs to me the case of I B (the initials were misleading. He was mild-mannered, quiet-living teacher in an elementary school whose only diversion was the study of the classics and who denied himself the smallest luxury in order to assist those poorer than himself. He had come to the notice of a diamond merchant who took him into his employ. Eventually he set up in business on his own account, and his industry, marked ability and reputation for straightforwardness gained him unlimited credit in the trade.
Then after twenty years of unremitting labor he one day called his creditors and informed them that whilst on a journey he had been robbed of the wallets containing his whole valuable stock, which was only partly insured. Some of the creditors, knowing his reputation, were ready to believe this story and were prepared to accept a composition of two shillings and sixpence in the pound to save him from bankruptcy. They were even willing to help give him a fresh start. But there were others less prepared to forgo their just claims without further probing. They applied for a search-warrant, as a consequence of which the whole of the missing stock was discovered hidden beneath the brick floor of his wine cellar. It was a clumsy bit of work, and the penalty, though not a gaol sentence, since his creditors refused to prosecute, was an ostracism so severe that the offender dared never again show his face amongst reputable traders in any of the great gem centers of the world.
When many years after I ran up against him in San Francisco, I asked him point-blank what had possessed him to do such a thing, as he had been perfectly solvent at the time. He said simply, and I believe truthfully, that having devoted so many years to business, he thought the time had come for him to retire on a sufficient competency in order to devote the rest of his life to social and charitable works.
Another public benefactor was H F (again the initials betray nothing of the man), whose genius for organization was so great that had he been in the army he might have risen to be quartermaster-general. Instead, having started as a mere working jeweler with practically no means of his own, his peculiar gift only began to shine forth when he first made contact with a master criminal for whom the police of two continents had lain in wait for years. He was the reality of which the writer of ‘thrillers’ dreams, the human spider in the midst of a worldwide web of crime.
Master thief and organizing genius together, they built up a perfect organization in which every international jewel thief had membership and drew his pay in accordance with services rendered. So much for the member who furnished valuable information or who carefully prepared diagrams of chosen localities. So much for the snatch-thief, the car-burglar, the safe-breaker, terms more generous than the average ‘fence’ would pay; a liberal allowance to those who could be trusted to follow a dealer in gems half-way round the world before, at an opportune moment, relieving him of his goods without violence. H F disliked violence, and was prejudiced against murder.
To cover their tracks the astute heads of this gang had in their pay in every important center experts who could rapidly remove gems from their settings, smelt down the precious metal into bars, alter the size of stones by recutting them and of pearls by reducing their weights. Everywhere there were others, too, brokers who were not squeamish about handling ‘cheap’ goods and asked no questions. ‘Ask no questions and you will be told no lies’ was a saying as constantly on the lips of H F as on those of a nursemaid. It was a motto that appeared to pay him as well as honesty in another wise saw, for H F died in his own bed and left a handsome estate to his children. It might have been even larger but for the fact that H F was a known philanthropist, whose hand was as often in his pocket as the hands of his underlings were in the pockets of other men.
London, And So On: Low Company! (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
But it must not be thought that the London police, with their widespread net of ‘information received’ and who are famed for their astuteness, did not from time to time gather in the fish whose predatory boldness had outgrown their caution. It is in the public interest that the police should often tolerate the existence of meeting places frequented by known ‘bad hats’. For where men walk in the twilight of the law, valuable information is liable to leak out from within, and what is more, many a suspect is steadily kept under observation until his cup of iniquity is full and he is duly gathered in.
But it is only the unthinking man who draws a thick line between the criminal and the honest classes, or who imagines that even a notorious breaker of the law is devoid of all good qualities, or per contra that he who is known as a good man and a law-abiding citizen has no criminal tendencies whatsoever. Just as we all carry millions of germs waiting for their opportunity in our moments of physical weakness, so do criminal tendencies lurk in the best of men. I have discovered from my own experience )and I am a more or less normal type) that nothing short of constant vigilance will keep a man from succumbing to temptations of one kind or another. Unchecked passions, the gradual and almost unperceived acquisition of expensive habits or tastes, the desire to shine or to go one better than one’s neighbor, any of those factors may bring an otherwise well-intentioned man into conflict with the law and so to social ruin. Half the impulses of mankind are honest and law-abiding; that is why we have police. But half are concerned with short cuts to getting what one wants; that is why we need police.
There occurs to me the case of I B (the initials were misleading. He was mild-mannered, quiet-living teacher in an elementary school whose only diversion was the study of the classics and who denied himself the smallest luxury in order to assist those poorer than himself. He had come to the notice of a diamond merchant who took him into his employ. Eventually he set up in business on his own account, and his industry, marked ability and reputation for straightforwardness gained him unlimited credit in the trade.
Then after twenty years of unremitting labor he one day called his creditors and informed them that whilst on a journey he had been robbed of the wallets containing his whole valuable stock, which was only partly insured. Some of the creditors, knowing his reputation, were ready to believe this story and were prepared to accept a composition of two shillings and sixpence in the pound to save him from bankruptcy. They were even willing to help give him a fresh start. But there were others less prepared to forgo their just claims without further probing. They applied for a search-warrant, as a consequence of which the whole of the missing stock was discovered hidden beneath the brick floor of his wine cellar. It was a clumsy bit of work, and the penalty, though not a gaol sentence, since his creditors refused to prosecute, was an ostracism so severe that the offender dared never again show his face amongst reputable traders in any of the great gem centers of the world.
When many years after I ran up against him in San Francisco, I asked him point-blank what had possessed him to do such a thing, as he had been perfectly solvent at the time. He said simply, and I believe truthfully, that having devoted so many years to business, he thought the time had come for him to retire on a sufficient competency in order to devote the rest of his life to social and charitable works.
