Bankruptcy filings are shaking up the jewelry industry in the US + elsewhere, and when you talk to industry analysts they say it’s too early to tell what the fallout would be as a result of the peculiar trend where well-known jewelry retailers are going belly-up + when I look around I see a unique jewelry company: Borsheims + I am impressed + there is a lesson for all in the gem & jewelry sector.
Here is what Berkshire Hathaway website (via Warren E Buffet, CEO) says about Borsheim's:
Fine jewelry, watches and giftware will almost certainly cost you less at Borsheim's. I've looked at the figures for all publicly-owned jewelry companies and the contrast with Borsheim's is startling. Our one-store operation, with its huge volume, enables us to operate with costs that are fully 15-20 percentage points below those incurred by our competitors. We pass the benefits of this low-cost structure along to our customers. Every year Borsheim's sends out thousands of selections to customers who want a long-distance opportunity to inspect what it offers and decide which, if any, item they'd like to purchase. We do a huge amount of business in this low-key way, which allows the shopper to conveniently see the exceptional values that we offer. Call Joe Corritore or Susan Jacques at Borsheim's (800-642-4438) and save substantial money on your next purchase of jewelry.
Useful links:
www.borsheims.com
www.berkshirehathaway.com
‘If you don't know jewelry, know the jeweler.’ - Warren E. Buffett
I think it's the best advice.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Burmese Gems Trade
(via Irrawady) The gems trade in Burma has slumped dramatically due to the sanctions imposed by the United States in December, according to gems and jade traders inside Burma and along the border areas + residents in Mogok in central Burma, a center for rubies, confirmed that their businesses were currently in a 'wait and see' situation, relying heavily on cross-border trade + traders on the Thai-Burmese border also said the gems market has been slow + during the 24th Gems and Jade Sale in Rangoon from January 15 to 18, 2008, 357 lots of jade were sold and the event was attended by 737 local and 281 international traders.
Useful link:
www.irrawaddy.org
Useful link:
www.irrawaddy.org
Jewelers Of Renaissance
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. Europe, Fifteenth Century
No red-letter day on the calendar conveniently marks the ending of the Middle Ages and the triumphant entrance of that lusty period in history known as the Renaissance. Gradually there had come upon the Western World a great revival of artistic and intellectual life. It would seem as if some mighty reservoir of vitality had been newly tapped and men, drinking deep, were filled with such a super abundance of life that they were under compulsion to spend it on the creative arts.
Italy was the very center of the artistic revival. Wealth was pouring into the beautiful and haughty city of Venice, whose thriving export trade gave her first place among the seaports in all Europe. Palaces, churches, new and ornate buildings were rising everywhere; and workers in stone, wood, and metal had their time more than filled with commissions. Nor did the other trades and crafts find themselves neglected. Prosperous times, halcyon days, and yet—and yet no rich man knew from one day to the next what might happen to his wealth. It was one of those tense periods when it seemed best to be on the safe side adn condense riches, as far as possible, into the pleasing and portable form of precious jewels, which could at a moment’s notice travel in haste and concealment along with a fleeing owner if worse came to worst. And besides, rich jewels were visible sign of a man’s standing and substance. Even the serious and dignified man of parts wore his jewels with pride and did not leave the displaying of them entirely to the ladies of his household.
As in Italy, throughout the rest of Europe both laity and clergy kept the goldsmith busy. And the goldsmith responded by expending his utmost skill and ingenuity on the intricate design of ornaments. The jewelry of the Renaissance was preeminently colorful. Many variously colored stones and enamels would go to the making of a single jewel. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, polychrome enamels were all mounted together in an elaboration of golden pendant—were set swinging from the jewel at whatever points the jeweler saw fit to place them. Such, in general, was the type of the Renaissance jewelry.
With increasing frequency diamond crystals, with a few of the natural faces polished, were added to the rich assemblage of colored stones. But as yet no European gem cutter had attempted to do much with cutting facets on diamonds or to change the natural shape of the hard crystal. He might grind down a few of its angles and polish the surfaces, but for the most part left the stone in general shape much as it had been when first discovered. Occassionally the diamond cutter would remove the upper and lower tips of a double pyramid shaped crystal and thus produce what is called the ‘table cut’.
During the early part of the Renaissance the diamond began slowly to emerge from its dim status. Among the lapidaries experimenting with new ways of polishing diamonds was certain gem cutter of Bruges who had novel ideas concerning the (as yet) latent beauties of the colorless stone. His name was Louis de Berquem, or according to some old records, Ludwig von Berquem. At any rate, he succeeded in cutting a number of regular facets on diamonds. These cut stones attracted much attention; but it was not until nineteen years later, in 1475, that De Berquem produced what was then considered the ‘perfect cut’. Although the full beauty of the diamond had by no means been released by this gem cutter of Bruges, still, because he had made a start in the right direction and disclosed by means of a series of facets of planned regularity, hitherto unsuspected possibilities in the long neglected diamond, his name has been remembered in the history of gems.
According to his grandson, Robert de Berquem, Louis cut three diamonds in the new mode at the order of the last Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, who gave the gem cutter 3000 ducats for his work. The first of these was a thick stone in the form known as briolette. It was covered all over with facets. The second diamond was given to Pope Sixtus IV. The third, triangular in shape, was set in a ring that presently became the property of Louis XI.
During the last quarter of the fifteenth century, men trained in the workshop of Louis de Berquem were presently setting up shops of their own. Some of them drifted to Paris, others opened establishments in Antwerp, and still others went to Amsterdam.
In time, Amsterdam and Antwerp became the two great centers of the diamond cutting industry, and a spirit of rivalry soon developed between them. Meanwhile in Florence, the rediscovery of and admiration of things antique was creating a school of art whose influence extended even to the goldsmith-jeweler.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
1. Europe, Fifteenth Century
No red-letter day on the calendar conveniently marks the ending of the Middle Ages and the triumphant entrance of that lusty period in history known as the Renaissance. Gradually there had come upon the Western World a great revival of artistic and intellectual life. It would seem as if some mighty reservoir of vitality had been newly tapped and men, drinking deep, were filled with such a super abundance of life that they were under compulsion to spend it on the creative arts.
