I enjoy classical music because of its broad variety of forms + styles + genres + cultural durability. Here is a list:
- Simone Dinnerstein, Bach: The Goldberg Variations
www.simonedinnerstein.com
- Russian National Orchestra, Beethoven: The Nine Symphonies
www.russianarts.org
- Corigliano: Music for String Quartet
www.coriglianoquartet.com
- Lisa Batiashvili, Sibelius and Lindberg Violin Concertos
www.lisabatiashvili.com
www.sibelius.fi
www.yle.fi
- Henry Brant/Charles Ives: A Concord Symphony
www.jaffe.com
www.charlesives.org
- Mozart: Mitridate, Re di Ponto
www.mozartproject.org
P.J.Joseph's Weblog On Colored Stones, Diamonds, Gem Identification, Synthetics, Treatments, Imitations, Pearls, Organic Gems, Gem And Jewelry Enterprises, Gem Markets, Watches, Gem History, Books, Comics, Cryptocurrency, Designs, Films, Flowers, Wine, Tea, Coffee, Chocolate, Graphic Novels, New Business Models, Technology, Artificial Intelligence, Robotics, Energy, Education, Environment, Music, Art, Commodities, Travel, Photography, Antiques, Random Thoughts, and Things He Like.
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Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Billions Of Entrepreneurs
In a great book Billions of Entrepreneurs: How China and India Are Reshaping Their Futures and Yours by Tarun Khanna there are some insights on the two great economies + he compares China and India on a broad range of factors in entrepreneurship, including access to capital, freedom and reliability of information, governmental involvement, and infrastructure + the landscape of big, medium, and small entrepreneurship, including rural health-care initiatives and even Bollywood. I highly recommend it.
Here is what the description of Billions Of Entrepreneurs: How China and India are Reshaping Their Futures--and Yours says (via Harvard Business School Press):
China and India are home to one-third of the world's population. And they're undergoing social and economic revolutions that are capturing the best minds--and money--of Western business. In "Billions of Entrepreneurs," Tarun Khanna examines the entrepreneurial forces driving China's and India's trajectories of development. He shows where these trajectories overlap and complement one another--and where they diverge and compete. He also reveals how Western companies can participate in this development. Through intriguing comparisons, the author probes important differences between China and India in areas such as information and transparency, the roles of capital markets and talent, public and private property rights, social constraints on market forces, attitudes toward expatriates abroad and foreigners at home, entrepreneurial and corporate opportunities, and the importance of urban and rural communities. He explains how these differences will influence China's and India's future development, what the two countries can learn from each other, and how they will ultimately reshape business, politics, and society in the world around them. Engaging and incisive, this book is a critical resource for anyone working in China or India or planning to do business in these two countries.
Here is what the description of Billions Of Entrepreneurs: How China and India are Reshaping Their Futures--and Yours says (via Harvard Business School Press):
China and India are home to one-third of the world's population. And they're undergoing social and economic revolutions that are capturing the best minds--and money--of Western business. In "Billions of Entrepreneurs," Tarun Khanna examines the entrepreneurial forces driving China's and India's trajectories of development. He shows where these trajectories overlap and complement one another--and where they diverge and compete. He also reveals how Western companies can participate in this development. Through intriguing comparisons, the author probes important differences between China and India in areas such as information and transparency, the roles of capital markets and talent, public and private property rights, social constraints on market forces, attitudes toward expatriates abroad and foreigners at home, entrepreneurial and corporate opportunities, and the importance of urban and rural communities. He explains how these differences will influence China's and India's future development, what the two countries can learn from each other, and how they will ultimately reshape business, politics, and society in the world around them. Engaging and incisive, this book is a critical resource for anyone working in China or India or planning to do business in these two countries.
Art Update: India
Here is a list of art houses in India that's worth surfing for modern/contemporary art:
- Osian’s
www.osians.com
- Bid & Hammer
www.bidandhammer.com
-Apparao
www.apparaoart.com
- Emami Chisel Art
www.emamichisel.com
- Osian’s
www.osians.com
- Bid & Hammer
www.bidandhammer.com
-Apparao
www.apparaoart.com
- Emami Chisel Art
www.emamichisel.com
Diamond Market Update
Industry analysts believe 2008 will be a tough year for the trade + jewelry sector due to war in Iraq, Afghanistan, elsewhere + the credit crunch caused by a major downturn in the housing market + Diamond Trading Company’s (DTC) just revised sightholder list + the high gas/metal prices + high labor costs + demographics shift + I think the ones that are going to survive are the ones with good brands/customer base + cash flow.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
In 1530, a large Table Cut diamond set in a pendant, with drop-shaped pearl hanging below it, was included in the French Crown inventory. The jewel is thought originally to have been among the personal possessions of Queen Claude of France, wife of Francis I and mother of Henry II. In 1531 it was renamed Table de Gêne on the occasion of the marriage of Catherine de Medici to the future Henry II. In 1560 it was listed again, this time as part of a headband belonging to Mary Stuart, wife of their son Francis II. Besides the Table de Gêne, the headband contained six other diamonds, all of approximately the same size, among them the Pointe de Bretagne and the Pointe de Milan, and a thin Table Cut diamond with a lozenge-shaped table facet—a French Cut in modern terminology.
The Table de Gêne was originally described as a High Table Cut (une grande table de dyament haultz de bizeaux). In 1570 the phrase ‘longuet et escornée ďun coing’ was added, indicating that it had a slightly elongated rectangular outline and one blunt corner. Finally, in a hatband made for Elizabeth of Austria, wife of Charles IX of France, the further addition ‘à deux fons’ was made, implying that the pavilion was step cut. In 1576 the whole jewel was pawned to Cardinal Farnese and has never been recovered.
In Thomas Cletscher’s sketchbook there is an illustration of the 36 ct Table Cut diamond known as The Great Pindar or simply as ‘The Great Diamond’. The dimensions of the stone are 19 x 17.5 mm which, according to Jeffries’ chart for a diamond of that weight, indicates that it was a stone of perfect proportions with 45° angles both above and below the girdle. The diamond was considered perfect in every other respect: ‘Heeft en botten hoack, is suijver, schoon water’. Cletscher tells us, and this is confirmed by Gans, that his father-in-law Niccolo Ghysberti (Nicolaes Ghijsbertij), representative of the United Provinces in Constantinople, purchased this stone for Paul Pindar (Pawels Pinder).
Sir Paul Pindar (1565?-1650) was a businessman and a diplomat. In a British warrant of indemnity dated 7 July 1623, there is an entry which clearly refers to the Pindar diamond: ‘A great dyamond sett open, without foyle (this indicates that it had perfect proportions and symmetry) to which is added the least of the three pearles pendante, which did hang at the Portugall dyamond.’ A receipt dated 2 May 1626 states: ‘Received by me Sir Paulo Pindar Knight by ways of defalcation out of the rent of the allomworks payable by me and William Curno Esquire the sum of £9440 in part of payment of a greater sum due to me for a great diamond by me sold to His Majesty. I say received by virtue of His Majesty’s Letters Patents under the great seal of England dated the 10th of August 1625.’ There seems to be some doubt as to the full price agreed, or possibly there were two different stones, but in any case there is no record that Sir Paul ever received the balance due. Clearly Charles I had no hesitation in acquiring jewels for which he had neither the means nor the intention of paying!