Another public benefactor was H F (again the initials betray nothing of the man), whose genius for organization was so great that had he been in the army he might have risen to be quartermaster-general. Instead, having started as a mere working jeweler with practically no means of his own, his peculiar gift only began to shine forth when he first made contact with a master criminal for whom the police of two continents had lain in wait for years. He was the reality of which the writer of ‘thrillers’ dreams, the human spider in the midst of a worldwide web of crime.
Master thief and organizing genius together, they built up a perfect organization in which every international jewel thief had membership and drew his pay in accordance with services rendered. So much for the member who furnished valuable information or who carefully prepared diagrams of chosen localities. So much for the snatch-thief, the car-burglar, the safe-breaker, terms more generous than the average ‘fence’ would pay; a liberal allowance to those who could be trusted to follow a dealer in gems half-way round the world before, at an opportune moment, relieving him of his goods without violence. H F disliked violence, and was prejudiced against murder.
To cover their tracks the astute heads of this gang had in their pay in every important center experts who could rapidly remove gems from their settings, smelt down the precious metal into bars, alter the size of stones by recutting them and of pearls by reducing their weights. Everywhere there were others, too, brokers who were not squeamish about handling ‘cheap’ goods and asked no questions. ‘Ask no questions and you will be told no lies’ was a saying as constantly on the lips of H F as on those of a nursemaid. It was a motto that appeared to pay him as well as honesty in another wise saw, for H F died in his own bed and left a handsome estate to his children. It might have been even larger but for the fact that H F was a known philanthropist, whose hand was as often in his pocket as the hands of his underlings were in the pockets of other men.
London, And So On: Low Company! (continued)
Gold
According to the World Gold Council gold offers good protection against exchange rate fluctuations, particularly the US dollar + industry analysts believe gold will break the magical figure of US$1000 an ounce in 2008 due to uncertainities in the financial markets + India and China is also playing its role putting upward pressure on gold.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
London, And So On: Low Company!
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 gem industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had not provided myself with letter of introduction to influential people as I might well have done. Being young, foolish and self-reliant, I thought these were superfluous. I know now that it was a mistake, for a single letter might well have saved me, as it turned out, years of drudgery, heartache and futile groping for that first rung of ladder which is most elusive of all.
As in Paris, the legitimate gem trade was a closed circle jealously guarded, but there was in London then no Diamond Club such as I had known on the Continent, where the dealers in gems could forgather daily and govern the trade for the good of them all. True, there was a meeting place of sorts for traders in gems in Hatton Garden which occupied the site facing the present sub post office in that thoroughfare. But this place was frequented by many shady characters and was as much visited by Scotland Yard men as by the ‘merchants’ themselves.
I visited the ‘African Café’ perhaps once or twice out of curiosity in all the years I knew of it before it was summarily closed down. It was a cramped basement parlor which let no sunlight in, and the traders who went there had to come up from the depths to inspect goods in the narrow entrance.
On the second occasion on which curiosity drew me there, I stood hesitating for a brief moment with one foot on the pavement and the other on the first worn flag of the steps, uncertain whether to venture down into those unsavory depths. Two foreign-looking bearded men scrutinized me closely and shouted out a warning to those below, but at that moment two gentlewomen came along the street, stopped close by me, and one of them said: ‘Is this the place where the diamond merchants meet?’
I said rather dubiously that it was. ‘Are you a diamond merchant, then?’ queried the other lady.
I hesitated in my answer, but before I could speak her companion save me from the temptation to lie and said smilingly: ‘Of course he is, dear, or he wouldn’t be here.’
Heaven knew that I was in sore need of turning an honest shilling. I did not deny the statement. I was not long left in doubt of the kind of service the ladies expected. They wished to dispose of some odds and ends of old-fashioned jewelry which had been left to them by a relative. Being somewhat strong-minded and not desiring to hawk the things about, they had come straight to Hatton Garden. I did not let them down. The next day I called on them in company of a well-to-do kerb merchant of good reputation who paid them a hundred and fifty pounds. I got a very welcome five pounds out of the transaction. But I had no illusions. Five pound notes do not fall out of the sky every day, even in London, city of marvels.
Although I never chose to have much to do with the habitués of the African Café, I nevertheless learned much of their doings and had pointed out to me many a fellow whom the Paris Service de Sûreté and London Scotland Yard would have given much to get into their hands. But they were such cunning devils that for many years they managed to evade the clutches of the law while living in great luxury on the proceeds of their interesting activities. Although most of these men have since gone to their long reckoning, it would be doing a disservice to their families to mention them by name. I know several professional men of good repute and sterling character who owed their first chances in life to a father with a mistaken idea of taking ‘desperate chances’ for the sake of his offspring.
London, And So On: Low Company! (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had not provided myself with letter of introduction to influential people as I might well have done. Being young, foolish and self-reliant, I thought these were superfluous. I know now that it was a mistake, for a single letter might well have saved me, as it turned out, years of drudgery, heartache and futile groping for that first rung of ladder which is most elusive of all.
As in Paris, the legitimate gem trade was a closed circle jealously guarded, but there was in London then no Diamond Club such as I had known on the Continent, where the dealers in gems could forgather daily and govern the trade for the good of them all. True, there was a meeting place of sorts for traders in gems in Hatton Garden which occupied the site facing the present sub post office in that thoroughfare. But this place was frequented by many shady characters and was as much visited by Scotland Yard men as by the ‘merchants’ themselves.
I visited the ‘African Café’ perhaps once or twice out of curiosity in all the years I knew of it before it was summarily closed down. It was a cramped basement parlor which let no sunlight in, and the traders who went there had to come up from the depths to inspect goods in the narrow entrance.
