Vanity Fair has an impressive photographic collection + a new exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London will show classic images from Vanity Fair's early period + other viewpoints @ http://www.npg.org.uk/vanityfair/index.htm
I have seen a few and they are brilliant.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Jewelers Of The Seventeenth Century
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. Old Jewels In New Settings
The dauntless Elizabeth, Queen of England, had died with her clothes on, refusing to relinquish her cumbersome finery even in death. Perhaps it might be possible for a lady to carry a greater load of gold and precious stones than did the regal Elizabeth but for the time being she was champion. The culminating point in the matter of quantity had been reached, and with her death in 1603 the flood tide of jewels in Europe began gradually to recede.
James I, who succeeded Elizabeth, had a wife, Anne, who loved finery but lacked that elusive quality called style. There was little change in dress and jewels in England for some years. After Queen Anne’s death, the ladies even became a degree less flamboyant—but not so the men. Jewels seem to have found a special place of prominence on their enormous felt hats. These hats were decorated extravagantly with jeweled bands and gold clasps set with gems that held in place the bunch of plumes waving jauntily from the side, back, or upturned brim.
Pearls were especially in vogue. My lady’s hair was twined with pearls and it was the acme of elegant distinction for a gentleman to wear a single large, pear-shaped pearl dangling from one ear only, the other ear left unadorned.
Meanwhile, during the first half of the seventeenth century, Europe was torn with a series of wars. In Germany, the Thirty Years’ War had left the country ruined and desolate. The highly skilled, individualistic work of the goldsmith-jeweler is not an art that thrives in time of war. Germany’s goldsmiths, if escape were possible, fled and scattered in other lands.
Along with these unsettled times came changes of fashion. In France, the heavy velvets and stiff brocades that could almost stand alone made place for dainty silks and furbelows less stately, more gay, in accordance with the temper of the French court. Out of mode were the architectural forms, scrolls, and strapwork dear to the German school. Paris called for open lace-like settings in keeping with the new delicacy of fabrics, not the massive ornaments of the century past. The gemstone itself was now called upon to play the leading role; the setting must be subordinate.
And then, as has so often happened, came a wave of remodeling jewelry. Many a fine example of the goldsmith’s art was cast without regard to its beauty into the melting pot.
The epidemic of destruction did not confine itself to France. In Merrie England, when the new king, James I, took stock of the crown jewels, the inventory of 1603 listed ‘a fayre Flower, with three great ballaces, in the myddest a greate pointed dyamonde, and three greate perles fixed, with a fayre greate perle pendante, called The Brethren.’ It was, of course, the same historic pendant made for Charles the Bold, and later added to the royal regalia by Henry VIII. Elizabeth had kept the jewel intact, but when the fever of remodeling jewelry swept Europe, the pendant was among the royal jewels handled over to one of the court jewelers, George Heriot of Edinburgh, for refashioning.
Jewlers Of The Seventeenth Century (continued)
1. Old Jewels In New Settings
The dauntless Elizabeth, Queen of England, had died with her clothes on, refusing to relinquish her cumbersome finery even in death. Perhaps it might be possible for a lady to carry a greater load of gold and precious stones than did the regal Elizabeth but for the time being she was champion. The culminating point in the matter of quantity had been reached, and with her death in 1603 the flood tide of jewels in Europe began gradually to recede.
James I, who succeeded Elizabeth, had a wife, Anne, who loved finery but lacked that elusive quality called style. There was little change in dress and jewels in England for some years. After Queen Anne’s death, the ladies even became a degree less flamboyant—but not so the men. Jewels seem to have found a special place of prominence on their enormous felt hats. These hats were decorated extravagantly with jeweled bands and gold clasps set with gems that held in place the bunch of plumes waving jauntily from the side, back, or upturned brim.
Pearls were especially in vogue. My lady’s hair was twined with pearls and it was the acme of elegant distinction for a gentleman to wear a single large, pear-shaped pearl dangling from one ear only, the other ear left unadorned.
Meanwhile, during the first half of the seventeenth century, Europe was torn with a series of wars. In Germany, the Thirty Years’ War had left the country ruined and desolate. The highly skilled, individualistic work of the goldsmith-jeweler is not an art that thrives in time of war. Germany’s goldsmiths, if escape were possible, fled and scattered in other lands.
Along with these unsettled times came changes of fashion. In France, the heavy velvets and stiff brocades that could almost stand alone made place for dainty silks and furbelows less stately, more gay, in accordance with the temper of the French court. Out of mode were the architectural forms, scrolls, and strapwork dear to the German school. Paris called for open lace-like settings in keeping with the new delicacy of fabrics, not the massive ornaments of the century past. The gemstone itself was now called upon to play the leading role; the setting must be subordinate.
And then, as has so often happened, came a wave of remodeling jewelry. Many a fine example of the goldsmith’s art was cast without regard to its beauty into the melting pot.
The epidemic of destruction did not confine itself to France. In Merrie England, when the new king, James I, took stock of the crown jewels, the inventory of 1603 listed ‘a fayre Flower, with three great ballaces, in the myddest a greate pointed dyamonde, and three greate perles fixed, with a fayre greate perle pendante, called The Brethren.’ It was, of course, the same historic pendant made for Charles the Bold, and later added to the royal regalia by Henry VIII. Elizabeth had kept the jewel intact, but when the fever of remodeling jewelry swept Europe, the pendant was among the royal jewels handled over to one of the court jewelers, George Heriot of Edinburgh, for refashioning.
Jewlers Of The Seventeenth Century (continued)
Natural Landscape
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art Of Constable, Bonington, Crome, And Cotman
1
Unquestionably the two greatest English painters of landscape, and probably the two greatest English painters of any kind, were Turner and Constable, who were born within a year of one another. Turner, as we saw in the last chapter, amassed a large fortune; Constable, on the other hand, could hardly earn a bare living, and not until 1814, when the artist was thirty eight, did he sell a picture to any but his own personal friends.
How was it that, from a worldly point of view, Constable failed where Turner succeeded? The explanation is to be found in the totally different character of the landscapes painted by these two artists. Turner, as Claude had done before him, made frequent use of nominal subjects as an excuse for his pictures of Nature; there was a dramatic element in his art which appealed to the popular imagination, and even when, as in many of his later works, people found difficulty in apprehending the elements of his style, they were insensibly affected by the splendor of his color and brought to admit that these pictures, if difficult to understand, were paintings in the ‘grand style’.