Italy was the very center of the artistic revival. Wealth was pouring into the beautiful and haughty city of Venice, whose thriving export trade gave her first place among the seaports in all Europe. Palaces, churches, new and ornate buildings were rising everywhere; and workers in stone, wood, and metal had their time more than filled with commissions. Nor did the other trades and crafts find themselves neglected. Prosperous times, halcyon days, and yet—and yet no rich man knew from one day to the next what might happen to his wealth. It was one of those tense periods when it seemed best to be on the safe side adn condense riches, as far as possible, into the pleasing and portable form of precious jewels, which could at a moment’s notice travel in haste and concealment along with a fleeing owner if worse came to worst. And besides, rich jewels were visible sign of a man’s standing and substance. Even the serious and dignified man of parts wore his jewels with pride and did not leave the displaying of them entirely to the ladies of his household.
As in Italy, throughout the rest of Europe both laity and clergy kept the goldsmith busy. And the goldsmith responded by expending his utmost skill and ingenuity on the intricate design of ornaments. The jewelry of the Renaissance was preeminently colorful. Many variously colored stones and enamels would go to the making of a single jewel. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, polychrome enamels were all mounted together in an elaboration of golden pendant—were set swinging from the jewel at whatever points the jeweler saw fit to place them. Such, in general, was the type of the Renaissance jewelry.
With increasing frequency diamond crystals, with a few of the natural faces polished, were added to the rich assemblage of colored stones. But as yet no European gem cutter had attempted to do much with cutting facets on diamonds or to change the natural shape of the hard crystal. He might grind down a few of its angles and polish the surfaces, but for the most part left the stone in general shape much as it had been when first discovered. Occassionally the diamond cutter would remove the upper and lower tips of a double pyramid shaped crystal and thus produce what is called the ‘table cut’.
During the early part of the Renaissance the diamond began slowly to emerge from its dim status. Among the lapidaries experimenting with new ways of polishing diamonds was certain gem cutter of Bruges who had novel ideas concerning the (as yet) latent beauties of the colorless stone. His name was Louis de Berquem, or according to some old records, Ludwig von Berquem. At any rate, he succeeded in cutting a number of regular facets on diamonds. These cut stones attracted much attention; but it was not until nineteen years later, in 1475, that De Berquem produced what was then considered the ‘perfect cut’. Although the full beauty of the diamond had by no means been released by this gem cutter of Bruges, still, because he had made a start in the right direction and disclosed by means of a series of facets of planned regularity, hitherto unsuspected possibilities in the long neglected diamond, his name has been remembered in the history of gems.
According to his grandson, Robert de Berquem, Louis cut three diamonds in the new mode at the order of the last Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, who gave the gem cutter 3000 ducats for his work. The first of these was a thick stone in the form known as briolette. It was covered all over with facets. The second diamond was given to Pope Sixtus IV. The third, triangular in shape, was set in a ring that presently became the property of Louis XI.
During the last quarter of the fifteenth century, men trained in the workshop of Louis de Berquem were presently setting up shops of their own. Some of them drifted to Paris, others opened establishments in Antwerp, and still others went to Amsterdam.
In time, Amsterdam and Antwerp became the two great centers of the diamond cutting industry, and a spirit of rivalry soon developed between them. Meanwhile in Florence, the rediscovery of and admiration of things antique was creating a school of art whose influence extended even to the goldsmith-jeweler.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
How great was the influence of David on the painters of his generation is revealed by the tragic story of Antoine Jean Gros (1771-1835), who killed himself because he thought he was bringing disgrace on the tradition of his master. Gros entered David’s studio in 1785, and though he was unsuccessful when he tried for the Prix de Rome in 1792, in the following year his master helped him to get a passport for Italy, and so Gros got as far as Genoa, where in 1790 he made the acquaintance of Josephine, afterwards Empress. Josephine carried him off to Milan and presented him to Bonaparte, who took a liking to the young man, attached him to his staff, and allowed him to paint that wonderful portrait, now in the Louvre, of ‘Napolean at Arcole,’ which is the most haunting and poetic of all the many portraits of the Emperor.
Thenceforward the career of Gros was outwardly a series of triumphs. Owing to his experiences in Italy—where, in 1799, he was besieged with the French army at Genoa—he had a closer acquaintance with the realities of war than any of his artist contemporaries.
In Genoa and elsewhere Gros had made a particular study of the work of Rubens and Vandyck, and in his canvases he now endeavored to emulate the opulent color of the Flemish School. Consequently his battle-pictures were so informed with knowledge and inspired by feeling and fine color that they aroused high enthusiasm in Paris. When His picture ‘Les Pestiférés de Jaffa’ was shown in the Salon of 1804, all the young artists of the day combined to hand a wreath on the frame in honor of the life, truth, and color in the work of Gros.
Already there was a beginning of a reaction in Paris against the ascetic Classicism of David, and while Gros, as an old pupil of that master, still commanded the respect of the classicists, his spirited renderings of contemporary events pleased the younger generation who were later to give birth to the Romanticists. Thus, for a time, Gros pleased both camps in painting, and his position was unimpaired when Napoleon fell and the Bourbons were restored. In 1816 he was made a member of the Institute, he was commissioned to decorate the cupola of the Panthéon, and in 1824, on the completion of this work, he was created a Baron.
Meanwhile David, exciled in Brussels, was uneasy about the style of his former pupil, whom, on leaving Paris, he had left in charge of the Classical Movement. From Brussels he wrote constantly to Gros, begging him to cease painting ‘these futile subjects and circumstantial pictures’ and to devote his talent to ‘fine historical pictures’. By this David meant, not those paintings of the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, the Pyramids, etc., which were fine historical pictures, but paintings depicting some incident in the history of Greece or Rome. These alone, according to David, were the fit themes for a noble art, and he could not accept the renderings of events of his own times as true historical pictures. Unfortunately Gros, in his unbounded veneration for his old master, took David very seriously. He saw with alarm that the younger generation of painters were departing from the classical tradition and heading for Romanticism, and he blamed himself for leading them astray.
In the very year when he was made a Baron, his fellow pupil, Girodet (1767-1824), died, and at the funeral of this follower of David, Gros lamented the loss of a great classic artist, saying: ‘For myself, not only have I not enough authority to direct the school, but I must accuse myself of being one of the first who set the bad example others have followed.’
Conscience-stricken at falling away from his master’s ideals, and particularly so when David died in the following year, Baron Gros now did violence to his own talent by forcing himself to paint subjects of which David would have approved. While the truth of his war pictures had shocked the Classic School, the artificiality of his new classical pictures roused the mocking laughter of the young and increasingly powerful Romantic School. His ‘Hercules and Diomed’ in the Salon of 1835 was openly sneered at; the younger critics treated him as a ‘dead man,’ till, wearied out and depressed by the disgrace and shame which he thought he had brought on the school of David, poor Baron Gros, on the 25th June 1835, lay down on his face in three feet of water at Meudon, where on the following day two boatmem discovered his body.