On the second occasion on which curiosity drew me there, I stood hesitating for a brief moment with one foot on the pavement and the other on the first worn flag of the steps, uncertain whether to venture down into those unsavory depths. Two foreign-looking bearded men scrutinized me closely and shouted out a warning to those below, but at that moment two gentlewomen came along the street, stopped close by me, and one of them said: ‘Is this the place where the diamond merchants meet?’
I said rather dubiously that it was. ‘Are you a diamond merchant, then?’ queried the other lady.
I hesitated in my answer, but before I could speak her companion save me from the temptation to lie and said smilingly: ‘Of course he is, dear, or he wouldn’t be here.’
Heaven knew that I was in sore need of turning an honest shilling. I did not deny the statement. I was not long left in doubt of the kind of service the ladies expected. They wished to dispose of some odds and ends of old-fashioned jewelry which had been left to them by a relative. Being somewhat strong-minded and not desiring to hawk the things about, they had come straight to Hatton Garden. I did not let them down. The next day I called on them in company of a well-to-do kerb merchant of good reputation who paid them a hundred and fifty pounds. I got a very welcome five pounds out of the transaction. But I had no illusions. Five pound notes do not fall out of the sky every day, even in London, city of marvels.
Although I never chose to have much to do with the habitués of the African Café, I nevertheless learned much of their doings and had pointed out to me many a fellow whom the Paris Service de Sûreté and London Scotland Yard would have given much to get into their hands. But they were such cunning devils that for many years they managed to evade the clutches of the law while living in great luxury on the proceeds of their interesting activities. Although most of these men have since gone to their long reckoning, it would be doing a disservice to their families to mention them by name. I know several professional men of good repute and sterling character who owed their first chances in life to a father with a mistaken idea of taking ‘desperate chances’ for the sake of his offspring.
London, And So On: Low Company! (continued)
Heard On The Street
The experienced gem/art dealer understands that in order to be successful they need to learn to respond to the markets and not react. There is no quick fix to anything. It’s an interesting journey + work each day with total internal reflection and clarity, and the year will take care of itself.
The Man With A Camera
The Man With A Camera (1929)
Directed by: Dziga Vertov
Screenplay: Dziga Vertov
(via YouTube): The Man with a Movie Camera (silent - 1929)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00ZciIC4JPw
It's a fine innovative film + it's interesting to see the old Russia. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Dziga Vertov
Screenplay: Dziga Vertov
(via YouTube): The Man with a Movie Camera (silent - 1929)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00ZciIC4JPw
It's a fine innovative film + it's interesting to see the old Russia. I enjoyed it.
Personal Gallery From Kitaj's Kitchen Wall Goes On Sale
(via The Guardian) Maev Kennedy writes about the art collection of the late RB Kitaj + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/news/story/0,,2230853,00.html
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/gallery/2007/dec/21/1?picture=331873654
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/gallery/2007/dec/21/1?picture=331873654
Al Gore
Total internal reflections of Albert Gore, Jr on art + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=791
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art Of El Greco, Veazquez, And Murillo
1
When one thinks of Spain and art, the name of Velazquez jumps into the mind at once. Indeed, to most people, his is the only name in Spanish painting of outstanding importance. Looking back over the whole history of art in Spain, Velazquez’s figure overshadows that of everyone who went before him and of all who have come after him. In a sense, he is the only great painter Spain has produced. He interpreted the life of his time in terms that appeal universally, and no art has had more influence than his on modern painters.
How art came to Spain must now briefly be related. Until the fifteenth century there was little painting in Spain, and then, owing to the political connection of Spain with the Netherlands, the influence was markedly Flemish. It will be remembered that Jan van Eyck visited Spain in 1428, and the brilliant reception he received there induced other Flemish artists to visit the peninsula. Later, when Naples and the Sicily's came under the dominion of the Spanish crown, Italian art set the fashion to Spanish painters and particularly, as we might expect, the art of Naples. The Neapolitan School owed its origin to Michael Angelo Amerigi, called Caravaggio (1569-1609) from his birthplace near Milan. Undaunted by the great achievements of the Italian painters who immediately preceded him, Caravaggio sought to form an independent style of his own based on a bold imitation of Nature. While he was working in Venice and Rome, this astute student of Nature saw his contemporaries falling into decadence because they were artists imitating art. The seventeenth century painters of Rome, Florence, and Venice degenerated into mere copyists of Titian, Tintoretto, Raphael, and Michael Angelo. Caravaggio saw their error, and perceiving that art based on art leads to decadence, he gave his whole attention to Nature and so became a pioneer of realism. By choice he elected to paint scenes taken from the ordinary life of his day, and ‘The Card Cheaters’ is an admirable example of the novelty both of his subject and of his treatment. The novelty in his treatment chiefly consisted of the use Caravaggio made of light and shade (technically known as chiaroscuro) to enforce the dramatic intensity of his pictures. He exaggerated his shadows, which were far too black to be scrupulously faithful to Nature, but by the emphasis he thus gave to his lights he produced original and arresting effects which undoubtedly had a powerful influence on the two greatest painters of the next generation. How widespread was his authority is proved by the extent to which he prepared the way for both Velazquez and Rembrandt.
After working in Milan, Venice, and Rome, Caravaggio settled in Naples, where among those influenced by his realism was the Spanish painter Josef Ribera (1588-1650). ‘The Dead Christ’ in the National Gallery, London, is an example of Ribera’s stern naturalism.