It can be fairly confidently assumed that this gem eventually became number two of Mazarin’s famous collection of eighteen diamonds, which he bequeathed to the French Crown. A diamond of the size and splendor of Mazarin’s second could hardly have ‘sprung suddenly upon the world without a history.’ It is more than likely that the Great Pindar was one of the three diamonds, said to have weighed 36 ct each, which Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I, pawned in Amsterdam in 1646. It has been documented that the Sancy and the Mirror of Portugal, both from the English Crown Jewels, were acquired by Cardinal Mazarin, and it is evident that a few more stones in the Cardinal’s collection came from England, too. For obvious reasons their origin was never officially disclosed. At any rate, no other diamond corresponding to the description of The Great Pindar has ever been registered since. Mazarin’s second diamond was recut into a Brilliant in 1774 and became one of the large gems in ‘a white Golden Fleece’ belonging to the French Crown. The large Brilliant was almost certainly The Great Pindar. The jewel was stolen in 1848 and none of the stones has ever been recovered.
Opinions differ as to whether the sitter is Margaret de Medici, daughter of Cosimo II, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and Maria Magdalena of Austria, or Claudia de Medici, daughter of Ferdinand I and Christine of Lorraine. Apart from her magnificent string of pearls, this princess is modest enough to wear no other jewelry except a diamond brooch. The brooch is interesting in that all its gems are Table Cut, even the very smallest. Sustermans painted two other very similar portraits of the same sitter in which she wears a profusion of jewels, all with quite small diamonds which also appear to be Table Cuts. All three portraits are in Florence.
In 1530, a large Table Cut diamond set in a pendant, with drop-shaped pearl hanging below it, was included in the French Crown inventory. The jewel is thought originally to have been among the personal possessions of Queen Claude of France, wife of Francis I and mother of Henry II. In 1531 it was renamed Table de Gêne on the occasion of the marriage of Catherine de Medici to the future Henry II. In 1560 it was listed again, this time as part of a headband belonging to Mary Stuart, wife of their son Francis II. Besides the Table de Gêne, the headband contained six other diamonds, all of approximately the same size, among them the Pointe de Bretagne and the Pointe de Milan, and a thin Table Cut diamond with a lozenge-shaped table facet—a French Cut in modern terminology.
The Table de Gêne was originally described as a High Table Cut (une grande table de dyament haultz de bizeaux). In 1570 the phrase ‘longuet et escornée ďun coing’ was added, indicating that it had a slightly elongated rectangular outline and one blunt corner. Finally, in a hatband made for Elizabeth of Austria, wife of Charles IX of France, the further addition ‘à deux fons’ was made, implying that the pavilion was step cut. In 1576 the whole jewel was pawned to Cardinal Farnese and has never been recovered.
In Thomas Cletscher’s sketchbook there is an illustration of the 36 ct Table Cut diamond known as The Great Pindar or simply as ‘The Great Diamond’. The dimensions of the stone are 19 x 17.5 mm which, according to Jeffries’ chart for a diamond of that weight, indicates that it was a stone of perfect proportions with 45° angles both above and below the girdle. The diamond was considered perfect in every other respect: ‘Heeft en botten hoack, is suijver, schoon water’. Cletscher tells us, and this is confirmed by Gans, that his father-in-law Niccolo Ghysberti (Nicolaes Ghijsbertij), representative of the United Provinces in Constantinople, purchased this stone for Paul Pindar (Pawels Pinder).
Sir Paul Pindar (1565?-1650) was a businessman and a diplomat. In a British warrant of indemnity dated 7 July 1623, there is an entry which clearly refers to the Pindar diamond: ‘A great dyamond sett open, without foyle (this indicates that it had perfect proportions and symmetry) to which is added the least of the three pearles pendante, which did hang at the Portugall dyamond.’ A receipt dated 2 May 1626 states: ‘Received by me Sir Paulo Pindar Knight by ways of defalcation out of the rent of the allomworks payable by me and William Curno Esquire the sum of £9440 in part of payment of a greater sum due to me for a great diamond by me sold to His Majesty. I say received by virtue of His Majesty’s Letters Patents under the great seal of England dated the 10th of August 1625.’ There seems to be some doubt as to the full price agreed, or possibly there were two different stones, but in any case there is no record that Sir Paul ever received the balance due. Clearly Charles I had no hesitation in acquiring jewels for which he had neither the means nor the intention of paying!
It can be fairly confidently assumed that this gem eventually became number two of Mazarin’s famous collection of eighteen diamonds, which he bequeathed to the French Crown. A diamond of the size and splendor of Mazarin’s second could hardly have ‘sprung suddenly upon the world without a history.’ It is more than likely that the Great Pindar was one of the three diamonds, said to have weighed 36 ct each, which Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I, pawned in Amsterdam in 1646. It has been documented that the Sancy and the Mirror of Portugal, both from the English Crown Jewels, were acquired by Cardinal Mazarin, and it is evident that a few more stones in the Cardinal’s collection came from England, too. For obvious reasons their origin was never officially disclosed. At any rate, no other diamond corresponding to the description of The Great Pindar has ever been registered since. Mazarin’s second diamond was recut into a Brilliant in 1774 and became one of the large gems in ‘a white Golden Fleece’ belonging to the French Crown. The large Brilliant was almost certainly The Great Pindar. The jewel was stolen in 1848 and none of the stones has ever been recovered.
Opinions differ as to whether the sitter is Margaret de Medici, daughter of Cosimo II, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and Maria Magdalena of Austria, or Claudia de Medici, daughter of Ferdinand I and Christine of Lorraine. Apart from her magnificent string of pearls, this princess is modest enough to wear no other jewelry except a diamond brooch. The brooch is interesting in that all its gems are Table Cut, even the very smallest. Sustermans painted two other very similar portraits of the same sitter in which she wears a profusion of jewels, all with quite small diamonds which also appear to be Table Cuts. All three portraits are in Florence.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
2. Pagan Gems And Christian Symbols
And now came about one of the most curious juxtapositions of gems in all history. Bands of Crusaders were constantly going forth to rescue the Holy Land (or perhaps whatever else they came upon) from the infidel. When they returned they brought back, among other loot, vast numbers of precious stones and engraved gems. Religion was militant with a vengeance and the Church benefited by the spoils of war. Gems by the bushel, after being ‘rescued’, found devotional uses in the churches. Yet we should not view these facts with lofty condemnation. To the people of the Middle Ages, it seemed right, and in no way incongruous, that God should be glorified by such offerings. The vestments of the clergy were heavy with gems, and whether or not the beauty of some devotional object was enhanced (generally it was not) by the addition of gems, it was sure to be stuck as full of them as a plum pudding with fruit, and their placement was about as hit or miss.
The bizarre element in this juxtaposition of pagan gems and Christian symbols was that many of the stones brought home by the Crusaders were cameos or intaglios representing a god of Greek or Roman mythology, which was all Greek to the clergy who were ignorant of such matters. Monks and bishops wore rings whose gems bore the likeness of some mythological god or goddess-Hercules, Hermes, Cupid, or even Venus. With a clear conscience the holy men wore their gems to the glory of God and interpreted the carved figures according to their own ideas.
Any figure with wings, such as Cupid or Victory, was an angel. A veiled female was the Madonna or the Magdalene. Figures with crooks were bishops, and the rest were saints. Just how the infidels happened to carve Christian saints and angels in not explained. The age was not too curious. It accepted the most fantastic inventions of imaginations and swallowed them whole.
In the Metropolitan Museum there are some good examples of the ritual paraphernalia of Christian devotion all pranked out (one cannot say ornamented) with cameos. Each cameo is beautiful by itself but in such loud discord both in idea and in style of work with the thing it embellishes that beauty is not achieved. But never mind beauty for the moment; these things are records of the hearts and minds of a bygone age. Their naive incongruity is more subtly expressive than a page from written history.