Constable never made use of ficticious subjects and titles as an excuse for painting landscapes. His works were wholly free from any dramatic or foreign interest, and following example of the Dutch landscape painters of the seventeenth century, he whole-heartedly devoted himself to painting the simple, homely beauty of the scenery in his native land. He modestly confessed that he thought there was room for a ‘natural painter’ and by this he meant a painter who would devote himself to painting as truly as he could the beauty of Nature without importing into his pictures any extraneous reference to Homeric legend or to events in the past or present.
His landscapes were long unappreciated because they appealed to a pure love of Nature which was not fully awake in the artist’s lifetime. ‘My art,’ said Constable a little bitterly in his middle years, ‘flatters nobody by imitation, it courts nobody by smoothness, tickles nobody by petiteness, it is without either fal-de-lal or fiddle-de-dee; how can I then hope to be popular?’
John Constable was born on June 11, 1776, nearly fourteen months, to be precise, after the birth of Turner. He was the son of a miller who owned watermills at Flatford and Dedham and two windmills at East Berghholt in Suffolk. It was at the mill house in East Berghholt that John Constable was born, and here he passed the greater part of his youth. His father wished him to enter the Church, but Constable had no inclination in this direction, and after he had finished his education in the local school, at the age of eighteen he assisted his father in the mill at East Bergholt which figures in so many of his landscapes.
Meanwhile his love of Nature and art was encouraged by a great amateur who happened to have his seat in the neighboring county of Essex and wa quick to recognize the talent of young Constable. Sir George Beaumont (1753-1827) was something of a painter himself, he had been a pupil of Richard Wilson; and he was an enthusiastic patron of art and artists. He had peculiar ideas about color, and his well-known saying that ‘a good picture, like good fiddle, should be brown,’ was not helpful to a painter like Constable, who saw them; but at this time Constable was beginner, and the friendly encouragement and advice of Beaumont decided Constable’s career.
One of the best things about Sir George Beaumont, to whose zeal and generosity we owe in large measure the establishment of the National Gallery, was his unremitting efforts to make England appreciate the genius of her own artists. As a young man he had waggishly shown up the ignorance of the public and its ridiculous passion for foreign artists by advertising in the newspapers that a wonderful German had arrived in Bond Street who could take likenesses by a new method of heating the mirror in which the sitter looked, and for ever fixing and preserving the reflection! On the next day a crowd of fashionable folk flocked to Bond Street, only to be laughed at by the practical joker and his friends.
Natural Landscape (continued)
The Art Of Constable, Bonington, Crome, And Cotman
1
Unquestionably the two greatest English painters of landscape, and probably the two greatest English painters of any kind, were Turner and Constable, who were born within a year of one another. Turner, as we saw in the last chapter, amassed a large fortune; Constable, on the other hand, could hardly earn a bare living, and not until 1814, when the artist was thirty eight, did he sell a picture to any but his own personal friends.
How was it that, from a worldly point of view, Constable failed where Turner succeeded? The explanation is to be found in the totally different character of the landscapes painted by these two artists. Turner, as Claude had done before him, made frequent use of nominal subjects as an excuse for his pictures of Nature; there was a dramatic element in his art which appealed to the popular imagination, and even when, as in many of his later works, people found difficulty in apprehending the elements of his style, they were insensibly affected by the splendor of his color and brought to admit that these pictures, if difficult to understand, were paintings in the ‘grand style’.
Constable never made use of ficticious subjects and titles as an excuse for painting landscapes. His works were wholly free from any dramatic or foreign interest, and following example of the Dutch landscape painters of the seventeenth century, he whole-heartedly devoted himself to painting the simple, homely beauty of the scenery in his native land. He modestly confessed that he thought there was room for a ‘natural painter’ and by this he meant a painter who would devote himself to painting as truly as he could the beauty of Nature without importing into his pictures any extraneous reference to Homeric legend or to events in the past or present.
His landscapes were long unappreciated because they appealed to a pure love of Nature which was not fully awake in the artist’s lifetime. ‘My art,’ said Constable a little bitterly in his middle years, ‘flatters nobody by imitation, it courts nobody by smoothness, tickles nobody by petiteness, it is without either fal-de-lal or fiddle-de-dee; how can I then hope to be popular?’
John Constable was born on June 11, 1776, nearly fourteen months, to be precise, after the birth of Turner. He was the son of a miller who owned watermills at Flatford and Dedham and two windmills at East Berghholt in Suffolk. It was at the mill house in East Berghholt that John Constable was born, and here he passed the greater part of his youth. His father wished him to enter the Church, but Constable had no inclination in this direction, and after he had finished his education in the local school, at the age of eighteen he assisted his father in the mill at East Bergholt which figures in so many of his landscapes.
Meanwhile his love of Nature and art was encouraged by a great amateur who happened to have his seat in the neighboring county of Essex and wa quick to recognize the talent of young Constable. Sir George Beaumont (1753-1827) was something of a painter himself, he had been a pupil of Richard Wilson; and he was an enthusiastic patron of art and artists. He had peculiar ideas about color, and his well-known saying that ‘a good picture, like good fiddle, should be brown,’ was not helpful to a painter like Constable, who saw them; but at this time Constable was beginner, and the friendly encouragement and advice of Beaumont decided Constable’s career.
One of the best things about Sir George Beaumont, to whose zeal and generosity we owe in large measure the establishment of the National Gallery, was his unremitting efforts to make England appreciate the genius of her own artists. As a young man he had waggishly shown up the ignorance of the public and its ridiculous passion for foreign artists by advertising in the newspapers that a wonderful German had arrived in Bond Street who could take likenesses by a new method of heating the mirror in which the sitter looked, and for ever fixing and preserving the reflection! On the next day a crowd of fashionable folk flocked to Bond Street, only to be laughed at by the practical joker and his friends.
Natural Landscape (continued)
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Heard On The Street
Remember: the market is always right + you can never be taught about market, you have to learn it + you must balance fear and greed.
Eric Estorick
The story of Eric Estorick is unique + the collection of art and sculpture (s) dating from 1890 to the 1950s includes Giacomo Balla + Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà + Gino Severini + Luigi Russolo + Ardengo Soffici + works by Giorgio de Chirico + Amedeo Modigliani + Giorgio Morandi + Mario Sironi + Marino Marini + the Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art museum in Canonbury Square in the district of Islington on the northern fringes of central London is the United Kingdom's only gallery devoted to modern Italian art.