Through Ribera the influence of Caravaggio penetrated to Spain, but already that country had had its art sense profoundly stirred by a foreign artist who not merely visited Spain, as other artists had done, but made it his home. This was Dominico Theotocopuli, who from having been born at Candia, Crete, was universally called El Greco, that is to say ‘The Greek’. El Greco (1545-1614), as we shall call him, went to Venice as a young man of twenty five and worked there for a time under Titian. About 1575 he migrated to Spain and settled at Toledo, where he became affected by the great religious fervor which was then agitating the peninsula.
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain (continued)
The Art Of El Greco, Veazquez, And Murillo
1
When one thinks of Spain and art, the name of Velazquez jumps into the mind at once. Indeed, to most people, his is the only name in Spanish painting of outstanding importance. Looking back over the whole history of art in Spain, Velazquez’s figure overshadows that of everyone who went before him and of all who have come after him. In a sense, he is the only great painter Spain has produced. He interpreted the life of his time in terms that appeal universally, and no art has had more influence than his on modern painters.
How art came to Spain must now briefly be related. Until the fifteenth century there was little painting in Spain, and then, owing to the political connection of Spain with the Netherlands, the influence was markedly Flemish. It will be remembered that Jan van Eyck visited Spain in 1428, and the brilliant reception he received there induced other Flemish artists to visit the peninsula. Later, when Naples and the Sicily's came under the dominion of the Spanish crown, Italian art set the fashion to Spanish painters and particularly, as we might expect, the art of Naples. The Neapolitan School owed its origin to Michael Angelo Amerigi, called Caravaggio (1569-1609) from his birthplace near Milan. Undaunted by the great achievements of the Italian painters who immediately preceded him, Caravaggio sought to form an independent style of his own based on a bold imitation of Nature. While he was working in Venice and Rome, this astute student of Nature saw his contemporaries falling into decadence because they were artists imitating art. The seventeenth century painters of Rome, Florence, and Venice degenerated into mere copyists of Titian, Tintoretto, Raphael, and Michael Angelo. Caravaggio saw their error, and perceiving that art based on art leads to decadence, he gave his whole attention to Nature and so became a pioneer of realism. By choice he elected to paint scenes taken from the ordinary life of his day, and ‘The Card Cheaters’ is an admirable example of the novelty both of his subject and of his treatment. The novelty in his treatment chiefly consisted of the use Caravaggio made of light and shade (technically known as chiaroscuro) to enforce the dramatic intensity of his pictures. He exaggerated his shadows, which were far too black to be scrupulously faithful to Nature, but by the emphasis he thus gave to his lights he produced original and arresting effects which undoubtedly had a powerful influence on the two greatest painters of the next generation. How widespread was his authority is proved by the extent to which he prepared the way for both Velazquez and Rembrandt.
After working in Milan, Venice, and Rome, Caravaggio settled in Naples, where among those influenced by his realism was the Spanish painter Josef Ribera (1588-1650). ‘The Dead Christ’ in the National Gallery, London, is an example of Ribera’s stern naturalism.
Through Ribera the influence of Caravaggio penetrated to Spain, but already that country had had its art sense profoundly stirred by a foreign artist who not merely visited Spain, as other artists had done, but made it his home. This was Dominico Theotocopuli, who from having been born at Candia, Crete, was universally called El Greco, that is to say ‘The Greek’. El Greco (1545-1614), as we shall call him, went to Venice as a young man of twenty five and worked there for a time under Titian. About 1575 he migrated to Spain and settled at Toledo, where he became affected by the great religious fervor which was then agitating the peninsula.
Sunshine And Shadow In Spain (continued)
Louis XVI’s Ceremonial Sword
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
Perhaps the most detailed reference to the existence and use of large V-Cut Roses is in the description of the ceremonial sword which Louis XVI of France commissioned in 1784. The sword itself disappeared in 1792, when the Crown Jewels were stolen, and illustration of it, other than of the original design, have survived. However, a great deal of information can be gleaned from the French Crown inventories and other official records.
The six largest V-Cut Roses weighed an average of 10 ct each. The gems came into the possession of the Treasury in the mid-seventeenth century, and in 1691 were described as ‘spread’ and ‘overspread’ (a facettes d’étendue and de toute étendue). They were not considered worth recutting when the rest of the obsolete cuts in the Treasury were sent to Antwerp to be refashioned. There was also an enormous number of small Roses. Two thousand of these were specially ordered.
The V-Cut Roses were removed by thieves, but were eventually recovered and returned to the Treasury. They were used again during the reign of Napoleon I in a pair of opulent jewels but, sadly, no illustrations were ever made of them and they disappeared completely when the remaining French Crown Jewels were sold in 1887.
Perhaps the most detailed reference to the existence and use of large V-Cut Roses is in the description of the ceremonial sword which Louis XVI of France commissioned in 1784. The sword itself disappeared in 1792, when the Crown Jewels were stolen, and illustration of it, other than of the original design, have survived. However, a great deal of information can be gleaned from the French Crown inventories and other official records.
The six largest V-Cut Roses weighed an average of 10 ct each. The gems came into the possession of the Treasury in the mid-seventeenth century, and in 1691 were described as ‘spread’ and ‘overspread’ (a facettes d’étendue and de toute étendue). They were not considered worth recutting when the rest of the obsolete cuts in the Treasury were sent to Antwerp to be refashioned. There was also an enormous number of small Roses. Two thousand of these were specially ordered.
The V-Cut Roses were removed by thieves, but were eventually recovered and returned to the Treasury. They were used again during the reign of Napoleon I in a pair of opulent jewels but, sadly, no illustrations were ever made of them and they disappeared completely when the remaining French Crown Jewels were sold in 1887.
Zaveri Bazaar
Anil Patil writes about Zaveri Bazaar or the Gold Market in Mumbai, India, the best place to deal in gold + other viewpoints @ http://www.commodityonline.com/news/specials/newsdetails.php?id=4304
I love this place + it's chaotic + I think it's the place to learn the ropes of the trade.