That leadership of the Classic School, for which Baron Gros, both by his art and his temperament, was utterly unfitted, was eventually assumed with honor and credit by his junior, Jean Dominique Auguste Ingres (1780-1867). A pupil of David and the winner of the Prix de Rome in 1801, Ingres was not at first regarded as a ‘safe’ classic by the purists of that school. To these pedants, who worshipped hardly any art between the antique and Raphael, Ingres was suspicious because of his loudly proclaimed admiration of the Italian Primitives. On his way to Rome, Ingres had stopped at Pisa to study the frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli and his contemporaries in the Campo Santo. ‘We ought to copy these men on our knees,’ said the young enthusiasts, and his words were repeated to David, who regarded them an ominous.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
3
How great was the influence of David on the painters of his generation is revealed by the tragic story of Antoine Jean Gros (1771-1835), who killed himself because he thought he was bringing disgrace on the tradition of his master. Gros entered David’s studio in 1785, and though he was unsuccessful when he tried for the Prix de Rome in 1792, in the following year his master helped him to get a passport for Italy, and so Gros got as far as Genoa, where in 1790 he made the acquaintance of Josephine, afterwards Empress. Josephine carried him off to Milan and presented him to Bonaparte, who took a liking to the young man, attached him to his staff, and allowed him to paint that wonderful portrait, now in the Louvre, of ‘Napolean at Arcole,’ which is the most haunting and poetic of all the many portraits of the Emperor.
Thenceforward the career of Gros was outwardly a series of triumphs. Owing to his experiences in Italy—where, in 1799, he was besieged with the French army at Genoa—he had a closer acquaintance with the realities of war than any of his artist contemporaries.
In Genoa and elsewhere Gros had made a particular study of the work of Rubens and Vandyck, and in his canvases he now endeavored to emulate the opulent color of the Flemish School. Consequently his battle-pictures were so informed with knowledge and inspired by feeling and fine color that they aroused high enthusiasm in Paris. When His picture ‘Les Pestiférés de Jaffa’ was shown in the Salon of 1804, all the young artists of the day combined to hand a wreath on the frame in honor of the life, truth, and color in the work of Gros.
Already there was a beginning of a reaction in Paris against the ascetic Classicism of David, and while Gros, as an old pupil of that master, still commanded the respect of the classicists, his spirited renderings of contemporary events pleased the younger generation who were later to give birth to the Romanticists. Thus, for a time, Gros pleased both camps in painting, and his position was unimpaired when Napoleon fell and the Bourbons were restored. In 1816 he was made a member of the Institute, he was commissioned to decorate the cupola of the Panthéon, and in 1824, on the completion of this work, he was created a Baron.
Meanwhile David, exciled in Brussels, was uneasy about the style of his former pupil, whom, on leaving Paris, he had left in charge of the Classical Movement. From Brussels he wrote constantly to Gros, begging him to cease painting ‘these futile subjects and circumstantial pictures’ and to devote his talent to ‘fine historical pictures’. By this David meant, not those paintings of the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, the Pyramids, etc., which were fine historical pictures, but paintings depicting some incident in the history of Greece or Rome. These alone, according to David, were the fit themes for a noble art, and he could not accept the renderings of events of his own times as true historical pictures. Unfortunately Gros, in his unbounded veneration for his old master, took David very seriously. He saw with alarm that the younger generation of painters were departing from the classical tradition and heading for Romanticism, and he blamed himself for leading them astray.
In the very year when he was made a Baron, his fellow pupil, Girodet (1767-1824), died, and at the funeral of this follower of David, Gros lamented the loss of a great classic artist, saying: ‘For myself, not only have I not enough authority to direct the school, but I must accuse myself of being one of the first who set the bad example others have followed.’
Conscience-stricken at falling away from his master’s ideals, and particularly so when David died in the following year, Baron Gros now did violence to his own talent by forcing himself to paint subjects of which David would have approved. While the truth of his war pictures had shocked the Classic School, the artificiality of his new classical pictures roused the mocking laughter of the young and increasingly powerful Romantic School. His ‘Hercules and Diomed’ in the Salon of 1835 was openly sneered at; the younger critics treated him as a ‘dead man,’ till, wearied out and depressed by the disgrace and shame which he thought he had brought on the school of David, poor Baron Gros, on the 25th June 1835, lay down on his face in three feet of water at Meudon, where on the following day two boatmem discovered his body.
That leadership of the Classic School, for which Baron Gros, both by his art and his temperament, was utterly unfitted, was eventually assumed with honor and credit by his junior, Jean Dominique Auguste Ingres (1780-1867). A pupil of David and the winner of the Prix de Rome in 1801, Ingres was not at first regarded as a ‘safe’ classic by the purists of that school. To these pedants, who worshipped hardly any art between the antique and Raphael, Ingres was suspicious because of his loudly proclaimed admiration of the Italian Primitives. On his way to Rome, Ingres had stopped at Pisa to study the frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli and his contemporaries in the Campo Santo. ‘We ought to copy these men on our knees,’ said the young enthusiasts, and his words were repeated to David, who regarded them an ominous.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Signs Of The Times
As the commodity price increases, organized gangs are raiding rural America, plundering commodities like wheat (according to a report by the Urban Institute in Washington, agricultural theft cost US farmers an estimated five billion dollars in 2006-7), almonds (stealing loaded containers), copper wires (stripping the copper from railway or electrical wires), hardwood trees (private forestlands/ national park forestlands/ industry forestlands) and off-loading to a buyer who is several hundred miles away from the scene of the original crime or to China / South Asia, where there is a market for stolen goods + it will be very difficult to monitor their operating systems because of the amorphous nature of the business.
Useful links:
www.urban.org
www.commodityonline.com
Useful links:
www.urban.org
www.commodityonline.com
Colored Stone News
Lightning Ride is the most famous locality in the world for black opal + opal was first discovered in the latter part of 1800s' and the first diggings began in 1901 + black opal is found in nodules (nobbies) + when these were first encountered they were considered to be of little value because no one had ever seen black opal before + today the black opal from Lightning Ridge is considered to be the best and most valuable opal in the world + The Lightning Ridge Opal Festival + International Opal Jewellery Design Awards are interesting events for opal lovers + it's a small show, but it's an experience.
Useful link:
www.iojdaa.com.au
I found www.ridgelightning.com interesting because of the collection of photographs they have got on lightning that gives Lightning Ridge its name + it's beautiful.