Useful links:
www.estorickcollection.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Estorick_Collection_of_Modern_Italian_Art
http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/15/arts/melik16.php
What made Eric a great collector?
A wonderful eye, timing, foresight, energy.
-Michael Estorick
I think that neatly sums up what it takes to be an art hunter, whether as a dealer or a collector.
Useful links:
www.estorickcollection.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Estorick_Collection_of_Modern_Italian_Art
http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/15/arts/melik16.php
What made Eric a great collector?
A wonderful eye, timing, foresight, energy.
-Michael Estorick
I think that neatly sums up what it takes to be an art hunter, whether as a dealer or a collector.
Flawless
Trailer for 'Flawless', the new diamond movie @ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GfpT1GCXy8
I hope you will like it.
I hope you will like it.
The Detective And The Investor
The Detective and The Investor by Robert G. Hagstrom is an interesting novel book on how the investigative methods used by the great fictional detectives to analyse the evidence and solve the mystery can be used by investors when analysing a business and determining its value + I liked it.
I was wondering whether the concept could be applied in gem and jewelry analysis + valuation.
I was wondering whether the concept could be applied in gem and jewelry analysis + valuation.
Failed Leadership And Fraudulent Certificates
Chaim Even Zohar writes about the state of DDC (Diamond Dealers Club) today + leadership issues and the impact + GIA’s Certifigate scandal and the key players + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_Forum_Type.asp?id=31
Jewelers Of Renaissance
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
- Fancy Or Gadget Rings
It seems probable that a great number of gadget rings perished along with the charm of their novelty. Nevertheless some types of these hybrids still exist to rejoice the hearts of collectors. Among them may be listed such items as the pugilist’s ring intended to be used as a weapon, something akin to ‘brass knuckles’; the compass ring, self-explanatory; the puzzle ring, ornamented with a rebus, and the tobacco stopper.
Tobacco had been introduced into Europe during the latter part of the sixteenth century, but it was too costly a luxury for any but the very wealthy. It was smoked in a small pipe and the smoke was expelled through the nose, not through the mouth. One may picture the young exquisite of the day daintly packing tobacco into his pipe with his golden ring, and breathing smoke from his nostrils—a strange new fashion—a sight to provoke awed admiration tinged with alarm! The tobacco stopper no doubt served its purpose well enough but it must have been an awkward ring to wear.
Then there was the ‘writing diamond’ ring. Vivid among our childhood’s memories of English history, as taught in schools, is the threadbare and doubtless unauthenticatic story of Queen Elizabeth and the aspiring gentleman who wrote upon the windowpane with his ring:
Fain would I climb but that I fear to fall.
And the Queen trying her hand at diamond writing, followed with:
If they heart fail thee, do not climb at all.
We used to think diamond writing must have been a difficult feat and that the ring was made for the sole purpose of writing messages or names on windowpanes. Probably it was used to greater advantage in the new fad for engraving glass tableware.
It Italy, the makers of fine glassware had recently invented a new mode of decorating a thin crystal goblet by covering it with an intricate and lacy design made up of a myriad of fine dots. The engraving tool was a diamond point. Presently glass-men of other countries took by glass-stippling, and before long the layman followed suit. He made a hobby of stippling fairy-like pictures on drinking glasses, and since it was a dainty art it appealed to the ladies, and a pointed diamond set in a ring was a charming tool.
There are many rings of the Renaissance whose bezel is made in the form of a little case with a hinged lid, or with a sliding panel beneath the bezel, thus providing a small space where perfume or poison could be kept. An ingenious form of poison ring borrowed its idea from the rattlesnake. A small hollow tube with a sharp point like a fang was connected with a reservoir of poison. When the point was turned inward, a tiny but fatal pucture could be made merely by clasping the hand of an enemy with warm enthusiasm.
- Fancy Or Gadget Rings
It seems probable that a great number of gadget rings perished along with the charm of their novelty. Nevertheless some types of these hybrids still exist to rejoice the hearts of collectors. Among them may be listed such items as the pugilist’s ring intended to be used as a weapon, something akin to ‘brass knuckles’; the compass ring, self-explanatory; the puzzle ring, ornamented with a rebus, and the tobacco stopper.
Tobacco had been introduced into Europe during the latter part of the sixteenth century, but it was too costly a luxury for any but the very wealthy. It was smoked in a small pipe and the smoke was expelled through the nose, not through the mouth. One may picture the young exquisite of the day daintly packing tobacco into his pipe with his golden ring, and breathing smoke from his nostrils—a strange new fashion—a sight to provoke awed admiration tinged with alarm! The tobacco stopper no doubt served its purpose well enough but it must have been an awkward ring to wear.
Then there was the ‘writing diamond’ ring. Vivid among our childhood’s memories of English history, as taught in schools, is the threadbare and doubtless unauthenticatic story of Queen Elizabeth and the aspiring gentleman who wrote upon the windowpane with his ring:
Fain would I climb but that I fear to fall.
And the Queen trying her hand at diamond writing, followed with:
If they heart fail thee, do not climb at all.
We used to think diamond writing must have been a difficult feat and that the ring was made for the sole purpose of writing messages or names on windowpanes. Probably it was used to greater advantage in the new fad for engraving glass tableware.
It Italy, the makers of fine glassware had recently invented a new mode of decorating a thin crystal goblet by covering it with an intricate and lacy design made up of a myriad of fine dots. The engraving tool was a diamond point. Presently glass-men of other countries took by glass-stippling, and before long the layman followed suit. He made a hobby of stippling fairy-like pictures on drinking glasses, and since it was a dainty art it appealed to the ladies, and a pointed diamond set in a ring was a charming tool.
There are many rings of the Renaissance whose bezel is made in the form of a little case with a hinged lid, or with a sliding panel beneath the bezel, thus providing a small space where perfume or poison could be kept. An ingenious form of poison ring borrowed its idea from the rattlesnake. A small hollow tube with a sharp point like a fang was connected with a reservoir of poison. When the point was turned inward, a tiny but fatal pucture could be made merely by clasping the hand of an enemy with warm enthusiasm.