Among such treasures at the Metropolitan Museum is a triptych about fifteen inches high. Its central panel bears an oblong picture of the Virgin. This is executed in enamel and has the quaint charm of Medieval design. But the Virgin, intended as the focus of attention, is quite overwhelmed and outdone by large crystals cut en cabochon and ancient cameos representing a host of alien deities, including a delightful little Cupid. Crystals and cameos surround the central picture and are set prodigally in both wings of the triptych.
During the crusades, while the high tide of gems pouring in from overseas deluged the Church, there was plenty of overflow for the laity. The costumes of the rich were gorgeous with gold and magnificent jewels; and much of the jewelry was devotional in character. Small diptychs (two leaves closing like a book) with pictured saints inside were encrusted with engraved gems and worn as pendants. There were portable reliquaries of various and sometimes extraordinary shapes also bejeweled with Greek gems.
Relics of saints, spikes from the Crown of Thorns and fragments of the Cross were eagerly sought by pilgrims who came to the Church of St Croce-in-Gerusalemme in Rome; and when, on an Easter Sunday, the True Cross was solemnly exposed to the people ‘their curious devotion was rewarded,’ says Gibbons, ‘by the gift of small pieces, which they encased in gold or gems and carried away in triumph to their respective countries.’
These hollow gems were often bean-shaped and hinged together, forming a case.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
2. Pagan Gems And Christian Symbols
And now came about one of the most curious juxtapositions of gems in all history. Bands of Crusaders were constantly going forth to rescue the Holy Land (or perhaps whatever else they came upon) from the infidel. When they returned they brought back, among other loot, vast numbers of precious stones and engraved gems. Religion was militant with a vengeance and the Church benefited by the spoils of war. Gems by the bushel, after being ‘rescued’, found devotional uses in the churches. Yet we should not view these facts with lofty condemnation. To the people of the Middle Ages, it seemed right, and in no way incongruous, that God should be glorified by such offerings. The vestments of the clergy were heavy with gems, and whether or not the beauty of some devotional object was enhanced (generally it was not) by the addition of gems, it was sure to be stuck as full of them as a plum pudding with fruit, and their placement was about as hit or miss.
The bizarre element in this juxtaposition of pagan gems and Christian symbols was that many of the stones brought home by the Crusaders were cameos or intaglios representing a god of Greek or Roman mythology, which was all Greek to the clergy who were ignorant of such matters. Monks and bishops wore rings whose gems bore the likeness of some mythological god or goddess-Hercules, Hermes, Cupid, or even Venus. With a clear conscience the holy men wore their gems to the glory of God and interpreted the carved figures according to their own ideas.
Any figure with wings, such as Cupid or Victory, was an angel. A veiled female was the Madonna or the Magdalene. Figures with crooks were bishops, and the rest were saints. Just how the infidels happened to carve Christian saints and angels in not explained. The age was not too curious. It accepted the most fantastic inventions of imaginations and swallowed them whole.
In the Metropolitan Museum there are some good examples of the ritual paraphernalia of Christian devotion all pranked out (one cannot say ornamented) with cameos. Each cameo is beautiful by itself but in such loud discord both in idea and in style of work with the thing it embellishes that beauty is not achieved. But never mind beauty for the moment; these things are records of the hearts and minds of a bygone age. Their naive incongruity is more subtly expressive than a page from written history.
Among such treasures at the Metropolitan Museum is a triptych about fifteen inches high. Its central panel bears an oblong picture of the Virgin. This is executed in enamel and has the quaint charm of Medieval design. But the Virgin, intended as the focus of attention, is quite overwhelmed and outdone by large crystals cut en cabochon and ancient cameos representing a host of alien deities, including a delightful little Cupid. Crystals and cameos surround the central picture and are set prodigally in both wings of the triptych.
During the crusades, while the high tide of gems pouring in from overseas deluged the Church, there was plenty of overflow for the laity. The costumes of the rich were gorgeous with gold and magnificent jewels; and much of the jewelry was devotional in character. Small diptychs (two leaves closing like a book) with pictured saints inside were encrusted with engraved gems and worn as pendants. There were portable reliquaries of various and sometimes extraordinary shapes also bejeweled with Greek gems.
Relics of saints, spikes from the Crown of Thorns and fragments of the Cross were eagerly sought by pilgrims who came to the Church of St Croce-in-Gerusalemme in Rome; and when, on an Easter Sunday, the True Cross was solemnly exposed to the people ‘their curious devotion was rewarded,’ says Gibbons, ‘by the gift of small pieces, which they encased in gold or gems and carried away in triumph to their respective countries.’
These hollow gems were often bean-shaped and hinged together, forming a case.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
The greatest portrait painter that Scotland has ever produced, Sir Henry Raeburn, R.A., belonged to a younger generation than any of the artists whose lives we have so far recounted. Raeburn was born at Stockbridge, a suburb of Edinburgh, on March 4, 1756, and so was thirty three years younger than Reynolds, twenty nine years younger than Gainsborough, and twenty two years younger than Romney. His father, a well-to-do manufacturer, died when young Henry was six, and his elder brother then looked after him, had him educated at Heriot’s School—where he showed his leaning by making caricatures of his masters and school fellows—and apprenticed him at the age of fifteen to an Edinburgh goldsmith. There he also began to paint miniatures, and these gradually attracted attention till Raeburn broadened out into oil portraits and landscapes.
Like Gainsborough, he loved to ramble about the countryside sketching, and in one of his open-air sketches he introduced the figure of a charming young lady whom he had seen crossing the meadow. Some time later this young lady presented herself at Raeburn’s studio to have her portrait painted. She was the widow of a wealthy Frenchman, Count Leslie, but herself a Scottish girl, her maiden name having been Ann Edgar. During their sittings the artist and his model fell deeply in love with each other; there was no one to hinder their union, so they were quickly married, and at the age of twenty two young Raeburn found himself the possessor of a charming wife, a fine house at Edinburgh, and a comfortable income which made ‘potboiling’ unnecessary.
Under these happy circumstances he rapidly came to the front as a portrait painter. About 1785 he visited London and called on Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, himself now almost an Old Master, showed the young artist every possible kindness and gave him much good advice. Reynolds urged him to visit Rome and ‘saturate’ himself in Michael Angelo, generously offering to lend him money for the journey. This, however, Raeburn did not need, but he followed the advice of the veteran, and went to Rome, where he remained for nearly two years and greatly strengthened his art. In 1787 he returned to Edinburgh and soon after, inheriting some property from his brother, he built himself the splendid studio and picture gallery in York Place, which still stands and is known as ‘Raeburn House.’
From this time on till the day of his death in 1823, the career of Raeburn was an unbroken sequence of happiness and success. Acting, it is said, on the advice of Lawrence, he wisely preferred to be the best painter in Edinburgh rather than one of several good painters in London. But though he never resided in England, he exhibited regularly at the Academy from 1792 to the year of his death; he was elected an Associate in 1812 and made a full Academician three years later. He was knighted when George IV visited Edinburgh in 1822 and soon afterwards appointed His Majesty’s Limner for Scotland.
Raeburn was probably wise to remain in Scotland, for it is by no means certain that the rugged truthfulness which was the chief characteristic of his portraiture would have pleased London society. He was the most vigorous of all the eighteenth-century British portrait-painters, and none of them succeeded so well as he did in setting on canvas the splendid figure of a man. Though he has left us many noble and dignified paintings of women, Raeburn is held to have excelled himself in male portraitures, and his masterpiece, ‘Sir John Sinclair’, can hold its own for vitality, solidity, and dignity with any painted man in existence.