Useful link:
www.iojdaa.com.au
I found www.ridgelightning.com interesting because of the collection of photographs they have got on lightning that gives Lightning Ridge its name + it's beautiful.
Old Master Auctions
Souren Melikian writes about The Old Master auctions conducted last week at Sotheby's + beauty of the art market + the endless opportunities for those who know how to play the game + other viewpoints @ http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/01/arts/melik2.php
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
6. Rings And Magic
In medieval times and even during much of the Renaissance, religion, superstition and magic were all hugger-mugger. Ideas as well as gems were assembled in strangely ill-assorted companionship. For science was still not only an infant but the enfant terrible of the period, a thing to be suppressed as perilous both to the soul of man to the authority of the Church. Those who dared independently to seek knowledge first hand—either knowledge of natural phenomena or reasoning on the problems of the spirit—risked the accusation of heresy. Heretics were burned at the stake. Almost any one was liable to be dragged before the dread inquisitor, who tried the victim in secret without even letting him know which of his enemies had betrayed him.
Then there was the danger of witchcraft and the malevolent influence of the Evil Eye. But worse still (and this was no imaginary peril) there was the danger of being accused of practising witchcraft. If you were skeptical and did not believe in witchcraft, your disbelief was synonymous with atheism, and automatically you became a heretic.
Burning was the favorite method of exterminating both heretics and witches. After the advent of the Protestant Church, Catholics and Protestants vied with each other in witch-hunting. At this late date it is hard to say whether early records exaggerate the figures or not, but one writer boasts that in the course of one hundred and fifty years the Holy Office had burned at least 30000 witches ‘who if they had been left unpunished would easily have brought the whole world to destruction.’
With this glimpse of their background, it is not difficult to understand why our Christian forebears, whether or not they believed in magic, might have found it expedient to wear amulets and charms to protect themselves from suspicion of skepticism if nothing else.
Rings engraved with figures of saints were held in high regard, and particularly powerful was the magic of St Christopher, who could ‘give immunity from sudden death for the day to all who had looked at any representation of him.’
Another favorite ring was inscribed with the last words of Our Lord on the Cross in combination with a formula which cured epilepsy and toothache.
Belief in the medicinal properties of precious stones seems to have become more deeply rooted at this time than ever before, and the specific remedial efficacy of each stone was multiplied until practically any stone was a cure all—if you allowed the right train of superstition. A sapphire worn in a ring would cure diseases of the eye, and preserve the wearer from envy; was an antidote for poison; and, as if that were not enough for one gem to attend to, preserved the chastity of its wearer and prevented poverty, betrayal, and wrongful conviction. Besides which are told, ‘Also wytches love well this stone, for thtey wene that they may werke certen wondres by vertue of this stone.’
6. Rings And Magic
In medieval times and even during much of the Renaissance, religion, superstition and magic were all hugger-mugger. Ideas as well as gems were assembled in strangely ill-assorted companionship. For science was still not only an infant but the enfant terrible of the period, a thing to be suppressed as perilous both to the soul of man to the authority of the Church. Those who dared independently to seek knowledge first hand—either knowledge of natural phenomena or reasoning on the problems of the spirit—risked the accusation of heresy. Heretics were burned at the stake. Almost any one was liable to be dragged before the dread inquisitor, who tried the victim in secret without even letting him know which of his enemies had betrayed him.
Then there was the danger of witchcraft and the malevolent influence of the Evil Eye. But worse still (and this was no imaginary peril) there was the danger of being accused of practising witchcraft. If you were skeptical and did not believe in witchcraft, your disbelief was synonymous with atheism, and automatically you became a heretic.
Burning was the favorite method of exterminating both heretics and witches. After the advent of the Protestant Church, Catholics and Protestants vied with each other in witch-hunting. At this late date it is hard to say whether early records exaggerate the figures or not, but one writer boasts that in the course of one hundred and fifty years the Holy Office had burned at least 30000 witches ‘who if they had been left unpunished would easily have brought the whole world to destruction.’
With this glimpse of their background, it is not difficult to understand why our Christian forebears, whether or not they believed in magic, might have found it expedient to wear amulets and charms to protect themselves from suspicion of skepticism if nothing else.
Rings engraved with figures of saints were held in high regard, and particularly powerful was the magic of St Christopher, who could ‘give immunity from sudden death for the day to all who had looked at any representation of him.’
Another favorite ring was inscribed with the last words of Our Lord on the Cross in combination with a formula which cured epilepsy and toothache.
Belief in the medicinal properties of precious stones seems to have become more deeply rooted at this time than ever before, and the specific remedial efficacy of each stone was multiplied until practically any stone was a cure all—if you allowed the right train of superstition. A sapphire worn in a ring would cure diseases of the eye, and preserve the wearer from envy; was an antidote for poison; and, as if that were not enough for one gem to attend to, preserved the chastity of its wearer and prevented poverty, betrayal, and wrongful conviction. Besides which are told, ‘Also wytches love well this stone, for thtey wene that they may werke certen wondres by vertue of this stone.’
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
Most attractive of all the portraitures of this period is the woman artist Madame Elizabeth Louise Vigée Lebrun (1755-1842). Her father, a portrait-painter himself, died when she was only twelve years old, and his daughter carried on his practice almost at once, for when she was only fifteen she was already painting portraits with success and talent. While still young she married Lebrus, a prosperous and enterprising picture-dealer, who managed her affairs well, and whose stock of Old Masters afforded the young artist many models which she studied with good results. In 1783 Vigée Lebrun was admitted to the French Academy, and during the last years of the French monarchy she was a favorite at Court and painted several portraits of Marie Antoinette and her children. In 1789, alarmed at the way things were going in France, she went to Italy, where she was received with enthusiasm and made a member of the Academies of Rome, Parma, and Bologna. Thence she went to Vienna, where she stayed three years, and subsequently visiting Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and St Petersburg, she only returned to France in 1801. Thus she escaped the Revolution altogether and saw little of the Empire, for about the time fo the Peace of Amiens she came to England, where she stayed three years, and then visited Holland and Switzerland, finally returning to France in 1809.