The Rise Of Landscape Painting
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
From Birmingham David Cox went to London to paint scenery—at four shillings a square yard!—in the Surrey Theatre, varying this work with sepia drawings, which he sold to a dealer at two guineas a dozen for school copies. Meanwhile he made every endeavor to improve his art and took lessons from John Varley (1778-1842), an artist of refined accomplishment, who was one of the founders of the Water-color Society in 1804. Varley, who had had his own struggles before he made a position for himself as one of the best water-colorists of his time, like Cox so much and thought so highly of his talent that he would not allow the young man to pay him for his lessons.
Under Varley’s tuition Cox rapidly improved his art and his circumstances; he was able to quit the theatre and earn money in his turn by giving lessons, and in 1805 he made his first visit to Wales, where he discovered Bettws-y-Coed, ever after to be his Mecca. On his return he exhibited his Welsh water colors, which attracted some attention, and in 1808 he married and settled down in a little house on Dulwich Common. Here he gave lessons to pupils and polished his own art by the diligent study of the surrounding scenery, learning to render the varied effects of Nature and the aspects of morning, noon, and twilight. In 1813 he was elected a member of the Water-color Society and became one of the principal contributors to its exhibitions.
In 1829 he made a tour on the Continent, choosing his subjects on the coasts and in the market places of Antwerp and Brussels, and the crowded bridges of Paris, but he liked best the scenery of his own country, particularly the mountainous country of Wales and Scotland, whose gloomy passes he painted with great effect and grandeur. He also painted many views of the Thames and of the country round London, but till he was past fifty he worked exclusively in water-colors.
In 1839, however, when he was fifty six, Cox became acquainted with a young Bristol painter, William James Mϋller (1812-45), who had just returned from a long journey through Greece and Egypt. Mϋller was himself a very brilliant colorist and a skillful painter in oils; the man and his work made a deep impression on Cox, who studied Mϋller and watched him at work, and henceforward devoted himself more to oils than to water-colors. About 1841 Cox left London and settled at Greenfield House, Harborne, near Birmingham, and there, with an annual excursion of some weeks to his beloved Bettwys-y-Coed, he lived till the day of his death on June 7, 1859. During these later years Cox gave himself chiefly to oil-painting; his best pictures were seldom seen in London during his own lifetime, and when shown were not generally appreciated. It was only after his death that his merit as an oil painter became widely recognized.
Whether in oil or in water color the work of David Cox is distinguished by its light, its vigor, and its spaciousness. His pictures ‘A Windy Day,’ also known as ‘Crossing the Common,’ is a happy example of the scene and weather he excelled in rendering.
From Birmingham David Cox went to London to paint scenery—at four shillings a square yard!—in the Surrey Theatre, varying this work with sepia drawings, which he sold to a dealer at two guineas a dozen for school copies. Meanwhile he made every endeavor to improve his art and took lessons from John Varley (1778-1842), an artist of refined accomplishment, who was one of the founders of the Water-color Society in 1804. Varley, who had had his own struggles before he made a position for himself as one of the best water-colorists of his time, like Cox so much and thought so highly of his talent that he would not allow the young man to pay him for his lessons.
Under Varley’s tuition Cox rapidly improved his art and his circumstances; he was able to quit the theatre and earn money in his turn by giving lessons, and in 1805 he made his first visit to Wales, where he discovered Bettws-y-Coed, ever after to be his Mecca. On his return he exhibited his Welsh water colors, which attracted some attention, and in 1808 he married and settled down in a little house on Dulwich Common. Here he gave lessons to pupils and polished his own art by the diligent study of the surrounding scenery, learning to render the varied effects of Nature and the aspects of morning, noon, and twilight. In 1813 he was elected a member of the Water-color Society and became one of the principal contributors to its exhibitions.
In 1829 he made a tour on the Continent, choosing his subjects on the coasts and in the market places of Antwerp and Brussels, and the crowded bridges of Paris, but he liked best the scenery of his own country, particularly the mountainous country of Wales and Scotland, whose gloomy passes he painted with great effect and grandeur. He also painted many views of the Thames and of the country round London, but till he was past fifty he worked exclusively in water-colors.
In 1839, however, when he was fifty six, Cox became acquainted with a young Bristol painter, William James Mϋller (1812-45), who had just returned from a long journey through Greece and Egypt. Mϋller was himself a very brilliant colorist and a skillful painter in oils; the man and his work made a deep impression on Cox, who studied Mϋller and watched him at work, and henceforward devoted himself more to oils than to water-colors. About 1841 Cox left London and settled at Greenfield House, Harborne, near Birmingham, and there, with an annual excursion of some weeks to his beloved Bettwys-y-Coed, he lived till the day of his death on June 7, 1859. During these later years Cox gave himself chiefly to oil-painting; his best pictures were seldom seen in London during his own lifetime, and when shown were not generally appreciated. It was only after his death that his merit as an oil painter became widely recognized.
Whether in oil or in water color the work of David Cox is distinguished by its light, its vigor, and its spaciousness. His pictures ‘A Windy Day,’ also known as ‘Crossing the Common,’ is a happy example of the scene and weather he excelled in rendering.
Heard On The Street
We have no way of knowing what lays ahead for us in the future + all we can do is use the information at hand to make the best decision possible.
The Estanque
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
During his travels in the Netherlands towards the end of 1559, King Philip II of Spain bought the largest diamond ever seen in Europe. The merchant who sold him the rough stone was (according to Charles de Lecluse, who spells the name in various ways) Juan Carlos Affaitatus. King Philip had the stone fashioned into a single exceptionally fine gem weighing nearly 50 ct, which was given the name of Estanque, meaning ‘impervious’ or ‘adamantine’. He presented the diamond, and the famous Peregrina pearl, to his third wife Elizabeth of Valois as a wedding present. On 13th February 1560 she rode in state into Toledo, wearing both these jewels and another large Table Cut diamond. This second Table can be seen in portraits of the English Queen, Mary Tudor, Philp’s second wife, on whose death in 1558 the diamond returned to the Spanish Crown.
Large Table Cut diamonds were the height of fashion in Spain at that time; they often had drop-shaped pearls suspended from them. The Peregrina and the Estanque were later combined into one jewel known as the Joyel Rico or the Jewel of the Austrias, which suggests that it was created for Philip’s fourth wife, Anne of Austria.