Raeburn was one of the most methodical and industrious of all the world’s great portrait-painters. He rose at seven, breakfasted at eight, entered his studio at nine, and worked there till five in the afternoon. It is said that he spent more time looking at his sitters than in painting them, for he would search the countenance before him till he had penetrated to the character of the person, and the beginning with forehead, chin, nose, and mouth, he would paint away rapidly, never making any preliminary drawing, and never using a mahl-stick to support his brush. His method was free and vigorous, and the results he obtained by it preserved the freedom and vigor of his process.
Though money is not everything in art, it is a rough-and-ready index to the estimation in which a painter is held, and therefore it may be mentioned here that the saleroom record for a British portrait was made in 1911 by a Raeburn, which fetched 22300 guineas at Christie’s.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
3
The greatest portrait painter that Scotland has ever produced, Sir Henry Raeburn, R.A., belonged to a younger generation than any of the artists whose lives we have so far recounted. Raeburn was born at Stockbridge, a suburb of Edinburgh, on March 4, 1756, and so was thirty three years younger than Reynolds, twenty nine years younger than Gainsborough, and twenty two years younger than Romney. His father, a well-to-do manufacturer, died when young Henry was six, and his elder brother then looked after him, had him educated at Heriot’s School—where he showed his leaning by making caricatures of his masters and school fellows—and apprenticed him at the age of fifteen to an Edinburgh goldsmith. There he also began to paint miniatures, and these gradually attracted attention till Raeburn broadened out into oil portraits and landscapes.
Like Gainsborough, he loved to ramble about the countryside sketching, and in one of his open-air sketches he introduced the figure of a charming young lady whom he had seen crossing the meadow. Some time later this young lady presented herself at Raeburn’s studio to have her portrait painted. She was the widow of a wealthy Frenchman, Count Leslie, but herself a Scottish girl, her maiden name having been Ann Edgar. During their sittings the artist and his model fell deeply in love with each other; there was no one to hinder their union, so they were quickly married, and at the age of twenty two young Raeburn found himself the possessor of a charming wife, a fine house at Edinburgh, and a comfortable income which made ‘potboiling’ unnecessary.
Under these happy circumstances he rapidly came to the front as a portrait painter. About 1785 he visited London and called on Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, himself now almost an Old Master, showed the young artist every possible kindness and gave him much good advice. Reynolds urged him to visit Rome and ‘saturate’ himself in Michael Angelo, generously offering to lend him money for the journey. This, however, Raeburn did not need, but he followed the advice of the veteran, and went to Rome, where he remained for nearly two years and greatly strengthened his art. In 1787 he returned to Edinburgh and soon after, inheriting some property from his brother, he built himself the splendid studio and picture gallery in York Place, which still stands and is known as ‘Raeburn House.’
From this time on till the day of his death in 1823, the career of Raeburn was an unbroken sequence of happiness and success. Acting, it is said, on the advice of Lawrence, he wisely preferred to be the best painter in Edinburgh rather than one of several good painters in London. But though he never resided in England, he exhibited regularly at the Academy from 1792 to the year of his death; he was elected an Associate in 1812 and made a full Academician three years later. He was knighted when George IV visited Edinburgh in 1822 and soon afterwards appointed His Majesty’s Limner for Scotland.
Raeburn was probably wise to remain in Scotland, for it is by no means certain that the rugged truthfulness which was the chief characteristic of his portraiture would have pleased London society. He was the most vigorous of all the eighteenth-century British portrait-painters, and none of them succeeded so well as he did in setting on canvas the splendid figure of a man. Though he has left us many noble and dignified paintings of women, Raeburn is held to have excelled himself in male portraitures, and his masterpiece, ‘Sir John Sinclair’, can hold its own for vitality, solidity, and dignity with any painted man in existence.
Raeburn was one of the most methodical and industrious of all the world’s great portrait-painters. He rose at seven, breakfasted at eight, entered his studio at nine, and worked there till five in the afternoon. It is said that he spent more time looking at his sitters than in painting them, for he would search the countenance before him till he had penetrated to the character of the person, and the beginning with forehead, chin, nose, and mouth, he would paint away rapidly, never making any preliminary drawing, and never using a mahl-stick to support his brush. His method was free and vigorous, and the results he obtained by it preserved the freedom and vigor of his process.
Though money is not everything in art, it is a rough-and-ready index to the estimation in which a painter is held, and therefore it may be mentioned here that the saleroom record for a British portrait was made in 1911 by a Raeburn, which fetched 22300 guineas at Christie’s.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
Free Music
Radiohead started the trend when they offered their album In Rainbows on the internet last year for whatever price listeners were willing to pay + now a host of new services, with the backing of major labels, are promising to revolutionise how music is distributed by offering millions of tracks for nothing (hard to believe!) + the move into a free service is a sea change for an industry which spent years fighting through the courts with companies offering free internet downloading and sharing of songs.
Free Music @
Qtrax.com
We7.com
Imeem.com
Last.fm
Free Music @
Qtrax.com
We7.com
Imeem.com
Last.fm
Ivanka Trump Collection
Ivanka Trump has a new jewelry line + a magic mix and match of old-Hollywood glamor with new concepts, with more emphasis on diamonds, pearls and black onyx + I think it may appeal to women of all ages who enjoy beautiful jewelry.
Useful link:
www.ivankatrumpcollection.com
Useful link:
www.ivankatrumpcollection.com
Sense Of Smell
Retail jeweler (s) are on the scenting bandwagon because consumers are more likely to linger in a store that smells nice + increased browsing time raises the chances that consumers may make a purchase + I think the scenting evolution may be the tip of the iceberg--a unique tool to create customer loyalty.
A few interesting facts about our sense of smell:
- People recall smells with about 65% accuracy after a year, compared to 50% for visual recall of pictures after about three months.
- A woman's sense of smell is keener than a man's.
- Your sense of smell is least acute in the morning; ability to perceive odors increases as the day wears on.
- The average human being is able to detect about 10000 different odors.
- No two people smell the same odor the same way.
Useful link:
www.senseofsmell.org
A few interesting facts about our sense of smell:
- People recall smells with about 65% accuracy after a year, compared to 50% for visual recall of pictures after about three months.
- A woman's sense of smell is keener than a man's.
- Your sense of smell is least acute in the morning; ability to perceive odors increases as the day wears on.
- The average human being is able to detect about 10000 different odors.
- No two people smell the same odor the same way.
Useful link:
www.senseofsmell.org
Diamonds Class Action
If you purchased a gem diamond or diamond jewelry between January 1, 1994 and March 31, 2006, you may have a claim to receive benefits in a proposed class action settlement. The case is called Sullivan v. DB Investments, Inc., Civil Action Index No.04-2819 (SRC). These lawsuits are about gem diamond pricing, and the proposed settlement is with De Beers, a miner and seller of rough gem diamonds.
To get complete information about the Class Actions and your rights + to see if you qualify to receive a cash payment, you should visit www.diamondsclassaction.com
To get complete information about the Class Actions and your rights + to see if you qualify to receive a cash payment, you should visit www.diamondsclassaction.com
Monday, January 28, 2008
Irma Stern
The Economist writes about Irma Stern, the grande dame of South African painting + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10592115
Useful link:
www.irmastern.co.za
Useful link:
www.irmastern.co.za
Gold Update
Gold prices will continue to rise because three South African gold miners, Gold Fields (GFI) + Harmony (HAR) + AngloGold Ashanti (ANG) have stopped production at all of their local mines due to inadequate power supplies + global gold production fell to a ten-year low + the Chinese traders are busy buying gold for the upcoming New Year, which is in the first week of February.