Entirely untouched by the Revolution and by the wave of Classicism which followed it, Mme. Vigée Lebrun was a cosmopolitan artist whose art belonged to no particular country, and whose style had more in common with English Romanticism than with the asceticism then in vogue in France. Among all her portraits none is more charming than the many she painted of herself, and of these the best known and most popular is the winning of ‘Portrait of the Artist and her Daughter’ at the Louvre. Though in time she belongs to the revolutionary era, Mme. Lebrun is, as regards her art, a survival of the old aristocratic portrait-painters of monarchical France.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
2
Most attractive of all the portraitures of this period is the woman artist Madame Elizabeth Louise Vigée Lebrun (1755-1842). Her father, a portrait-painter himself, died when she was only twelve years old, and his daughter carried on his practice almost at once, for when she was only fifteen she was already painting portraits with success and talent. While still young she married Lebrus, a prosperous and enterprising picture-dealer, who managed her affairs well, and whose stock of Old Masters afforded the young artist many models which she studied with good results. In 1783 Vigée Lebrun was admitted to the French Academy, and during the last years of the French monarchy she was a favorite at Court and painted several portraits of Marie Antoinette and her children. In 1789, alarmed at the way things were going in France, she went to Italy, where she was received with enthusiasm and made a member of the Academies of Rome, Parma, and Bologna. Thence she went to Vienna, where she stayed three years, and subsequently visiting Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and St Petersburg, she only returned to France in 1801. Thus she escaped the Revolution altogether and saw little of the Empire, for about the time fo the Peace of Amiens she came to England, where she stayed three years, and then visited Holland and Switzerland, finally returning to France in 1809.
Entirely untouched by the Revolution and by the wave of Classicism which followed it, Mme. Vigée Lebrun was a cosmopolitan artist whose art belonged to no particular country, and whose style had more in common with English Romanticism than with the asceticism then in vogue in France. Among all her portraits none is more charming than the many she painted of herself, and of these the best known and most popular is the winning of ‘Portrait of the Artist and her Daughter’ at the Louvre. Though in time she belongs to the revolutionary era, Mme. Lebrun is, as regards her art, a survival of the old aristocratic portrait-painters of monarchical France.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Prophet Of Innovation
Prophet of Innovation by Thomas K. McCraw is a brilliant book + he is one of the best business historians in the world + writes on Joseph Schumpeter’s views on the nature of capitalist profit.
Listen to a short interview with Thomas McCraw
Host: Chris Gondek Producer: Heron & Crane
Listen to a short interview with Thomas McCraw
Host: Chris Gondek Producer: Heron & Crane
Colored Stone Update
There is a lot of talk about andesine-labradorite via JTV + the sources + the color is just beautiful, if well cut.
Useful link:
www.jewelrytelevision.com
Useful link:
www.jewelrytelevision.com
Diamdel Markets Pandora’s Boxes
Chaim Even Zohar writes about De Beers trading subsidiary, Diamdel + the online auction concept + the impact @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
Friday, February 01, 2008
Mobs, Messiahs, And Markets
Mobs, Messiahs, and Markets: Surviving the Public Spectacle in Finance and Politics by William Bonner + Lila Rajiva is an interesting book that describes follow-the- crowd syndrome + it's funny/brilliant/thought-provoking + I think it's an interesting topic to study and reflect upon.
Here is what the description of Mobs, Messiahs, And Markets says (via Amazon):
Bestselling author Bill Bonner has long been a maverick observer of the financial and political world, sharpening his sardonic wit, in particular, on the vagaries of the investing public. Market booms and busts, tulip manias and dotcom bubbles, venture capitalists and vulture funds, he lets you know, are best explained not by dry statistics and obscure theories but by the metaphors and analogies of literature.
Now, in Mobs, Messiahs, and Markets, Bonner and freelance journalist Lila Rajiva use literary economics to offer broader insights into mass behavior and its devastating effects on society. Why is it, they ask, that perfectly sane and responsible individuals can get together, and by some bizarre alchemy turn into an irrational mob? What makes them trust charlatans and demagogues who manipulate their worst instincts? Why do they abandon good sense, good behavior and good taste when an empty slogan is waved in front of them. Why is the road to hell paved with so many sterling intentions? Why is there a fool on every corner and a knave in every public office?
In attempting an answer, the authors weave a light-hearted journey through history, politics and finance to show group think at work in an improbable array of instances, from medieval crusades to the architectural follies of hedge-fund managers. Their journey takes them ultimately to the desk of the chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank and to a cautionary tale of the current bubble economy. They warn that the gush of credit let loose by Alan Greenspan and multiplied by the sophisticated number games of Wall Street whizzes is fraught with perils for the unwary. Boom without end, pronounces The Street. But Bonner and Rajiva are more cynical. When the higher math and the greater greed come together, watch out below!
Mobs, Messiahs, and Markets ends by giving concrete advice on how readers can avoid what the authors call the public spectacle of modern finance, and become, instead, private investors - knowing their own mind and following their own intuitions. The authors have no gimmicks to offer here - but instead give a better understanding of the dynamics of market behavior, allowing prudent investors to protect themselves from the fads and follies of the investment markets.
Here is what the description of Mobs, Messiahs, And Markets says (via Amazon):
Bestselling author Bill Bonner has long been a maverick observer of the financial and political world, sharpening his sardonic wit, in particular, on the vagaries of the investing public. Market booms and busts, tulip manias and dotcom bubbles, venture capitalists and vulture funds, he lets you know, are best explained not by dry statistics and obscure theories but by the metaphors and analogies of literature.
Now, in Mobs, Messiahs, and Markets, Bonner and freelance journalist Lila Rajiva use literary economics to offer broader insights into mass behavior and its devastating effects on society. Why is it, they ask, that perfectly sane and responsible individuals can get together, and by some bizarre alchemy turn into an irrational mob? What makes them trust charlatans and demagogues who manipulate their worst instincts? Why do they abandon good sense, good behavior and good taste when an empty slogan is waved in front of them. Why is the road to hell paved with so many sterling intentions? Why is there a fool on every corner and a knave in every public office?
In attempting an answer, the authors weave a light-hearted journey through history, politics and finance to show group think at work in an improbable array of instances, from medieval crusades to the architectural follies of hedge-fund managers. Their journey takes them ultimately to the desk of the chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank and to a cautionary tale of the current bubble economy. They warn that the gush of credit let loose by Alan Greenspan and multiplied by the sophisticated number games of Wall Street whizzes is fraught with perils for the unwary. Boom without end, pronounces The Street. But Bonner and Rajiva are more cynical. When the higher math and the greater greed come together, watch out below!
Mobs, Messiahs, and Markets ends by giving concrete advice on how readers can avoid what the authors call the public spectacle of modern finance, and become, instead, private investors - knowing their own mind and following their own intuitions. The authors have no gimmicks to offer here - but instead give a better understanding of the dynamics of market behavior, allowing prudent investors to protect themselves from the fads and follies of the investment markets.