It has only been possible to analyze the cut of the stone through the efforts of Dr Muller, who discovered a most interesting description in Saez Diez’s manual for jewelers, published in 1781. Diez claimed that the area of the gem was equal to the area of a 56ct diamond. He had not actually seen the gem, but it is clear that a trustworthy informant had compared the size of the Estanque with Jeffries’ charts.
A number of portraits of Spanish queens show the Estanque diamond, but in most of them the brushwork is imprecise. However, in the portrait of Margarita of Austria, wife of Philip III of Spain, Bartolomé Gonzales (appointed Pintor del Rei in 1617) has reproduced the gem with exceptional accuracy. He shows the size of the table and the culet, the stepping of the pavilion, and the reflections of the culet in the crown facets. These last indicate that it was a shallow stone.
Drawing of the Estanque diamond: diameter of 22mm, a table size of 78 percent and a crown height of 11 percent. The angles of inclination are 45° both above and below the girdle. The application of a step near the culet was a device widely used in Antwerp throughout the period when Table Cuts remained in fashion. It made it possible to reduce the size of the culet and at the same time to retain the 45° angles of the pavilion. If the step was applied at precisely the right point, it gave increased reflections of light from the pavilion. The broken lines in the diagram indicate the shape of a standard High Table Cut.
Two other painting of the Estanque diamond confirm my analysis of it: a portrait of Queen Anna by Alonso Sanchez Coello and a portrait of Queen Margarita, said to have been painted by Diego Velázquez and his studio.
During his travels in the Netherlands towards the end of 1559, King Philip II of Spain bought the largest diamond ever seen in Europe. The merchant who sold him the rough stone was (according to Charles de Lecluse, who spells the name in various ways) Juan Carlos Affaitatus. King Philip had the stone fashioned into a single exceptionally fine gem weighing nearly 50 ct, which was given the name of Estanque, meaning ‘impervious’ or ‘adamantine’. He presented the diamond, and the famous Peregrina pearl, to his third wife Elizabeth of Valois as a wedding present. On 13th February 1560 she rode in state into Toledo, wearing both these jewels and another large Table Cut diamond. This second Table can be seen in portraits of the English Queen, Mary Tudor, Philp’s second wife, on whose death in 1558 the diamond returned to the Spanish Crown.
Large Table Cut diamonds were the height of fashion in Spain at that time; they often had drop-shaped pearls suspended from them. The Peregrina and the Estanque were later combined into one jewel known as the Joyel Rico or the Jewel of the Austrias, which suggests that it was created for Philip’s fourth wife, Anne of Austria.
It has only been possible to analyze the cut of the stone through the efforts of Dr Muller, who discovered a most interesting description in Saez Diez’s manual for jewelers, published in 1781. Diez claimed that the area of the gem was equal to the area of a 56ct diamond. He had not actually seen the gem, but it is clear that a trustworthy informant had compared the size of the Estanque with Jeffries’ charts.
A number of portraits of Spanish queens show the Estanque diamond, but in most of them the brushwork is imprecise. However, in the portrait of Margarita of Austria, wife of Philip III of Spain, Bartolomé Gonzales (appointed Pintor del Rei in 1617) has reproduced the gem with exceptional accuracy. He shows the size of the table and the culet, the stepping of the pavilion, and the reflections of the culet in the crown facets. These last indicate that it was a shallow stone.
Drawing of the Estanque diamond: diameter of 22mm, a table size of 78 percent and a crown height of 11 percent. The angles of inclination are 45° both above and below the girdle. The application of a step near the culet was a device widely used in Antwerp throughout the period when Table Cuts remained in fashion. It made it possible to reduce the size of the culet and at the same time to retain the 45° angles of the pavilion. If the step was applied at precisely the right point, it gave increased reflections of light from the pavilion. The broken lines in the diagram indicate the shape of a standard High Table Cut.
Two other painting of the Estanque diamond confirm my analysis of it: a portrait of Queen Anna by Alonso Sanchez Coello and a portrait of Queen Margarita, said to have been painted by Diego Velázquez and his studio.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Jean-Michel Basquiat
Jean-Michel Basquiat was an American artist + he became popular, first as a graffiti artist in New York City, and then as a successful 1980s-era Neo-expressionist artist + his paintings continue to influence modern day artists and command high prices + in my view his strong use of color and the social commentary in his work creates that otherness.
Useful links:
www.basquiat.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Michel_Basquiat
Every single line means something.
- Jean-Michel Basquiat
Useful links:
www.basquiat.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Michel_Basquiat
Every single line means something.
- Jean-Michel Basquiat
The Davis Dynasty
The Davis Dynasty by John Rothchild is a wonderful book about Shelby Davis, one of Wall Street's most successful and least-known investors + its part character study/part Wall Street history + I liked it.
Gulf Stream Energy
Scientists believe that the mighty Gulf Stream, off Florida’s coast rushes by at nearly 8.5 billion gallons per second, the world’s most powerful sustained ocean current + it represent a new, plentiful and uninterrupted source of clean energy + but for now, no one knows the environmental consequences + I think a cost-efficient ‘energy mix’ could be one solution + it’s encouraging to see innovative companies researching for alternative sources to replace fossil fuels.
Useful links:
www.epri.com
www.finavera.com
www.ferc.gov
http://coet.fau.edu
Useful links:
www.epri.com
www.finavera.com
www.ferc.gov
http://coet.fau.edu
Jewelers Of Renaissance
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
- Rings Of Romance And Sentiment
Betrothal rings, wedding rings, love rings, rings as token of friendship or of loyalty to some chosen hero, rings given wholesale in commemoration of an event such as a wedding or a funeral, individual mourning rings—rings no end.
It would seem that a ring more than any other form of jewelry must support the total weight of human emotions and stand by as emblem of joy, woe, and all the intervening shades of feeling that make up the sum of personal relations.
The custom of exchanging betrothal rings traces back to classical times. In ancient Rome the ring represented a pledge made by the father or guardian of the woman to the man destined to be her husband. He in turn pledged himself by the presentation of a ring to his bride-to-be. Such a contract appears not to have been unbreakable if the parties concerned changed their minds. But by the end of the Middle Ages, it would seem that betrothal and marriage had become so closely related that the wedding ring and the betrothal ring merged into one.