I love this place + it's chaotic + I think it's the place to learn the ropes of the trade.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Lady Eve
The Lady Eve (1941)
Directed by: Preston Sturges
Screenplay: Monckton Hoffe (story); Preston Sturges
Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Henry Fonda
(via YouTube): The Lady Eve (1941) Full Film - Part 1/9
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFV3TMRu8fw
I think the movie is great with the right tone + energy + performances. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Preston Sturges
Screenplay: Monckton Hoffe (story); Preston Sturges
Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Henry Fonda
(via YouTube): The Lady Eve (1941) Full Film - Part 1/9
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFV3TMRu8fw
I think the movie is great with the right tone + energy + performances. I enjoyed it.
The V-Cut Diamond Rose
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The V-Cut can be thought of as a cheap edition of the standard Rose Cut. Unlike Roses, which are considerably higher, V-Cuts were never considered worth refashioning except into Portrait Cuts and Half Brilliants (the true history of which has not yet been completed). They only existed in order to turn very thin cleavages into showy, faceted diamonds displaying a certain amount of glitter. In their simplest forms they had fourteen facets. By splitting some of these, they could be given as many as twenty facets. They are easily recognizable in drawings, having large interlaced and inverted Vs instead of the triangles found in crowned Rose Cuts.
The V-Cut can be thought of as a cheap edition of the standard Rose Cut. Unlike Roses, which are considerably higher, V-Cuts were never considered worth refashioning except into Portrait Cuts and Half Brilliants (the true history of which has not yet been completed). They only existed in order to turn very thin cleavages into showy, faceted diamonds displaying a certain amount of glitter. In their simplest forms they had fourteen facets. By splitting some of these, they could be given as many as twenty facets. They are easily recognizable in drawings, having large interlaced and inverted Vs instead of the triangles found in crowned Rose Cuts.
After The Boom Comes The Gloom
Economists writes about the astonishing sales of art in 2007 by the auction houses + the dealers concern towards the credit crunch on the financial arrangements made by auction houses to ease a big sale + the impact in 2008 + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10345385
What Makes A Great Painting Great?
Katie Clifford writes about the evaluation process of a modern masterpiece by experts + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=780
The Pride Of Flanders
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
Of all the many followers of Rubens, the two most famous were Van Dyck and Jacob Jordaens (1593-1678), another exuberant Fleming, who though greatly influenced by Rubens was never actually his pupil. The ‘Riches of Autumn’ in the Wallace Collection is a fine example of the bacchanalian opulence of Jordaens. The fruit, vegetables, and most of the foliage in this picture are painted by Frans Snyders (1579-1657), a noted painter of ‘still-life’ who frequently collaborated with Rubens and other painters. The skill of Jordaens as a portrait-painter may be seen in his ‘Baron Waha de Linter of Namur’ in the National Gallery, but though a capable and skillful painter of whatever was before him, Jordaens had no imagination and added little of his own to the art of Rubens.
Antony Van Dyck, who was born at Antwerp in 1599, was supposed to have entered the studio of Rubens as a boy of thirteen, but recent research has shown he was originally a pupil of Hendrick van Balen and did not enter the studio of Rubens till about 1618. He was the favorite as well as the most famous of his master’s pupils, and yet temperamentally he was miles apart from Rubens. Where Rubens made all his sitters robust and lusty, Van Dyck made his refined and spiritual. From Rubens he learnt how to use his tools, but as soon as he had mastered them he obtained widely different results. The English Ambassador at The Hague persuaded Van Dyck to visit England in 1620 when he was only just of age, but at that time he made only a short stay, and after his return to Antwerp Rubens urged him to visit Italy. It was good advice. The dreamy, poetic-looking youth, whose charming painting of himself at this time we may see in the National Portrait Gallery, London, was spiritually nearer akin to the Italian than to the Flemish painters. What he learnt from them, especially from Titian, may be seen in ‘The Artist as a Shepherd’ in the Wallace Collection, painted about 1625-6, and from the still more splendid portraits in the National Gallery of the Marchese and Marchesa Cattaneo, both painted during the artist’s second stay in Genoa.
Strengthened and polished by his knowledge of Italian art, Van Dyck returned to Antwerp, there to paint among many other fine things two of his outstanding achievements in portraiture, the paintings of Philippe Le Roy and his wife which now hang in the Wallace Collection. These portraits of the Governor of the Netherlands and his wife were painted in 1630 and 1631, when the artist was little over thirty years of age, and in the following year the young painter was invited by Charles I to visit England, where he became Sir Antony Van Dyck, Principal Painter in Ordinary to His Majesty.
His great equestrian portrait ‘Charles I on Horseback,’ passed through several hands before it found a permanent home in the National Gallery. When King Charles’s art collection was sold by the Puritans in 1649, this picture passed into the collection of the Elector of Bavaria. Afterwards it was purchased at Munich by the great Duke of Marlborough, from whose descendant it was bought in 1885 for the National Gallery, the price given for this and Raphael’s ‘Ansidei Madonna’ being £87500.
After he had established himself in England Van Dyck slightly altered his manner, creating a style of portraiture which was slavishly followed by his successors, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller.
To speak of the elegance of Van Dyck’s portraits is to repeat a commonplace, but what the causal observer is apt to overlook is that this elegance penetrates below externals to the mind and spirit of the sitter. Of his powers in both directions an exquisite example is the portrait group of ‘Lords John and Bernard Stuart’, one of the most beautiful pictures he ever painted in England, and a work which proves Van Dyck to have been not only a supremely fluent master of the brush, but also a profound and penetrating psychologist.