Niki de Saint Phalle
Niki de Saint Phalle was a French sculptor + painter + film maker + she became world famous for her Shooting paintings + worked with art personalities such as Arman + César Baldaccini + Christo + Gérard Deschamps + Francois Dufrêne + Raymond Hains + Yves Klein + Martial Raysse + Mimmo Rotella + Daniel Spoerri + Jean Tinguely + Jacques Villeglé + Robert Rauschenberg + Jasper Johns + Larry Rivers + Salvador Dalí for ideas + created a monumental sculpture park in Garavicchio, Tuscany, about 100 km north-west of Rome along the coast + the garden, called Giardino dei Tarocchi in Italian, contained sculptures of the symbols found on Tarot cards + many of Niki de Saint Phalle's sculptures are large and some of them are exhibited in public places + her art works are unique and display that otherness to be enjoyed by all who love art.
Useful links:
www.nikidesaintphalle.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niki_de_Saint_Phalle
Useful links:
www.nikidesaintphalle.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niki_de_Saint_Phalle
Paolo Longo
Paolo Longo is an Italian composer and conductor + his works (based on diverse processes as cellular proliferation and spectral synthesis) are unique + I enjoy his music.
Useful links:
www.paolo-longo.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paolo_Longo
Useful links:
www.paolo-longo.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paolo_Longo
Step Cuts
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
When cutters wanted to make use of pieces of rough which were too flat even for Mirror Cuts, they found that it was often possible to achieve reasonable light effects by ‘stepping’ the crown or pavilions, or even both. This technique allowed the production of large Table Cut diamonds at a far lower cost than Full or Mirror Cuts. If it was impossible to avoid an over-large culet, they compensated for this defect by foiling. In jewels of this sort which have survived, the foils have disintegrated and the culets appear as dark holes. This is the main reason why the old Table, Mirror and Table Cut diamonds in our museums, treasuries and private collections are ignored or considered to be merely primitive cuts without any charm.
Table Cut diamonds dominated the market for about two hundred years, losing ground only gradually, during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, to Rose Cuts and Brilliants. To some extent step-cut Tables have returned to favor in modern diamonds with outlines similar to those of the old Table Cuts: squares, rectangles, triangles. If these are large enough, they can still dominate a jewel just as powerfully as their predecessors did. Smaller stones can be set in lines or groups to give an impression of opulence. And, if they are very small, they can be used to encircle and enhance a more important diamond or to enrich the color of an emerald, a sapphire or a ruby—all functions of the ancient Table Cuts. Prefixing the name Step Cut with ‘Modern’ therefore implies no change in the function or outline of a diamond, but only in its height proportions, which follow those now set down for Brilliants and other modern cuts, involving mainly lower crown and pavilion angles.
When cutters wanted to make use of pieces of rough which were too flat even for Mirror Cuts, they found that it was often possible to achieve reasonable light effects by ‘stepping’ the crown or pavilions, or even both. This technique allowed the production of large Table Cut diamonds at a far lower cost than Full or Mirror Cuts. If it was impossible to avoid an over-large culet, they compensated for this defect by foiling. In jewels of this sort which have survived, the foils have disintegrated and the culets appear as dark holes. This is the main reason why the old Table, Mirror and Table Cut diamonds in our museums, treasuries and private collections are ignored or considered to be merely primitive cuts without any charm.
Table Cut diamonds dominated the market for about two hundred years, losing ground only gradually, during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, to Rose Cuts and Brilliants. To some extent step-cut Tables have returned to favor in modern diamonds with outlines similar to those of the old Table Cuts: squares, rectangles, triangles. If these are large enough, they can still dominate a jewel just as powerfully as their predecessors did. Smaller stones can be set in lines or groups to give an impression of opulence. And, if they are very small, they can be used to encircle and enhance a more important diamond or to enrich the color of an emerald, a sapphire or a ruby—all functions of the ancient Table Cuts. Prefixing the name Step Cut with ‘Modern’ therefore implies no change in the function or outline of a diamond, but only in its height proportions, which follow those now set down for Brilliants and other modern cuts, involving mainly lower crown and pavilion angles.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
5. Pilgrims’ Signs
During the Middle Ages a most interesting form of jewel found its starting point in the then-prevalent custom of making pilgrimages to the shrines of saints and martyrs. When a pilgrim visited a shrine he bought or was given a token of that particular saint. These ‘Pilgrims’ Signs’ were made of lead or pewter and produced in unlimited numbers right at the shrine, where the metal was heated and turned into molds. Each saint had his characteristic token. It might be a tiny image of himself or some symbolic device connected with his pious acts. At any rate, each token was either provided with a pin or pierced with holes which enables it to be pinned or sewed to a garment, preferably the hat.
The shrine of Thomas à Becket, the murdered Archbishop of Canterbury, seems to have been among the most famous. At the height of its popularity, 100000 pilgrims would visit it in a year, bringing the ‘rarest and most precious gems’ as offerings, and carrying away with them the little lead tokens of the Bishop.
Among all the quantities of varied Pilgrims’ Signs, it is the scallop-shell of St James of Compostella that has survived in tradition as being the characteristic badge of a pilgrim. The leaden emblems first acquired by the visiting pilgrims were regarded as talismans and eagerly collected even by those who had not made a pilgrimage. It scarcely seems possible to speak of that sour and supersititious king of France, Louis XI, without also mentioning his old hat wtih its band stuck full of little leader saints.
The custom of wearing a Pilgrim’s Sign on the hat developed beyond its original form and significance and in time the token became an enseigne—an elaborate ornament of gold and gems. The enseigne, at the peak of its vogue, belongs to the period of the Renaissance.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
5. Pilgrims’ Signs
During the Middle Ages a most interesting form of jewel found its starting point in the then-prevalent custom of making pilgrimages to the shrines of saints and martyrs. When a pilgrim visited a shrine he bought or was given a token of that particular saint. These ‘Pilgrims’ Signs’ were made of lead or pewter and produced in unlimited numbers right at the shrine, where the metal was heated and turned into molds. Each saint had his characteristic token. It might be a tiny image of himself or some symbolic device connected with his pious acts. At any rate, each token was either provided with a pin or pierced with holes which enables it to be pinned or sewed to a garment, preferably the hat.
The shrine of Thomas à Becket, the murdered Archbishop of Canterbury, seems to have been among the most famous. At the height of its popularity, 100000 pilgrims would visit it in a year, bringing the ‘rarest and most precious gems’ as offerings, and carrying away with them the little lead tokens of the Bishop.