Useful links:
www.goldfields.co.za
www.ashantigold.com
www.harmony.co.za
Useful links:
www.goldfields.co.za
www.ashantigold.com
www.harmony.co.za
World's Greenest Countries
(via Newsweek) The Yale Center for Environmental Law and Policy released its first official Environmental Performance Index + the list uses a variety of metrics, including carbon and sulfur emissions + water purity and conservation practices, to calculate an overall score for each country.
Useful links:
Yale's EPI Web site
www.epa.gov
Useful links:
Yale's EPI Web site
www.epa.gov
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
A most unusual agraffe, made in 1603 by the Augsburg master goldsmith, hans Georg Beuerl, can be seen today in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. Set with 245 diamonds, this enormous jewel weighs 410 grams (just under a pound) and is 17.5 cm high. My assistant U.-J.Petterson and I were given special permission to examine this ‘War Trophy’, as it is sometimes called. We worked at night, after the museum was closed, fully equipped with polaroid camera, wax and plaster for taking prints and making models, jeweler’s tools, etc. Our first discovery was a horrifying one—several of the diamonds were missing! We stayed in the museum all night in order to prove in the morning that we had not removed them. It is astonishing to think that the absence of these stones had not previously been noticed.
The description given here is based on our study of this magnificent jewel, which represents a trophy of weapons with cuirass and helmet, set all over with diamonds. In addition, six pearls adorn the upper part. The composition is dominated by large Table Cuts of exceptionally fine make, but also contains a whole collection of different contemporary cuts, all beautifully fashioned: Star Cuts, Trihedrally Faceted Lozenges, Kites, Triangles and, last but not least, small Table Cuts which closely resemble similar modern cuts. One of the Baguettes, though only 2mm wide, is a full 12mm long. The largest of the Tables is nearly 16mm square—the same size as the famous diamond in the The Three Brethren, said in its time to be the largest diamond in Christendom. According to Lord Twining, the diamond on the trophy weighs 18ct. As a matter of interest, the diamond in the The Three Brethren, though of the same dimensions, weighed 30ct because it was a Pyramidal Point Cut whereas that in the agraffe is a Table.
The cross, worn by Marie de Medici in a portrait painted between 1612 and 1614 by Frans Pourbus the Younger (Musée du Louvre, Paris), was never documented in an inventory but, according to Bapst, besides being depicted on Marie de Medici’s coronation robe in this portrait, it also appeared in a portrait of Anne of Austria. It is quite possible that the jewel included the five Table Cut diamonds of the Great Cross owned by Francis I. The cross was apparently broken up after Anne’s death, since it is not listed in the Crown inventory of 1691. The diamonds were set in the new style, close to each other in barely visible box settings. The four triangular mirror-cut diamonds at the extremities of the cross emphasize the very regular arrangement of the square gems. The three large drop-shaped pearls appear to be of exceptional quality and add to the magnificence of the jewel.
The beautifully enamelled portable set of gold flatware (from a Renaissance cutlery set, 17.3 cm long—Grϋnes Gewölbe, Dresden) is thought to have been made in Nuremberg in about 1600. In 1724 it was given as a birthday present to King Augustus I of Poland, Elector of Saxony, by the wife of Crown Marshall Mnisczek of Warsaw. Originally there was a toothpick inserted in the handle, with the image of a kneeling princess as its knob. The spoon shown is decorated with High Table Cuts and similarly fashioned rubies.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
A most unusual agraffe, made in 1603 by the Augsburg master goldsmith, hans Georg Beuerl, can be seen today in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. Set with 245 diamonds, this enormous jewel weighs 410 grams (just under a pound) and is 17.5 cm high. My assistant U.-J.Petterson and I were given special permission to examine this ‘War Trophy’, as it is sometimes called. We worked at night, after the museum was closed, fully equipped with polaroid camera, wax and plaster for taking prints and making models, jeweler’s tools, etc. Our first discovery was a horrifying one—several of the diamonds were missing! We stayed in the museum all night in order to prove in the morning that we had not removed them. It is astonishing to think that the absence of these stones had not previously been noticed.
The description given here is based on our study of this magnificent jewel, which represents a trophy of weapons with cuirass and helmet, set all over with diamonds. In addition, six pearls adorn the upper part. The composition is dominated by large Table Cuts of exceptionally fine make, but also contains a whole collection of different contemporary cuts, all beautifully fashioned: Star Cuts, Trihedrally Faceted Lozenges, Kites, Triangles and, last but not least, small Table Cuts which closely resemble similar modern cuts. One of the Baguettes, though only 2mm wide, is a full 12mm long. The largest of the Tables is nearly 16mm square—the same size as the famous diamond in the The Three Brethren, said in its time to be the largest diamond in Christendom. According to Lord Twining, the diamond on the trophy weighs 18ct. As a matter of interest, the diamond in the The Three Brethren, though of the same dimensions, weighed 30ct because it was a Pyramidal Point Cut whereas that in the agraffe is a Table.
The cross, worn by Marie de Medici in a portrait painted between 1612 and 1614 by Frans Pourbus the Younger (Musée du Louvre, Paris), was never documented in an inventory but, according to Bapst, besides being depicted on Marie de Medici’s coronation robe in this portrait, it also appeared in a portrait of Anne of Austria. It is quite possible that the jewel included the five Table Cut diamonds of the Great Cross owned by Francis I. The cross was apparently broken up after Anne’s death, since it is not listed in the Crown inventory of 1691. The diamonds were set in the new style, close to each other in barely visible box settings. The four triangular mirror-cut diamonds at the extremities of the cross emphasize the very regular arrangement of the square gems. The three large drop-shaped pearls appear to be of exceptional quality and add to the magnificence of the jewel.
The beautifully enamelled portable set of gold flatware (from a Renaissance cutlery set, 17.3 cm long—Grϋnes Gewölbe, Dresden) is thought to have been made in Nuremberg in about 1600. In 1724 it was given as a birthday present to King Augustus I of Poland, Elector of Saxony, by the wife of Crown Marshall Mnisczek of Warsaw. Originally there was a toothpick inserted in the handle, with the image of a kneeling princess as its knob. The spoon shown is decorated with High Table Cuts and similarly fashioned rubies.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. The Goldsmith-Monk
The introduction of Christianity gave a fresh impetus and spread new fields for arts. There were churches to be built and decorated. A demand arose for architects, sculptors, painters, embroiderers, glassmen, woodcarvers, goldsmiths and a host of other skilled artists and craftsmen to create a building worthy to be called the House of God. It seems fitting that the men with the widest knowledge of the work required should be the artist-monks. Many of them were traveling missionaries.
In the eleventh century there lived one of these monks known as Theophilus, who not only traveled far and wide, but thoughtfully jotted down in his notebook whatever he found of interest concerning the arts of different countries. His manuscripts, preserved in numerous ancient copies, have become invaluable as a faithful record of the methods of work employed by craftsmen who lived nine hundred years ago.
Theophilus, in his preface, charges the reader to ‘covet with greedy looks this (his) Book of Various Arts, read it thoroughly with a tenacious memory, embrace it with ardent love,’ and:
Should you carefully peruse this, you will find out whatever Greece possesses in kinds and mixtures of various colors, whatever Tuscany knows on in mosaic work, or in variety of enamel; whatever Arabia shows forth in work of fusion, ductility, or chasing; whatever Italy ornaments with gold, in diversity of vases and sculpture of gems or ivory; whatever France loves in a costly variety of windows; whatever industrious Germany approves in work of gold, silver, copper and iron, of woods and of stones.