Had he lived longer no one can say what other masterpieces he might have achieved: but unfortunately, with all his other great qualities as a painter, Van Dyck lacked the health and strength of his master Rubens. How good-looking he was in his youth, we can see by the charming portrait of himself which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, but this refined, almost girlish face suggests delicacy and weakness. Weak in a way, he was; though not spoiled by success, he could not stand the social whirl and dissipation on which a Rubens could thrive. Very superstitious, he was a victim to quacks and spent much time and money in endeavoring to discover the philosopher’s stone. It is said that his failure to find this precious fable of the alchemists preyed on his mind and contributed to his collapse in 1641, when, though no more than forty two, his frail body was worn out with gout and excesses. On the death of Rubens in 1640 Van Dyck went over to Antwerp. It was his last journey, and soon after his return to London he joined his great compatriot among the ranks of the illustrious dead.
Van Dyck established a style in portraiture which succeeding generations of painters have endeavored to imitate; but none has surpassed, few have approached him, and when we look among his predecessors we have to go back to Botticelli before we find another poet-painter who with equal, though different, exquisiteness mirrored not merely the bodies but the very souls of humanity.
After Van Dyck’s death, numerous imitators, both British and Flemish, endeavored to copy his style of portraiture, but the next great impetus art was to receive after Rubens came, not from England nor from Flanders, but from Spain. It is to the contrary of Velazquez and Murillo, therefore, that we must next turn our attention.
2
Of all the many followers of Rubens, the two most famous were Van Dyck and Jacob Jordaens (1593-1678), another exuberant Fleming, who though greatly influenced by Rubens was never actually his pupil. The ‘Riches of Autumn’ in the Wallace Collection is a fine example of the bacchanalian opulence of Jordaens. The fruit, vegetables, and most of the foliage in this picture are painted by Frans Snyders (1579-1657), a noted painter of ‘still-life’ who frequently collaborated with Rubens and other painters. The skill of Jordaens as a portrait-painter may be seen in his ‘Baron Waha de Linter of Namur’ in the National Gallery, but though a capable and skillful painter of whatever was before him, Jordaens had no imagination and added little of his own to the art of Rubens.
Antony Van Dyck, who was born at Antwerp in 1599, was supposed to have entered the studio of Rubens as a boy of thirteen, but recent research has shown he was originally a pupil of Hendrick van Balen and did not enter the studio of Rubens till about 1618. He was the favorite as well as the most famous of his master’s pupils, and yet temperamentally he was miles apart from Rubens. Where Rubens made all his sitters robust and lusty, Van Dyck made his refined and spiritual. From Rubens he learnt how to use his tools, but as soon as he had mastered them he obtained widely different results. The English Ambassador at The Hague persuaded Van Dyck to visit England in 1620 when he was only just of age, but at that time he made only a short stay, and after his return to Antwerp Rubens urged him to visit Italy. It was good advice. The dreamy, poetic-looking youth, whose charming painting of himself at this time we may see in the National Portrait Gallery, London, was spiritually nearer akin to the Italian than to the Flemish painters. What he learnt from them, especially from Titian, may be seen in ‘The Artist as a Shepherd’ in the Wallace Collection, painted about 1625-6, and from the still more splendid portraits in the National Gallery of the Marchese and Marchesa Cattaneo, both painted during the artist’s second stay in Genoa.
Strengthened and polished by his knowledge of Italian art, Van Dyck returned to Antwerp, there to paint among many other fine things two of his outstanding achievements in portraiture, the paintings of Philippe Le Roy and his wife which now hang in the Wallace Collection. These portraits of the Governor of the Netherlands and his wife were painted in 1630 and 1631, when the artist was little over thirty years of age, and in the following year the young painter was invited by Charles I to visit England, where he became Sir Antony Van Dyck, Principal Painter in Ordinary to His Majesty.
His great equestrian portrait ‘Charles I on Horseback,’ passed through several hands before it found a permanent home in the National Gallery. When King Charles’s art collection was sold by the Puritans in 1649, this picture passed into the collection of the Elector of Bavaria. Afterwards it was purchased at Munich by the great Duke of Marlborough, from whose descendant it was bought in 1885 for the National Gallery, the price given for this and Raphael’s ‘Ansidei Madonna’ being £87500.
After he had established himself in England Van Dyck slightly altered his manner, creating a style of portraiture which was slavishly followed by his successors, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller.
To speak of the elegance of Van Dyck’s portraits is to repeat a commonplace, but what the causal observer is apt to overlook is that this elegance penetrates below externals to the mind and spirit of the sitter. Of his powers in both directions an exquisite example is the portrait group of ‘Lords John and Bernard Stuart’, one of the most beautiful pictures he ever painted in England, and a work which proves Van Dyck to have been not only a supremely fluent master of the brush, but also a profound and penetrating psychologist.
Had he lived longer no one can say what other masterpieces he might have achieved: but unfortunately, with all his other great qualities as a painter, Van Dyck lacked the health and strength of his master Rubens. How good-looking he was in his youth, we can see by the charming portrait of himself which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, but this refined, almost girlish face suggests delicacy and weakness. Weak in a way, he was; though not spoiled by success, he could not stand the social whirl and dissipation on which a Rubens could thrive. Very superstitious, he was a victim to quacks and spent much time and money in endeavoring to discover the philosopher’s stone. It is said that his failure to find this precious fable of the alchemists preyed on his mind and contributed to his collapse in 1641, when, though no more than forty two, his frail body was worn out with gout and excesses. On the death of Rubens in 1640 Van Dyck went over to Antwerp. It was his last journey, and soon after his return to London he joined his great compatriot among the ranks of the illustrious dead.