Among the Early Christian writings is a passage stating that a betrothal ring ‘is given by the espouser to the espoused either for a sign of mutual fidelity or still more to join their hearts by this pledge, and therefore the ring is placed on the fourth finger because a certain vein, it is said, flows thence to the heart.’
Since the thumb was counted as the first finger, doubtless the finger referred to was in fact the third. Nearly all medieval paintings which represent a wedding ceremony show the ring being placed on the right hand. A change of practice in placing the ring on the third finger of the left instead of the right hand first appears in the Book of Common Prayer of Edward VI (1549).
The ring as a symbol of marriage seems to be one of our permanent institutions, continuing through changes of fashion both in its outward form and in the ceremony of conferring it. Even when the English Puritans tried their best to do away with the wedding ring they failed to suppress it.
Fashion in wedding rings has been changeable, swinging from the simplest band of metal without any ornament to elaborately wrought designs or rings set with stones, then back again to the plain metal hoop.
As a marked instance of elaboration stands the Jewish wedding ring. Far too unwieldy for daily wear, it was used only during the wedding ceremony. In many of these heavy rings the bezel took the form of a gabled building, a synagogue or Solomon’s Temple; sometimes wrought in great detail with roof tiles of enamel and a couple of weather vanes that could revolve as practically as real weather vanes of normal size. The bands of these rings were also elaborately ornamented and often bore a Hebrew inscription meaning Good Luck.
Emblematic of love and friendship was the gimmel ring which consisted of two rings closely locked together, but capable of being separated so that two lovers or friends could each wear, in a sense, the same ring.
Another ring signifying a close bond was the fede ring, whose symbol of two clasped hands can be traced back to classical times and from then onward to the present day. Not infrequently the gimmel and the fede were combined, the double ring bearing the symbolic device of clasped hands, perhaps the better to denote a double quota of ardent devotion between the two parties concerned. There was nothing lukewarm about the Renaissance. Emotions were as spectacular and colorful as jewels and as readily displayed, unless there was some very good reason other than shyness for concealing them.
During the Middle Ages began a vogue for a type of love ring known as the ‘posy’ ring. The vogue grew in popularity, reaching its peak in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
The posy or poesy ring, while it might indicate the emotional bond between two lovers, was also handy for the expression of calmer sentiments. In either case the sentiment was usually conveyed in the form of a rhyme engraved on the ring band.
Here are some posy ring inscriptions:
- Let this present my good intent.
- Thy friend am I, and so will dye.
- If I think my wife is fair, what need other people care?
- My dearest Betty is good and pretty.
- I like, I love, as turtledove.
- This and the giver, are thine forever.
Supposedly the versified sentiment originated with the ‘giver’ and sometimes it did. But on the whole, jewelers could tell a different story. They had a store of ready-made rhymes which saved the purchaser a lot of trouble. By 1674, there was published a book entitled Love’s Garland, or Posies for Rings, Handkerchiefs, and Gloves, and such like pretty Tokens that Lovers send their Loves. That book finds an amusing parallel in the ready-made appropriate greetings and messages for all occasions recently provided by the telegraph company. Thought-saving devices have a perennial welcome.
Somewhat related to the custom of tying a string around your finger to make you remember something was the custom of giving rings to commemorate an event, joyous or woeful. The fashion of giving rings to wedding guests seems to have reached a high peak in Elizabeth’s time when Sir Edward Killey ‘is said to have presented four thousand pounds’ worth of gold rings at the marriage of one of his maid-servants.’ Even so, the giving of rings at weddings never became as widespread and excessively practised as did the bestowal of funeral rings. Since a certain sum was often set aside and directions given in the will of the deceased for the purchase commemorative rings, it is difficult to say whether the custom was inspired merely by fashion or by a pathetic longing to be remembered after death.
Although the practice of inscribing rings with the date of death of the deceased can be traced back to the Middle Ages, a distinctive type of mourning ring was not evolved until about the middle of the seventeenth century. Then there was no mistaking it. Inside the hoop was engraved the name and date of death; outside, it was decorated with a skeleton in gold on a black background; and the bezel was set with a crystal which covered either the representation of a skull or a lock of the deceased’s hair. Sometimes his initials were formed in gold thread on a ground of colored silk.
It appears that the ring is the Jack-of-all-trades among jewels—or at least that the jeweler has done his best to load it with responsibilities other than its nature as an ornament requires.
In the latter part of the Middle Ages education was still a luxury beyond reach of the masses. Many people could neither read nor write and the custom of using a signet ring was almost as necessary as it had been back in ancient Egypt. The usual type of gem ring was ‘stirrup-shape.’ Its engraved device might be some emblem or it might be a portrait of the owner. The merchant had his own special signet ring, a trademark with which to stamp his goods so that even though his customers might not be able to read they would have no difficulty in recognizing his distinctive seal.
The signet ring, still serving more than one purpose, was wont most conveniently to combine practical use and romantic sentiment. One famous example bears the letters H.M. in a monogram bound by a truelover’s knot. Inside the hoop is engraved HENRIL DARNLEY, 1655. Touched not alone with romance but with tragedy, is this signet-betrothal ring, for it is believed to be that given by the ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots, to her future husband, Darnley.
Entirely fitting, practical, and dignified was the signet ring; but treading on the heels of dignity came numbers of contraptions—hybrid rings intended both for use and ornament and not making a very good job of either career. For this type of ring our modern colloquial term ‘gadget’ is aptly descriptive.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
- Rings Of Romance And Sentiment
Betrothal rings, wedding rings, love rings, rings as token of friendship or of loyalty to some chosen hero, rings given wholesale in commemoration of an event such as a wedding or a funeral, individual mourning rings—rings no end.
It would seem that a ring more than any other form of jewelry must support the total weight of human emotions and stand by as emblem of joy, woe, and all the intervening shades of feeling that make up the sum of personal relations.
The custom of exchanging betrothal rings traces back to classical times. In ancient Rome the ring represented a pledge made by the father or guardian of the woman to the man destined to be her husband. He in turn pledged himself by the presentation of a ring to his bride-to-be. Such a contract appears not to have been unbreakable if the parties concerned changed their minds. But by the end of the Middle Ages, it would seem that betrothal and marriage had become so closely related that the wedding ring and the betrothal ring merged into one.