Then follows a detailed description of the goldsmith’s workshop, his bellows, anvil, hammers and other tools, which include ‘an instrument through which wires are drawn.’
Like the jewelers of the Pharaohs, the jeweler of medieval times was expected to be goldsmith, designer, sculptor, smelter, enameler inlay-worker, and an expert in the cutting and mounting of gemstones. As you read Theophilus you are impressed anew with the versatility of the jewelry-maker of past ages.
It must be admitted, however, that although the ancient goldsmiths achieved results and the good Theophilus tells how they did it, yet their practices were at times fraught with certain customs which smack of something akin to quackery. Not that they did not themselves profoundly believe in the efficacy of such practices. They did. But a certain amount of hocus-pocus was inevitably mixed with all the learning of that day. When the twentieth century becomes ‘ancient times’ will anything like that be said of our science and learning?
We are allowed a glimpse of Theophilus’ innocent necromancy, when swelling with pride he discloses a trade secret:
Who should desire to cut with iron the rare stones—which the rulers of Rome, who formerly sustained the noble arts, much delighted in, upon gold, let him know the invention, which I with profound thought have discovered, which is very precious. I procure urinam with the fresh blood of a lusty goat, fed for a short time upon ivy, which being done, I cut the gems in the warm blood, as the author Pliny has pointed out, who wrote upon the arts, which the Roman people put to proof, and who likewise well described the virtue of stones; he who knows the powers of which favors them the more.
Concerning rock crystal, Theophilus advises the lapidary:
But should you wish to sculp crystal, take a goat of two or three years and, binding his feet, cut an opening between his breast and stomach in the position of the heart, and lay in the crystal, so that it may lie in its blood until it grows warm. Taking it out directly, cut what you please in it as long as the heat lasts, and when it has begun to grow cold and to harden, replace it again in the blood of goat....
And so on until you have completed the work of art and are ready to polish it ‘with a linen cloth’. Needless to say, there was no S.P.C.A in those days.
During the Middle Ages, although the glyptic art was saved from entire extinction—largely by the monk-craftsman—still it sank so far into oblivion that generally speaking it is said to have been lost. Indeed, so little was the art understood, that some men, even men of intelligence, supposed the engraving on an ancient gem to be the work of nature—like the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.
Many pages of Theophilus’ manuscript are given over to recipes for making glass gems and colorful enamels. He even tells how to make ornamental finger rings of colored glass, set with glass gems.
Naturally whatever art a monk practised he used for the glory of his church. Therefore the goldsmith lavished his most elaborate art on ecclesiastical jewels. But he also worked for private patrons. Both the craftsman’s and the layman’s ideas of beauty were strongly influenced by the sumptuous objects designed for religious purposes.
The very center and focusing point of art was the Church. Paintings, statues, textiles, stained glass, and jeweled metalwork—in fact the major works of almost all the artists in Christendom—gravitated toward the Church, or were related to religious ideas.
Between the eleventh and the fifteenth centuries the link binding craftsman and church together was strenghtened by demands for the building and decoration of great cathedrals. The architect left space in the walls for picture windows of gorgeous jewel-like glass. Altars were profusely decorated, panels were painted and encrusted with gems, images occupied niches canopied by stone, carved with the delicate intricacy of lace. To the marvelous cathedral of Chartres came pilgrims by the thousands, bringing as offerings the richest of silks and embroideries, and splendid jewels with which to deck the images of saints or the vestments of priests, or to be set as ornament on any object used in the ritual of worship.
Certain patterns and styles of design employed for the decoration of churches were mirrored in the things of everyday life. Even the costumes of the period reflected the Gothic art. The head-dresses of women resembled architectural structures; the patterns on their gowns imitated those on stained-glass windows; and as for the jewelry, that more than anything else fell under the prevailing influence. Even the images of saints, stone canopies and all, were wrought in miniatures of gold and worn as brooches or pendants.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continue)
1. The Goldsmith-Monk
The introduction of Christianity gave a fresh impetus and spread new fields for arts. There were churches to be built and decorated. A demand arose for architects, sculptors, painters, embroiderers, glassmen, woodcarvers, goldsmiths and a host of other skilled artists and craftsmen to create a building worthy to be called the House of God. It seems fitting that the men with the widest knowledge of the work required should be the artist-monks. Many of them were traveling missionaries.
In the eleventh century there lived one of these monks known as Theophilus, who not only traveled far and wide, but thoughtfully jotted down in his notebook whatever he found of interest concerning the arts of different countries. His manuscripts, preserved in numerous ancient copies, have become invaluable as a faithful record of the methods of work employed by craftsmen who lived nine hundred years ago.
Theophilus, in his preface, charges the reader to ‘covet with greedy looks this (his) Book of Various Arts, read it thoroughly with a tenacious memory, embrace it with ardent love,’ and:
Should you carefully peruse this, you will find out whatever Greece possesses in kinds and mixtures of various colors, whatever Tuscany knows on in mosaic work, or in variety of enamel; whatever Arabia shows forth in work of fusion, ductility, or chasing; whatever Italy ornaments with gold, in diversity of vases and sculpture of gems or ivory; whatever France loves in a costly variety of windows; whatever industrious Germany approves in work of gold, silver, copper and iron, of woods and of stones.
Then follows a detailed description of the goldsmith’s workshop, his bellows, anvil, hammers and other tools, which include ‘an instrument through which wires are drawn.’
Like the jewelers of the Pharaohs, the jeweler of medieval times was expected to be goldsmith, designer, sculptor, smelter, enameler inlay-worker, and an expert in the cutting and mounting of gemstones. As you read Theophilus you are impressed anew with the versatility of the jewelry-maker of past ages.
It must be admitted, however, that although the ancient goldsmiths achieved results and the good Theophilus tells how they did it, yet their practices were at times fraught with certain customs which smack of something akin to quackery. Not that they did not themselves profoundly believe in the efficacy of such practices. They did. But a certain amount of hocus-pocus was inevitably mixed with all the learning of that day. When the twentieth century becomes ‘ancient times’ will anything like that be said of our science and learning?
We are allowed a glimpse of Theophilus’ innocent necromancy, when swelling with pride he discloses a trade secret:
Who should desire to cut with iron the rare stones—which the rulers of Rome, who formerly sustained the noble arts, much delighted in, upon gold, let him know the invention, which I with profound thought have discovered, which is very precious. I procure urinam with the fresh blood of a lusty goat, fed for a short time upon ivy, which being done, I cut the gems in the warm blood, as the author Pliny has pointed out, who wrote upon the arts, which the Roman people put to proof, and who likewise well described the virtue of stones; he who knows the powers of which favors them the more.
Concerning rock crystal, Theophilus advises the lapidary:
But should you wish to sculp crystal, take a goat of two or three years and, binding his feet, cut an opening between his breast and stomach in the position of the heart, and lay in the crystal, so that it may lie in its blood until it grows warm. Taking it out directly, cut what you please in it as long as the heat lasts, and when it has begun to grow cold and to harden, replace it again in the blood of goat....
And so on until you have completed the work of art and are ready to polish it ‘with a linen cloth’. Needless to say, there was no S.P.C.A in those days.
During the Middle Ages, although the glyptic art was saved from entire extinction—largely by the monk-craftsman—still it sank so far into oblivion that generally speaking it is said to have been lost. Indeed, so little was the art understood, that some men, even men of intelligence, supposed the engraving on an ancient gem to be the work of nature—like the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.
Many pages of Theophilus’ manuscript are given over to recipes for making glass gems and colorful enamels. He even tells how to make ornamental finger rings of colored glass, set with glass gems.