Van Dyck established a style in portraiture which succeeding generations of painters have endeavored to imitate; but none has surpassed, few have approached him, and when we look among his predecessors we have to go back to Botticelli before we find another poet-painter who with equal, though different, exquisiteness mirrored not merely the bodies but the very souls of humanity.
After Van Dyck’s death, numerous imitators, both British and Flemish, endeavored to copy his style of portraiture, but the next great impetus art was to receive after Rubens came, not from England nor from Flanders, but from Spain. It is to the contrary of Velazquez and Murillo, therefore, that we must next turn our attention.
I Pass From Paris To London: ‘Malacoot’
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 gem industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had had more than the usual share of reverses as a broker in Paris, for which I had had only myself to blame. However, I thought that my ‘luck’ would change if I changed my surroundings. Where should I go? America? Australia? England? I had learned English; it seemed about time that I should practise it in an English-speaking country. It was no toss of the coin that decided me to go to London. The fare there was less than to Perth in Western Australia, or New York. I packed my few belongings without regret. ‘England is the place for me,’ I said.
Jet is the stone associated with that Channel crossing. I do not remember if it was rough or smooth, only that no less than five of the lady passengers wore complete sets of jet ornaments. They were all Englishwomen. Although this fashion may at that time have prevailed in France also, I never noticed it until I came to England.
Anxious to improve my accent, I got into conversation with the husband of one of the jet-wearers. Discreetly questioned, he was rather pleased to enlighten me with the information that this kind of stone came from Whitby in Yorkshire and that it was greatly prized in England for mourning jewelry.
He insisted that jet was a gemstone. ‘The decrees of fashion,’ I remember declaiming at him, ‘may raise a green cheese to the status of a planet, but the textbooks still lay it down that this black substance is a fossil wood, a king of immature coal, and not very hard at that—‘
‘Please do not let my wife hear you say that,’ he said in a frigid tone, ‘for she is excessively proud of her jet ornaments.’ Thereupon he left me abruptly and I saw him no more.
As I gazed intently at the rapidly approaching white cliffs of Dover, a voice spoke in inner ear. It said” ‘There are many ways of putting people against you. But the most sure way of all is to insist on telling them the unpalatable truth.’
After a day or two I found myself in a typical Bloomsbury boarding-house, dining in the company of four Indian law students, a City solicitor, an unfrocked Catholic priest, a newly arrived Capetown stockbroker and his wife, and the divorcée of a brilliant barrister who within the year took silk. The table was presided over by Mrs Francis, the landlady, a tall passée blonde with, as I discovered later, a kind heart. At first I had some difficulty in following the animated conversation, for I was still rather rocky in my knowledge of English, to say the least of it. But presently I realized that the conversation was turning on a green stone in the ring of the South African lady which she described as a ‘malacoot’.
A ‘malacoot’? I had never heard of such a stone. My professional curiosity was aroused. I begged for a sight of the stone. With the greatest of pride and affability she had it passed down to me. In indifferent English, but with the greatest complacency in the world I pronounced it (in a double sense) to be a ‘malachite’, a mineral found in great abundance in the Ural Mountains, which is sometimes used for ornamental tables, mural inlays and decorations.
The South African lady was not greatly impressed. Her stone, she said, was a ‘malacoot’, guaranteed to be nothing else by the reputable Capetown jeweler who had sold it to her. What did I know about South African gems?
At this point tact belatedly overtook me and I allowed her to make her point. But later on, when the ladies and most of the men had adjourned to the drawing-room (this was still the custom even in Bloomsbury boarding-houses), those who had remained, suspecting that I knew what I was talking about, drew me out on the subject of ‘malachite’.
I was only too eager to shine. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Malachite is a very common substance. I don’t think it occurs in South Africa at all. It is a gemstone only by courtesy. Mineralogically speaking it is just a copper carbonate. I have handled large plaques of it and beads by the bushel, I assure you, gentlemen.’
For further information of those who want to be able to distinguish malachite from any other green stone, I may here state that it is a bright green, grained with black, and is a stone which takes on a good polish.
Among the number of less well-known semi-precious stones which at one period kept the family pot boiling was the peridot.
I must confess here that although I had long known the stone by name and had seen it included in lists of potential gem material, I was not at all acquainted with its appearance until some time in 1903 when a German lapidary paid me a visit. I had been recommended to him as one likely to prove of considerable assistance to him, but to my disappointment he revealed that his entire stock-in-trade consisted of peridots, several pounds weight of them, of every size and shape.
‘And what do you expect to do with a stock of that kind in London?’ I asked.
‘Sell it for good English money,’ he replied with an assurance that was rather disconcerting, for I had no doubt whatsoever that a German lapidary on his first visit to London had nothing to teach me about the class of gems saleable in that city.
‘I am sorry to disillusion you,’ I said, ‘but candidly we shall only be wasting our time.’
‘Before the day is out you will think differently,’ he replied. ‘Will you be my broker for the day?’
As my new acquaintance was a good-natured twenty-one stone Teuton with a single-track mind, I did not wish him to feel that he must return to Germany without having had at least a chance of showing his goods to the trade. He would discover for himself fast enough that London was not peridot-minded.
Yet, before the week was out, my German friend had to send an urgent message home for fresh supplies. So much for my cocksureness. We managed to cash in on a short-lived fashion, however. The wave of popularity that had raised the olive-green transparent lustrous stone, despite its softness, into general favor soon subsided. This is usually the way with the lesser semi-precious stones; unlike the aristocrats, which always have a world-market, the small fry among gems depend very greatly upon the vagaries of fashion.