Among the Early Christian writings is a passage stating that a betrothal ring ‘is given by the espouser to the espoused either for a sign of mutual fidelity or still more to join their hearts by this pledge, and therefore the ring is placed on the fourth finger because a certain vein, it is said, flows thence to the heart.’
Since the thumb was counted as the first finger, doubtless the finger referred to was in fact the third. Nearly all medieval paintings which represent a wedding ceremony show the ring being placed on the right hand. A change of practice in placing the ring on the third finger of the left instead of the right hand first appears in the Book of Common Prayer of Edward VI (1549).
The ring as a symbol of marriage seems to be one of our permanent institutions, continuing through changes of fashion both in its outward form and in the ceremony of conferring it. Even when the English Puritans tried their best to do away with the wedding ring they failed to suppress it.
Fashion in wedding rings has been changeable, swinging from the simplest band of metal without any ornament to elaborately wrought designs or rings set with stones, then back again to the plain metal hoop.
As a marked instance of elaboration stands the Jewish wedding ring. Far too unwieldy for daily wear, it was used only during the wedding ceremony. In many of these heavy rings the bezel took the form of a gabled building, a synagogue or Solomon’s Temple; sometimes wrought in great detail with roof tiles of enamel and a couple of weather vanes that could revolve as practically as real weather vanes of normal size. The bands of these rings were also elaborately ornamented and often bore a Hebrew inscription meaning Good Luck.
Emblematic of love and friendship was the gimmel ring which consisted of two rings closely locked together, but capable of being separated so that two lovers or friends could each wear, in a sense, the same ring.
Another ring signifying a close bond was the fede ring, whose symbol of two clasped hands can be traced back to classical times and from then onward to the present day. Not infrequently the gimmel and the fede were combined, the double ring bearing the symbolic device of clasped hands, perhaps the better to denote a double quota of ardent devotion between the two parties concerned. There was nothing lukewarm about the Renaissance. Emotions were as spectacular and colorful as jewels and as readily displayed, unless there was some very good reason other than shyness for concealing them.
During the Middle Ages began a vogue for a type of love ring known as the ‘posy’ ring. The vogue grew in popularity, reaching its peak in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
The posy or poesy ring, while it might indicate the emotional bond between two lovers, was also handy for the expression of calmer sentiments. In either case the sentiment was usually conveyed in the form of a rhyme engraved on the ring band.
Here are some posy ring inscriptions:
- Let this present my good intent.
- Thy friend am I, and so will dye.
- If I think my wife is fair, what need other people care?
- My dearest Betty is good and pretty.
- I like, I love, as turtledove.
- This and the giver, are thine forever.
Supposedly the versified sentiment originated with the ‘giver’ and sometimes it did. But on the whole, jewelers could tell a different story. They had a store of ready-made rhymes which saved the purchaser a lot of trouble. By 1674, there was published a book entitled Love’s Garland, or Posies for Rings, Handkerchiefs, and Gloves, and such like pretty Tokens that Lovers send their Loves. That book finds an amusing parallel in the ready-made appropriate greetings and messages for all occasions recently provided by the telegraph company. Thought-saving devices have a perennial welcome.
Somewhat related to the custom of tying a string around your finger to make you remember something was the custom of giving rings to commemorate an event, joyous or woeful. The fashion of giving rings to wedding guests seems to have reached a high peak in Elizabeth’s time when Sir Edward Killey ‘is said to have presented four thousand pounds’ worth of gold rings at the marriage of one of his maid-servants.’ Even so, the giving of rings at weddings never became as widespread and excessively practised as did the bestowal of funeral rings. Since a certain sum was often set aside and directions given in the will of the deceased for the purchase commemorative rings, it is difficult to say whether the custom was inspired merely by fashion or by a pathetic longing to be remembered after death.
Although the practice of inscribing rings with the date of death of the deceased can be traced back to the Middle Ages, a distinctive type of mourning ring was not evolved until about the middle of the seventeenth century. Then there was no mistaking it. Inside the hoop was engraved the name and date of death; outside, it was decorated with a skeleton in gold on a black background; and the bezel was set with a crystal which covered either the representation of a skull or a lock of the deceased’s hair. Sometimes his initials were formed in gold thread on a ground of colored silk.
It appears that the ring is the Jack-of-all-trades among jewels—or at least that the jeweler has done his best to load it with responsibilities other than its nature as an ornament requires.
In the latter part of the Middle Ages education was still a luxury beyond reach of the masses. Many people could neither read nor write and the custom of using a signet ring was almost as necessary as it had been back in ancient Egypt. The usual type of gem ring was ‘stirrup-shape.’ Its engraved device might be some emblem or it might be a portrait of the owner. The merchant had his own special signet ring, a trademark with which to stamp his goods so that even though his customers might not be able to read they would have no difficulty in recognizing his distinctive seal.
The signet ring, still serving more than one purpose, was wont most conveniently to combine practical use and romantic sentiment. One famous example bears the letters H.M. in a monogram bound by a truelover’s knot. Inside the hoop is engraved HENRIL DARNLEY, 1655. Touched not alone with romance but with tragedy, is this signet-betrothal ring, for it is believed to be that given by the ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots, to her future husband, Darnley.
Entirely fitting, practical, and dignified was the signet ring; but treading on the heels of dignity came numbers of contraptions—hybrid rings intended both for use and ornament and not making a very good job of either career. For this type of ring our modern colloquial term ‘gadget’ is aptly descriptive.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
The Rise Of Landscape Painting
4
Jealous as he was of other painters, there was one of his contemporaries for whose art Turner had nothing but admiration. ‘Had Girtin lived,’ he once said, ‘I should have starved,’ and he roundly admitted that painter’s ‘White House in Chelsea’ to be better than anything of his own up to that time. Thomas Girtin was born in 1773 at Southwark, where his father was a rope manufacturer, and, like Turner, he was for a time the pupil of Dayes. But for his short life—for he died in 1802 at the early age of twenty seven—he would probably have rivalled Turner as a painter in oils, and though his career was cut short he lived long enough to make himself one of the greatest of our painters in water colors. In this medium his style was bold and vigorous, and by suppressing irrelevant detail he gave a sense of grandeur to the scenes he depicted. His chief sketching-ground was the northern countries, and particularly its cathedral cities, and his favorite subjects were the ruins of our old abbeys and castles, and the hilly scenery of the north. The water color at South Kensington of ‘Kirkstall Abbey’ is a fine example of his power to present his subject with truth and majesty.