Naturally whatever art a monk practised he used for the glory of his church. Therefore the goldsmith lavished his most elaborate art on ecclesiastical jewels. But he also worked for private patrons. Both the craftsman’s and the layman’s ideas of beauty were strongly influenced by the sumptuous objects designed for religious purposes.
The very center and focusing point of art was the Church. Paintings, statues, textiles, stained glass, and jeweled metalwork—in fact the major works of almost all the artists in Christendom—gravitated toward the Church, or were related to religious ideas.
Between the eleventh and the fifteenth centuries the link binding craftsman and church together was strenghtened by demands for the building and decoration of great cathedrals. The architect left space in the walls for picture windows of gorgeous jewel-like glass. Altars were profusely decorated, panels were painted and encrusted with gems, images occupied niches canopied by stone, carved with the delicate intricacy of lace. To the marvelous cathedral of Chartres came pilgrims by the thousands, bringing as offerings the richest of silks and embroideries, and splendid jewels with which to deck the images of saints or the vestments of priests, or to be set as ornament on any object used in the ritual of worship.
Certain patterns and styles of design employed for the decoration of churches were mirrored in the things of everyday life. Even the costumes of the period reflected the Gothic art. The head-dresses of women resembled architectural structures; the patterns on their gowns imitated those on stained-glass windows; and as for the jewelry, that more than anything else fell under the prevailing influence. Even the images of saints, stone canopies and all, were wrought in miniatures of gold and worn as brooches or pendants.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continue)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
The third great English portrait-painter of the eighteenth century was George Romney, who never exhibited at the Royal Academy, and all his life was hostile to that institution and to its president, Sir Joshua Reynolds. Romney was born at Dalton-in-Furness, Lancashire, in 1734, when Reynolds was a boy of eleven and Gainsborough a child of seven. He was one of eleven children, and his father was a man of many occupations—farmer, builder, cabinet-maker, and dealer—and little prosperous in anything he undertook. George Romney consequently had his education neglected: at eleven years old he was helping his father in the workshop, and there he displayed precocious ability in drawing portraits of the workmen and other people. When he was twenty he made acquaintance of a vagabond artist named Christopher Steele, who journeyed from place to place making portraits, and in 1755 this man secured Romney as his pupil and took him with him on his travels. In the following year Romney fell ill with a fever and was tenderly nursed by his landlady’s daughter, a domestic servant named Mary Abbott, and being a highly-strung romantic youth Romney married this girl in the first burst of his gratitude, and later found her utterly unsuited to be his mate. Steele meanwhile had settled at York and summoned Romney to join him there as soon as he was well enough, and since he was not earning enough to keep a wife Mrs Romney had to go back to service when her husband rejoined the man to whom he was apprenticed.
There was little good that Steele, a mediocre artist and a loose liver, could teach Romney, and their association was more profitable to the older than the younger man, and after a year or two in bondage at York, Romney managed to purchase his freedom, and he then made a home for his wife at Kendal. With this town as his headquarters, he rambled about the Lake Country painting heads at £2 2s. each and small full lengths at £6 6s., till in 1762 he had at last managed to save a hundred pounds.
Romney was now twenty eight, and he felt that if ever he was to make his fortune by his art he must seek it in London. So giving £70 to his wife, with the remaining £30 he came to the capital, where he at once competed for a prize offered by the Society of Arts for an historical picture on ‘The Death of Wolfe.’ Romney was at first awarded a prize of fifty guineas for his version of this theme, but later the judges reversed their verdict and awarded the fifty guineas to John Hamilton Mortimer (1741-79), a young friend of Richard Wilson and Reynolds, and gave Romney only a consolation prize of twenty five guineas. Romney, not unnaturally, believed this reversal of the first judgment to be the result of favoritism, and to to the end of his life he thought that it had been brought about by Reynolds, who had been actuated by fear of a rival. In 1766 Romney again gained a premium for his ‘Death of King Edward’ from the Society of Arts, to which he was now admitted a member, and henceforward he exhibited regularly at the Society’s exhibitions, but always held aloof from the Academy. In 1767 he paid a visit to his wife and two daughters at Kendal, and returning alone to London soon established himself in public favor, and in the early ‘seventies he was making over a thousand a year by his profession. He thought the time had now come when he should visit Italy, and in March 1773 he set off for that country in the company of a brother artist, Ozias Humphrey (1742-1810), who afterwards became a famous miniature-painter. At Rome, Romney separated himself from his fellow traveler and led a hermit’s life, shunning the society of his compatriots, and giving his whole time to work and study. In 1775 he made his way back to England via Venice and Parma, studying with advantage the work of Correggio in the latter city, and reaching London in the month of July. Greatly improved now in his coloring and confident in his increased knowledge and power, Romney boldly took the house and studio of Francis Cotes, R.A (1725-70), who had been one of the chief of the older portrait-painters, at 32 Cavendish Square, and there seriously entered into competition with Reynolds. Gainsborough, it will be remembered, did not come to London till 1779, so that Romney, though the younger man, was the first formidable rival that Reynolds had to endure. Charging £15 15s. for head life-size, Romney soon found himself surrounded by sitters, and Reynolds was alarmed at the way in which his practice for a time was diminished by the painter to whom he contemptuously referred as ‘the man in Cavendish Square’. Later Romney had so many commissions that he was able to put up his prices, but even so he received only about 80 guineas for the full-length portraits which now fetch many thousands of pounds when they are sold by auction at Christie’s. When Reynolds died he left a fortune of £80000 earned by his brush, and though Romney was not successful to this extent he made a good living, his income in the year 1785 being £3635.
But Romney was never a mere money-grubber, and when at the age of forty-eight he first met his most famous sitter, the dazzlingly beautiful Emma Lyon, known to history as Lady Hamilton, he was so fascinated by her extraordinary personality, that time after time he refused all kinds of wealthy sitters in order that he might continue uninterruptedly to paint the lovely Emma. In 1882 the future Lady Hamilton was a mere girl of twenty or twenty one, living under the protection of Charles Grevile, who four years later—when he was in money difficulties—heartlessly handed her over to his uncle, Sir William Hamilton, who treated her more kindly and honorably. For five years Romney painted this fascinating creature continually in a variety of characters, and though gossip soon busied itself making scandal out of their relations, there is no evidence that the painter’s affection for her was anything but platonic. Of his many paintings of her, one of the most charming, the ‘Lady Hamilton’ is in the National Portrait Gallery.
In the art of George Romney there is a peculiar feminine quality which gives an extraordinary winsomeness, almost a pathos, to his paintings of frail women. There is a paternal tenderness rather than the passion of a lover in his paintings of Emma Hamilton and of another famous beauty, Mrs Robinson, known as ‘Perdita’. Romney’s beautiful portrait of the last in the Wallace Collection was done while this gifted actress was under the protection of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. But that royal rascal soon tired of her, and at the age of twenty four she had already been abandoned by ‘the first gentleman in Europe’. When he sent her away the Prince gave her a bond for £20000; but he never paid it, and ‘Perdita’ Robinson died in 1800, poor and paralysed.
Nobody has yet discovered who was the original of Romney’s most famous masterpiece, ‘The Parson’s Daughter’, but we may imagine that his beautiful creature, with a gentle melancholy behind her smile, was also one of the frail sisterhood to which both Lady Hamilton and Mrs Robinson belonged. The extraordinary sweetness and simplicity of Romney’s portraiture of women has the same tender reverence for the sex that we find in ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,’ and the peculiar winningness of Romney is perhaps best described by placing him as the Goldsmith of English painting.