There are several localities where peridots are mined. Burma is one of these, and New Mexico and Queensland are others, but in the opinion of those best-informed the Egyptian peridot excels all others. In these latter days the stone is little seen in jeweler’s shops, but no doubt sooner or later they will be on view again.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had had more than the usual share of reverses as a broker in Paris, for which I had had only myself to blame. However, I thought that my ‘luck’ would change if I changed my surroundings. Where should I go? America? Australia? England? I had learned English; it seemed about time that I should practise it in an English-speaking country. It was no toss of the coin that decided me to go to London. The fare there was less than to Perth in Western Australia, or New York. I packed my few belongings without regret. ‘England is the place for me,’ I said.
Jet is the stone associated with that Channel crossing. I do not remember if it was rough or smooth, only that no less than five of the lady passengers wore complete sets of jet ornaments. They were all Englishwomen. Although this fashion may at that time have prevailed in France also, I never noticed it until I came to England.
Anxious to improve my accent, I got into conversation with the husband of one of the jet-wearers. Discreetly questioned, he was rather pleased to enlighten me with the information that this kind of stone came from Whitby in Yorkshire and that it was greatly prized in England for mourning jewelry.
He insisted that jet was a gemstone. ‘The decrees of fashion,’ I remember declaiming at him, ‘may raise a green cheese to the status of a planet, but the textbooks still lay it down that this black substance is a fossil wood, a king of immature coal, and not very hard at that—‘
‘Please do not let my wife hear you say that,’ he said in a frigid tone, ‘for she is excessively proud of her jet ornaments.’ Thereupon he left me abruptly and I saw him no more.
As I gazed intently at the rapidly approaching white cliffs of Dover, a voice spoke in inner ear. It said” ‘There are many ways of putting people against you. But the most sure way of all is to insist on telling them the unpalatable truth.’
After a day or two I found myself in a typical Bloomsbury boarding-house, dining in the company of four Indian law students, a City solicitor, an unfrocked Catholic priest, a newly arrived Capetown stockbroker and his wife, and the divorcée of a brilliant barrister who within the year took silk. The table was presided over by Mrs Francis, the landlady, a tall passée blonde with, as I discovered later, a kind heart. At first I had some difficulty in following the animated conversation, for I was still rather rocky in my knowledge of English, to say the least of it. But presently I realized that the conversation was turning on a green stone in the ring of the South African lady which she described as a ‘malacoot’.
A ‘malacoot’? I had never heard of such a stone. My professional curiosity was aroused. I begged for a sight of the stone. With the greatest of pride and affability she had it passed down to me. In indifferent English, but with the greatest complacency in the world I pronounced it (in a double sense) to be a ‘malachite’, a mineral found in great abundance in the Ural Mountains, which is sometimes used for ornamental tables, mural inlays and decorations.
The South African lady was not greatly impressed. Her stone, she said, was a ‘malacoot’, guaranteed to be nothing else by the reputable Capetown jeweler who had sold it to her. What did I know about South African gems?
At this point tact belatedly overtook me and I allowed her to make her point. But later on, when the ladies and most of the men had adjourned to the drawing-room (this was still the custom even in Bloomsbury boarding-houses), those who had remained, suspecting that I knew what I was talking about, drew me out on the subject of ‘malachite’.
I was only too eager to shine. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Malachite is a very common substance. I don’t think it occurs in South Africa at all. It is a gemstone only by courtesy. Mineralogically speaking it is just a copper carbonate. I have handled large plaques of it and beads by the bushel, I assure you, gentlemen.’
For further information of those who want to be able to distinguish malachite from any other green stone, I may here state that it is a bright green, grained with black, and is a stone which takes on a good polish.
Among the number of less well-known semi-precious stones which at one period kept the family pot boiling was the peridot.
I must confess here that although I had long known the stone by name and had seen it included in lists of potential gem material, I was not at all acquainted with its appearance until some time in 1903 when a German lapidary paid me a visit. I had been recommended to him as one likely to prove of considerable assistance to him, but to my disappointment he revealed that his entire stock-in-trade consisted of peridots, several pounds weight of them, of every size and shape.
‘And what do you expect to do with a stock of that kind in London?’ I asked.
‘Sell it for good English money,’ he replied with an assurance that was rather disconcerting, for I had no doubt whatsoever that a German lapidary on his first visit to London had nothing to teach me about the class of gems saleable in that city.
‘I am sorry to disillusion you,’ I said, ‘but candidly we shall only be wasting our time.’
‘Before the day is out you will think differently,’ he replied. ‘Will you be my broker for the day?’
As my new acquaintance was a good-natured twenty-one stone Teuton with a single-track mind, I did not wish him to feel that he must return to Germany without having had at least a chance of showing his goods to the trade. He would discover for himself fast enough that London was not peridot-minded.
Yet, before the week was out, my German friend had to send an urgent message home for fresh supplies. So much for my cocksureness. We managed to cash in on a short-lived fashion, however. The wave of popularity that had raised the olive-green transparent lustrous stone, despite its softness, into general favor soon subsided. This is usually the way with the lesser semi-precious stones; unlike the aristocrats, which always have a world-market, the small fry among gems depend very greatly upon the vagaries of fashion.
There are several localities where peridots are mined. Burma is one of these, and New Mexico and Queensland are others, but in the opinion of those best-informed the Egyptian peridot excels all others. In these latter days the stone is little seen in jeweler’s shops, but no doubt sooner or later they will be on view again.
Hallmarking Act Implementation In India
According to the Gems and Jewellery Federation (GJF) in India, the government intends to make gold hallmarking compulsory from January 2008. The proposed amended Act requires every jewelry outlet to obtain a licence to sell hallmarked jewelry. The federation is concerned by the move because they believe the infrastructure for the practical implementation of the Act is inadequate in the country.
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