Among all the quantities of varied Pilgrims’ Signs, it is the scallop-shell of St James of Compostella that has survived in tradition as being the characteristic badge of a pilgrim. The leaden emblems first acquired by the visiting pilgrims were regarded as talismans and eagerly collected even by those who had not made a pilgrimage. It scarcely seems possible to speak of that sour and supersititious king of France, Louis XI, without also mentioning his old hat wtih its band stuck full of little leader saints.
The custom of wearing a Pilgrim’s Sign on the hat developed beyond its original form and significance and in time the token became an enseigne—an elaborate ornament of gold and gems. The enseigne, at the peak of its vogue, belongs to the period of the Renaissance.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Work Of David, Vigée Lebrun, Gros, Ingres, And Goya
1
To look at the calm and serene British portraits in the last two chapters, it is difficult to realize that England was engaged in warfare almost continuously during the century in which they were painted. While Reynolds, Gainsborough, and their successors were building up the reputation of English art, statesmen, soldiers, and sailors were laying the foundations of the present British Empire, Wolfe in Canada, Clive in india, and Nelson on the high seas. We have seen how profusely art flowered in England while her empire abroad was expanding, and we must not turn our attention to the progress of art in that country which throughout the century was England’s constant foe.
To appreciate the effect of the French Revolution on the painters of France, it is advisable to consider briefly the condition of artists in the eighteenth century. The French Academy, founded in 1648 for the advancement of art, had become a close body, exercising a pernicious tyranny. Artists who were neither members nor associates wer not allowed to exhibit their works in public, and even Academicians were not supposed to show elsewhere: one of them, Serres by name, was actually expelled from the Academy because he had independantly exhibited his picture ‘The Pest of Marseilles’ for money. The only concession the Academy made to outsiders was to allow them once a year, on the day of the Fête Dieu, to hold an ‘Exhibition of Youth’ in the Place Dauphine, which was open for only two hours.
At last Salon held under the old monarchy in 1789 only 350 pictures were exhibited: in 1791 the National Assembly decreed that an exhibition open to all artists, French and foreign, should be held in the Louvre, and the number of pictures show was 794. In the year of the Terror (1793) the number of exhibits exceeded 1000: in 1795 the number of pictures shown increased to 3048. These figures tell their own story, and show that the first thing the French Revolution did for art was to give painters a fuller liberty to display their work to the public. Further, notwithstanding the exhausted state of the finances, the Revolutionary Government encouraged artists by distributing annual prizes to a total value of 442,000 francs, and began the systematic organization of public museums. On the 27th July 1793 the Convention decreed that a museum should be open in the Louvre, and that art treasures collected from the royal palaces, from monasteries, and from the houses of aristocrats who had fled the country should be placed there. At the same time a sum of 100,000 francs was voted for the further purchase of works of art.
While in some parts of the country an ignorant and savage mob ruthlessly destroyed many precious monuments, libraries, and art treasures, the leaders of the Revolution throughout showed a special solicitude not only for contemporary art but also for the monuments of the past. Yet while the Revolution did everything it could to foster contemporary art, and to preserve and popularize the best art of the past, it could not produce one really great master of painting or sculpture. Now, if ever, we might expect to find a realism and a rude, savage strength in art; yet the typical painting of the French revolutionary period is cold and correct, and its chief defect is its bloodlessness. While in England the taste, as we have seen, was all for a happy Romanticism in art, the taste of revolutionary France was for a stern Classicism. A nation aspiring to recover the lost virtues of antiquity was naturally disposed to find its ideal art in the antique, and just as politically its eye was on republican Rome rather than on Athens, so its Classicism in art was Roman rather than Greek. The man who gave a new direction to French painting was Jacques Louis David (1748-1825), who, curiously enough, was a distant relative of Boucher, and, for a time, worked under that master, whose art in later years he cordially detested. Later he became the pupil of Vien (1716-1809), whom he accompanied to Rome when Vien was appointed director of the French Academy in that city. In Rome David became absorbed in the study of the antique; and began painting pictures of classical subjects, which were well received when exhibited in Paris. During the Revolution David became a enthusiastic supporter of Robespierre, and though he was in danger for a time after the fall of Robespierre, he escaped the perils at the end of the Terror by wisely devoting himself to art and eschewing politics. When the Directory created the Institute of France on the ruins of the old monarchical academics, David was appointed one of the two original members of the Fine Arts section and charged with the delicate mission of selecting the other members.
Henceforward David was omnipotent in French art. Like so many other revolutionaries, he was completely carried away by the genius of the First Consul, who seemed to him the right Caesar for the new Romans. One morning, after Bonaparte had give him a sitting for a head. David spoke enthusiasitically of the General to his pupils. ‘He is a man to whom altars would have been erected in ancient times; yes, my friends, Bonaparte is my hero.’ But the portrait of his hero was never completed, and only the head remains today, for Napoleon disliked long sittings and did not care for exact likeness. What he demanded from an artist was a picture to rouse the admiration of the people, and to satisfy this demand David painted ‘Bonaparte crossing the Alps,’ ‘Napoleon distributing the Eagles to his Army,’ and similar pictures which, though correct and precise in drawing, seem cold, strained, and dull today.
The best works of David are not his official pictures, but some of his portraits, which have more force and life. The most celebrated of these portraits is his ‘Madame Recamier,’ now in the Louvre, though the painter himself did not regard it as more than an unfinished sketch which he once threatened to destroy. The sitter greatly displeased David by leaving him when the portrait was half finished and going to his pupil Gerard (1770-1837), who had suddenly become the fashion, to have another portait of herself painted by him. A few years later Madame Recamier, tired of Gerard’s flattering portraiture, came back to David and begged him to go on with his picture. ‘Madame,’ he replied, ‘artists are as capricious as women. Suffer me to keep your picture in the state where we left it.’
After Waterloo and the restoration of te Bourbons, David, who had taken so prominent a part in the Revolution, was exiled from France in 1816, and not being allowed to go to Rome as he wished, he settled in Brussels, where he continued painting classical pictures, now chiefly of Greek subjects, till he died in 1825. Even in exile David was still regarded as the head of his school, and few painters of so moderate a talent have so profoundly influenced the art of Europe. He completely crushed for the time being the ideals of Watteau and his school and of Boucher—‘cursed Boucher,’ that Boucher of ridiculous memory’—as he called him; and as a good republican he delighted other republicans by maintaining that the art of the last three Louis represented ‘the most complete decadence of taste and an epoch of corruption.’ To David and his pupils Europe owes that revival of classical subjects which was a feature of nineteenth century painting in all north-western Europe, and France owes him in addition that tradition of fine drawing which has characterized her art for the last century.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continue)
The Work Of David, Vigée Lebrun, Gros, Ingres, And Goya
1
To look at the calm and serene British portraits in the last two chapters, it is difficult to realize that England was engaged in warfare almost continuously during the century in which they were painted. While Reynolds, Gainsborough, and their successors were building up the reputation of English art, statesmen, soldiers, and sailors were laying the foundations of the present British Empire, Wolfe in Canada, Clive in india, and Nelson on the high seas. We have seen how profusely art flowered in England while her empire abroad was expanding, and we must not turn our attention to the progress of art in that country which throughout the century was England’s constant foe.