A younger fellow-student with Turner and Girtin in the hospitable house of Dr Monro was another artist who achieved fame chiefly as a painter in water colors. This was Peter De Wint, born at Stone in Staffordshire in 1784. His father was a Dutch physician belonging to an old and respected Amsterdam family who settled in England. Peter, his fourth son, was originally intended for the medical profession, but was allowed to follow art, and placed with the engraver, John Raphael Smith, in 1802. Five years later he was admitted to the Royal Academy School, and the same year (1807) he exhibited at the Academy for the first time, sending three landscapes, and thereafter he exhibited there occasionally till 1828. But his reputation was principally made by the drawings he contributed to the Water-color Society, of which he was elected an Associate in 1810 and was long one of the chief ornaments.
De Wint loved to paint direct from Nature, and was never so happy as when in the fields. His subjects are principally chosen in the eastern and northern countries, and though often tempted to extend his studies to the Continent, the love of England and English scenery was so strong that, except for one visit to Normandy, he never left these shores. He formed a style of his own, notable for the simplicity and breadth of his light and shade, and the fresh limpidity of his color. He was a great purist in technique and objected to the use of Chinese white and body color, which he thought tended to give a heavy effect to a drawing. He excelled in river scenes, and ‘The Trent near Burton,’ in the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensignton, is a beautiful example of his tender and faithful rendering of a typical English scene.
While De Wint excelled in painting the placid aspects of landscapes, his contemporary, David Cox, was at his best on a widy day or in stormy weather. Cox was the son of a blacksmith and was born at Deritend, a suburb of Birmingham, on April 29, 1783. During his school days he had an accident and broke his leg, and this misfortune proved to be his good fortune, for having been given a box of colors with which to amuse himself while he was laid up, young David made such good use of the paints that his parents perceived the bent of his genius, and when he was well again apprenticed him to a painter. David Cox received his first tuition from an artist who painted miniatures for lockets, but when his master committed suicide young Cox went to the other extreme of painting, and at the age of seventeen he became an assistant scene-painter at the Birmingham Theatre. It is said that he even took a small part now and then at this theatre, which was then managed by the father of Macready.
The Rise Of Landscape Painting (continued)
Jealous as he was of other painters, there was one of his contemporaries for whose art Turner had nothing but admiration. ‘Had Girtin lived,’ he once said, ‘I should have starved,’ and he roundly admitted that painter’s ‘White House in Chelsea’ to be better than anything of his own up to that time. Thomas Girtin was born in 1773 at Southwark, where his father was a rope manufacturer, and, like Turner, he was for a time the pupil of Dayes. But for his short life—for he died in 1802 at the early age of twenty seven—he would probably have rivalled Turner as a painter in oils, and though his career was cut short he lived long enough to make himself one of the greatest of our painters in water colors. In this medium his style was bold and vigorous, and by suppressing irrelevant detail he gave a sense of grandeur to the scenes he depicted. His chief sketching-ground was the northern countries, and particularly its cathedral cities, and his favorite subjects were the ruins of our old abbeys and castles, and the hilly scenery of the north. The water color at South Kensington of ‘Kirkstall Abbey’ is a fine example of his power to present his subject with truth and majesty.
A younger fellow-student with Turner and Girtin in the hospitable house of Dr Monro was another artist who achieved fame chiefly as a painter in water colors. This was Peter De Wint, born at Stone in Staffordshire in 1784. His father was a Dutch physician belonging to an old and respected Amsterdam family who settled in England. Peter, his fourth son, was originally intended for the medical profession, but was allowed to follow art, and placed with the engraver, John Raphael Smith, in 1802. Five years later he was admitted to the Royal Academy School, and the same year (1807) he exhibited at the Academy for the first time, sending three landscapes, and thereafter he exhibited there occasionally till 1828. But his reputation was principally made by the drawings he contributed to the Water-color Society, of which he was elected an Associate in 1810 and was long one of the chief ornaments.
De Wint loved to paint direct from Nature, and was never so happy as when in the fields. His subjects are principally chosen in the eastern and northern countries, and though often tempted to extend his studies to the Continent, the love of England and English scenery was so strong that, except for one visit to Normandy, he never left these shores. He formed a style of his own, notable for the simplicity and breadth of his light and shade, and the fresh limpidity of his color. He was a great purist in technique and objected to the use of Chinese white and body color, which he thought tended to give a heavy effect to a drawing. He excelled in river scenes, and ‘The Trent near Burton,’ in the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensignton, is a beautiful example of his tender and faithful rendering of a typical English scene.
While De Wint excelled in painting the placid aspects of landscapes, his contemporary, David Cox, was at his best on a widy day or in stormy weather. Cox was the son of a blacksmith and was born at Deritend, a suburb of Birmingham, on April 29, 1783. During his school days he had an accident and broke his leg, and this misfortune proved to be his good fortune, for having been given a box of colors with which to amuse himself while he was laid up, young David made such good use of the paints that his parents perceived the bent of his genius, and when he was well again apprenticed him to a painter. David Cox received his first tuition from an artist who painted miniatures for lockets, but when his master committed suicide young Cox went to the other extreme of painting, and at the age of seventeen he became an assistant scene-painter at the Birmingham Theatre. It is said that he even took a small part now and then at this theatre, which was then managed by the father of Macready.
The Rise Of Landscape Painting (continued)
FTC Update
Here is an interesting FTC consumer alert on shopping jewelry @ http://www.ftc.gov/bcp/edu/pubs/consumer/alerts/alt011.shtm + I think the FTC's interpretation of natural v real may confuse the novice who may not be familiar with gemological jargons + my view is, if in doubt always consult a reputed gem testing laboratory.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
New Energy Source
The scientists from the Georgia Institute of Technology have produced a unique fabric (by growing zinc oxide nanowires around kevlar textile fibers + weaving the fibres together; when the wires rub against each other, an electric charge builts up and is channeled into a cathode output), a personalized form of piezoelectric power generation, in which mechanical stress is turned into electricity + the researchers say their fabric could have military application in places where other types of power generation are impractical + I think the civilian possibilities are endless.
Useful links:
www.gatech.edu
www.nature.com
www.wired.com
Useful links:
www.gatech.edu
www.nature.com
www.wired.com
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