Though he never brought his wife and family to London—where it is probable that they would have felt ill at ease in a sphere to which they were not accustomed—Romney supported them in comfort, and when after years of hard work in London his health broke down, he went back to his wife at Kendal. She received him without reproaches, and under her affectionate care the tired, worn-out genius ‘sank gently into second childhood and the grave’. He died at Kendal on November 15, 1802.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continue)
2
The third great English portrait-painter of the eighteenth century was George Romney, who never exhibited at the Royal Academy, and all his life was hostile to that institution and to its president, Sir Joshua Reynolds. Romney was born at Dalton-in-Furness, Lancashire, in 1734, when Reynolds was a boy of eleven and Gainsborough a child of seven. He was one of eleven children, and his father was a man of many occupations—farmer, builder, cabinet-maker, and dealer—and little prosperous in anything he undertook. George Romney consequently had his education neglected: at eleven years old he was helping his father in the workshop, and there he displayed precocious ability in drawing portraits of the workmen and other people. When he was twenty he made acquaintance of a vagabond artist named Christopher Steele, who journeyed from place to place making portraits, and in 1755 this man secured Romney as his pupil and took him with him on his travels. In the following year Romney fell ill with a fever and was tenderly nursed by his landlady’s daughter, a domestic servant named Mary Abbott, and being a highly-strung romantic youth Romney married this girl in the first burst of his gratitude, and later found her utterly unsuited to be his mate. Steele meanwhile had settled at York and summoned Romney to join him there as soon as he was well enough, and since he was not earning enough to keep a wife Mrs Romney had to go back to service when her husband rejoined the man to whom he was apprenticed.
There was little good that Steele, a mediocre artist and a loose liver, could teach Romney, and their association was more profitable to the older than the younger man, and after a year or two in bondage at York, Romney managed to purchase his freedom, and he then made a home for his wife at Kendal. With this town as his headquarters, he rambled about the Lake Country painting heads at £2 2s. each and small full lengths at £6 6s., till in 1762 he had at last managed to save a hundred pounds.
Romney was now twenty eight, and he felt that if ever he was to make his fortune by his art he must seek it in London. So giving £70 to his wife, with the remaining £30 he came to the capital, where he at once competed for a prize offered by the Society of Arts for an historical picture on ‘The Death of Wolfe.’ Romney was at first awarded a prize of fifty guineas for his version of this theme, but later the judges reversed their verdict and awarded the fifty guineas to John Hamilton Mortimer (1741-79), a young friend of Richard Wilson and Reynolds, and gave Romney only a consolation prize of twenty five guineas. Romney, not unnaturally, believed this reversal of the first judgment to be the result of favoritism, and to to the end of his life he thought that it had been brought about by Reynolds, who had been actuated by fear of a rival. In 1766 Romney again gained a premium for his ‘Death of King Edward’ from the Society of Arts, to which he was now admitted a member, and henceforward he exhibited regularly at the Society’s exhibitions, but always held aloof from the Academy. In 1767 he paid a visit to his wife and two daughters at Kendal, and returning alone to London soon established himself in public favor, and in the early ‘seventies he was making over a thousand a year by his profession. He thought the time had now come when he should visit Italy, and in March 1773 he set off for that country in the company of a brother artist, Ozias Humphrey (1742-1810), who afterwards became a famous miniature-painter. At Rome, Romney separated himself from his fellow traveler and led a hermit’s life, shunning the society of his compatriots, and giving his whole time to work and study. In 1775 he made his way back to England via Venice and Parma, studying with advantage the work of Correggio in the latter city, and reaching London in the month of July. Greatly improved now in his coloring and confident in his increased knowledge and power, Romney boldly took the house and studio of Francis Cotes, R.A (1725-70), who had been one of the chief of the older portrait-painters, at 32 Cavendish Square, and there seriously entered into competition with Reynolds. Gainsborough, it will be remembered, did not come to London till 1779, so that Romney, though the younger man, was the first formidable rival that Reynolds had to endure. Charging £15 15s. for head life-size, Romney soon found himself surrounded by sitters, and Reynolds was alarmed at the way in which his practice for a time was diminished by the painter to whom he contemptuously referred as ‘the man in Cavendish Square’. Later Romney had so many commissions that he was able to put up his prices, but even so he received only about 80 guineas for the full-length portraits which now fetch many thousands of pounds when they are sold by auction at Christie’s. When Reynolds died he left a fortune of £80000 earned by his brush, and though Romney was not successful to this extent he made a good living, his income in the year 1785 being £3635.
But Romney was never a mere money-grubber, and when at the age of forty-eight he first met his most famous sitter, the dazzlingly beautiful Emma Lyon, known to history as Lady Hamilton, he was so fascinated by her extraordinary personality, that time after time he refused all kinds of wealthy sitters in order that he might continue uninterruptedly to paint the lovely Emma. In 1882 the future Lady Hamilton was a mere girl of twenty or twenty one, living under the protection of Charles Grevile, who four years later—when he was in money difficulties—heartlessly handed her over to his uncle, Sir William Hamilton, who treated her more kindly and honorably. For five years Romney painted this fascinating creature continually in a variety of characters, and though gossip soon busied itself making scandal out of their relations, there is no evidence that the painter’s affection for her was anything but platonic. Of his many paintings of her, one of the most charming, the ‘Lady Hamilton’ is in the National Portrait Gallery.
In the art of George Romney there is a peculiar feminine quality which gives an extraordinary winsomeness, almost a pathos, to his paintings of frail women. There is a paternal tenderness rather than the passion of a lover in his paintings of Emma Hamilton and of another famous beauty, Mrs Robinson, known as ‘Perdita’. Romney’s beautiful portrait of the last in the Wallace Collection was done while this gifted actress was under the protection of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. But that royal rascal soon tired of her, and at the age of twenty four she had already been abandoned by ‘the first gentleman in Europe’. When he sent her away the Prince gave her a bond for £20000; but he never paid it, and ‘Perdita’ Robinson died in 1800, poor and paralysed.
Nobody has yet discovered who was the original of Romney’s most famous masterpiece, ‘The Parson’s Daughter’, but we may imagine that his beautiful creature, with a gentle melancholy behind her smile, was also one of the frail sisterhood to which both Lady Hamilton and Mrs Robinson belonged. The extraordinary sweetness and simplicity of Romney’s portraiture of women has the same tender reverence for the sex that we find in ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,’ and the peculiar winningness of Romney is perhaps best described by placing him as the Goldsmith of English painting.
Though he never brought his wife and family to London—where it is probable that they would have felt ill at ease in a sphere to which they were not accustomed—Romney supported them in comfort, and when after years of hard work in London his health broke down, he went back to his wife at Kendal. She received him without reproaches, and under her affectionate care the tired, worn-out genius ‘sank gently into second childhood and the grave’. He died at Kendal on November 15, 1802.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continue)
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Heard On The Street
Many gemstone/jewelry/art buyer (s) don't have the expertise needed to determine what something is worth + it makes sense to turn to professionals for advice + information from someone knowledgeable in the industry can level the information playing field.
The Facebook Facescape
I found the CNN Money.com article on the Facebook Economy (the social networking site) interesting + the article's authors provides some insights on the operating system (s) + other viewpoints on opportunities for new business models.
The Reasons Why People Like Synthetic Gemstones
I think lab-grown gemstone industry is evolving + it hasn’t impacted the natural colored gemstone and diamond market + many believe its threat has been greatly exaggerated + most synthetic gem materials are detectable via standard / advanced gemological tests + they are affordable + some people love technology, so like the product + consumers tend to like the stones if they are properly disclosed with less technical jargons + they are popular in fashion pieces + some buy it for themselves.
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