To appreciate the effect of the French Revolution on the painters of France, it is advisable to consider briefly the condition of artists in the eighteenth century. The French Academy, founded in 1648 for the advancement of art, had become a close body, exercising a pernicious tyranny. Artists who were neither members nor associates wer not allowed to exhibit their works in public, and even Academicians were not supposed to show elsewhere: one of them, Serres by name, was actually expelled from the Academy because he had independantly exhibited his picture ‘The Pest of Marseilles’ for money. The only concession the Academy made to outsiders was to allow them once a year, on the day of the Fête Dieu, to hold an ‘Exhibition of Youth’ in the Place Dauphine, which was open for only two hours.
At last Salon held under the old monarchy in 1789 only 350 pictures were exhibited: in 1791 the National Assembly decreed that an exhibition open to all artists, French and foreign, should be held in the Louvre, and the number of pictures show was 794. In the year of the Terror (1793) the number of exhibits exceeded 1000: in 1795 the number of pictures shown increased to 3048. These figures tell their own story, and show that the first thing the French Revolution did for art was to give painters a fuller liberty to display their work to the public. Further, notwithstanding the exhausted state of the finances, the Revolutionary Government encouraged artists by distributing annual prizes to a total value of 442,000 francs, and began the systematic organization of public museums. On the 27th July 1793 the Convention decreed that a museum should be open in the Louvre, and that art treasures collected from the royal palaces, from monasteries, and from the houses of aristocrats who had fled the country should be placed there. At the same time a sum of 100,000 francs was voted for the further purchase of works of art.
While in some parts of the country an ignorant and savage mob ruthlessly destroyed many precious monuments, libraries, and art treasures, the leaders of the Revolution throughout showed a special solicitude not only for contemporary art but also for the monuments of the past. Yet while the Revolution did everything it could to foster contemporary art, and to preserve and popularize the best art of the past, it could not produce one really great master of painting or sculpture. Now, if ever, we might expect to find a realism and a rude, savage strength in art; yet the typical painting of the French revolutionary period is cold and correct, and its chief defect is its bloodlessness. While in England the taste, as we have seen, was all for a happy Romanticism in art, the taste of revolutionary France was for a stern Classicism. A nation aspiring to recover the lost virtues of antiquity was naturally disposed to find its ideal art in the antique, and just as politically its eye was on republican Rome rather than on Athens, so its Classicism in art was Roman rather than Greek. The man who gave a new direction to French painting was Jacques Louis David (1748-1825), who, curiously enough, was a distant relative of Boucher, and, for a time, worked under that master, whose art in later years he cordially detested. Later he became the pupil of Vien (1716-1809), whom he accompanied to Rome when Vien was appointed director of the French Academy in that city. In Rome David became absorbed in the study of the antique; and began painting pictures of classical subjects, which were well received when exhibited in Paris. During the Revolution David became a enthusiastic supporter of Robespierre, and though he was in danger for a time after the fall of Robespierre, he escaped the perils at the end of the Terror by wisely devoting himself to art and eschewing politics. When the Directory created the Institute of France on the ruins of the old monarchical academics, David was appointed one of the two original members of the Fine Arts section and charged with the delicate mission of selecting the other members.
Henceforward David was omnipotent in French art. Like so many other revolutionaries, he was completely carried away by the genius of the First Consul, who seemed to him the right Caesar for the new Romans. One morning, after Bonaparte had give him a sitting for a head. David spoke enthusiasitically of the General to his pupils. ‘He is a man to whom altars would have been erected in ancient times; yes, my friends, Bonaparte is my hero.’ But the portrait of his hero was never completed, and only the head remains today, for Napoleon disliked long sittings and did not care for exact likeness. What he demanded from an artist was a picture to rouse the admiration of the people, and to satisfy this demand David painted ‘Bonaparte crossing the Alps,’ ‘Napoleon distributing the Eagles to his Army,’ and similar pictures which, though correct and precise in drawing, seem cold, strained, and dull today.
The best works of David are not his official pictures, but some of his portraits, which have more force and life. The most celebrated of these portraits is his ‘Madame Recamier,’ now in the Louvre, though the painter himself did not regard it as more than an unfinished sketch which he once threatened to destroy. The sitter greatly displeased David by leaving him when the portrait was half finished and going to his pupil Gerard (1770-1837), who had suddenly become the fashion, to have another portait of herself painted by him. A few years later Madame Recamier, tired of Gerard’s flattering portraiture, came back to David and begged him to go on with his picture. ‘Madame,’ he replied, ‘artists are as capricious as women. Suffer me to keep your picture in the state where we left it.’
After Waterloo and the restoration of te Bourbons, David, who had taken so prominent a part in the Revolution, was exiled from France in 1816, and not being allowed to go to Rome as he wished, he settled in Brussels, where he continued painting classical pictures, now chiefly of Greek subjects, till he died in 1825. Even in exile David was still regarded as the head of his school, and few painters of so moderate a talent have so profoundly influenced the art of Europe. He completely crushed for the time being the ideals of Watteau and his school and of Boucher—‘cursed Boucher,’ that Boucher of ridiculous memory’—as he called him; and as a good republican he delighted other republicans by maintaining that the art of the last three Louis represented ‘the most complete decadence of taste and an epoch of corruption.’ To David and his pupils Europe owes that revival of classical subjects which was a feature of nineteenth century painting in all north-western Europe, and France owes him in addition that tradition of fine drawing which has characterized her art for the last century.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continue)
Computer Tomography
A recent development in pearl testing is the application of computer tomography + it enables a three-dimensional image of the pearl’s (Akoya cultured, South Sea, Tahitian, Cultured Blister pearls) structure to be clearly discerned + it differentiates between natural and cultured pearls + it measures nacre thickness + it’s a very expensive methodology + it’s widely used in medicine and other industries.
Useful link:
www.jcat.org
Useful link:
www.jcat.org
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