The article The Clean Energy Scam by Michael Grunwald @ http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1725975,00.html was informative + spot on because no one knows the long term pros and cons of diverting grain and oilseed crops from dinner plates to fuel tanks + with billions in investment capital via multinational companies worldwide the biofuels boom/bust are going to haunt us for generations like the dot-com era.
Useful links:
www.wetlands.org
www.wfp.org
www.conservation.org
www.whrc.org
www.edf.org
www.nrdc.org
www.earth-policy.org
www.cargill.com
www.carlyle.com
www.ge.com
www.bp.com
www.grupomaggi.com.br
www.ford.com
www.shell.com
www.georgesoros.com
www.richardbranson.com
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Tintin
The Adventures of Tintin is a series of comic books created by Belgian artist Hergé, the pen name of Georges Remi + in my view the expressive drawings in Hergé's signature ligne claire style is engaging, in a variety of genres + I'm a big fan of TinTin , and now Thomas Sangster, from south London, has been chosen by Steven Spielberg to be his Tintin for a three-movie adaptation of the boy reporter's adventures.
Useful links:
www.tintin.com
http://tintinmovie.org
Useful links:
www.tintin.com
http://tintinmovie.org
Ultra Fast Lasers
I found the article on Ultra Fast Lasers + properties @ http://www.economist.com/science/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10918079 informative + in adddition to its applicatons in engineering, computing and medicine, I must add that they have become very important in analytical gemology, especially with detecting gemstone treatments and synthetics.
Edward Weston
Edward Weston was an American photographer + he is generally recognized as one of the greatest photographic artists of the 20th century + The Center for Creative Photography at the University of Arizona in Tucson houses a full archive of Edward Weston's work.
I like the tone of black/white photographs, and Edward Weston's works have that natural look and clarity.
Useful links:
www.edward-weston.com
www.creativephotography.org
I like the tone of black/white photographs, and Edward Weston's works have that natural look and clarity.
Useful links:
www.edward-weston.com
www.creativephotography.org
Two Multi-Faceted Split Cuts
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
I once analyzed an exceptional diamond in the surviving top section of an Order of the Golden Fleece made for Maximilian III Joseph, Elector of Bavaria, in about 1750. The diamond is oval, a Brilliant Cut with fifty six facets round its sixteeen-sided table, far more than on the Tiffany diamond. The star facets and the two different types of girdle facets are split, and the main facets do not even extend to the girdle. In contrast, the pavilion is simply divided into eight main facets round a small octagonal culet. The gem is exceptionally well proportioned, and this, combined with its perfect symmetry, makes it equally brilliant all over. Unfortunately, it is distinctly flawed and I graded it as an I (first Piqué). The surrounding gems are all normal Brilliants. The diamond measured approximately 20 x 17 mm and I calculated its weight as being about 50 ct.
A seventeenth-century experimental Brilliant with radially split facets is illustrated in the catalogue of Philip Hope’s famous collection, Pearls and Precious Stones (1893). Herz describes the gem simply as ‘a brilliant of a square shape, with rounded corners, weighing 5¼ ct.’ In addition to an octagonal table, the gem has forty-eight facets in the crown. There is one inner row of short main facets, and another row, split radially, touching the girdle. There are also normal star and girdle facets. The pavilion is not described.
I once analyzed an exceptional diamond in the surviving top section of an Order of the Golden Fleece made for Maximilian III Joseph, Elector of Bavaria, in about 1750. The diamond is oval, a Brilliant Cut with fifty six facets round its sixteeen-sided table, far more than on the Tiffany diamond. The star facets and the two different types of girdle facets are split, and the main facets do not even extend to the girdle. In contrast, the pavilion is simply divided into eight main facets round a small octagonal culet. The gem is exceptionally well proportioned, and this, combined with its perfect symmetry, makes it equally brilliant all over. Unfortunately, it is distinctly flawed and I graded it as an I (first Piqué). The surrounding gems are all normal Brilliants. The diamond measured approximately 20 x 17 mm and I calculated its weight as being about 50 ct.
A seventeenth-century experimental Brilliant with radially split facets is illustrated in the catalogue of Philip Hope’s famous collection, Pearls and Precious Stones (1893). Herz describes the gem simply as ‘a brilliant of a square shape, with rounded corners, weighing 5¼ ct.’ In addition to an octagonal table, the gem has forty-eight facets in the crown. There is one inner row of short main facets, and another row, split radially, touching the girdle. There are also normal star and girdle facets. The pavilion is not described.
The Modern Dutch School
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Nevertheless it is important to note that there is not the same note of romanticism in pictures he painted only two years earlier. In 1868 Matthew joined his brother James in Paris, and we may see in the National Gallery a little picture he painted there in 1870. ‘Montmartre,’ as it is called, shows us dust-carts tipping rubbish on the side of a hill which has a windmill at the top. It is beautifully painted, perfect in its refined realism, but it is not romantic.
When the Franco-Prussian war broke out, James Maris returned to Holland. Matthew remained, went through the siege of Paris, and, like other residents, was enrolled in the Municipal Guard and called out for duty. His post was on the fortifications, opposite Asniéres and just under Mont Valérien, and he suffered considerably from the bitter cold during night duty. Military life was not congenial to this gentle artist, and the thought of killing anybody was abhorrent to him. He confessed afterwards, ‘I never put a bullet in my gun, but only pretended to do so!’
His war experiences certainly did Matthew Maris no good; they saddened him and tended to make him shrink into himself, so that he became more and more of a recluse. After the siege Matthew Maris came to London in 1872, and there he remained to the end of his days. He had rooms at first in the house of an art decorator named Daniel Cottier in St James’s Terrace, Regent’s Park, and Cottier, a strong active business man, had much influence over him, telling him what sort of pictures he ought to paint. Although Cottier, an admirer of Rossetti, undoubtedly encouraged the romantic element in the Dutch artist. Matthew Maris rebelled at painting under his direction and professed that he was thoroughly unhappy in his house. Yet between 1872 and 1875, when he was under the spell of Cottier, Matthew Maris painted what are generally considered to be his finest pictures. Among them we may mention ‘The Girl at the Well’ and ‘Feeding Chickens’, painted in 1872; ‘The Christening’ and ‘Enfant Couchée’, in 1873; ‘He is Coming’—in 1874; and ‘The Sisters’ in 1875. Yet even these works, full of indescribable poetry and romantic beauty, failed to satisfy the artist, who in after years would speak of them as ‘potboilers’ which he had compelled to paint by a tyrannical taskmaster.
Though discontended and professedly unhappy, Matthew Maris was slow to leave what he regarded as a house of bondage, and it was not till 1887—and then chiefly because Mrs Cottier was in ill-health—that he finally left. He went to 47 St John’s Wood Terrace, intending to remain there only a fortnight, while he looked around for a more convenient studio, and he stayed there nineteen years. In 1906 he found a home at 18 Westbourne Square, Paddington, in a half-flat with a small painting room, and in this modest abode, tended by a faithful housekeeper, he remained till he died on August 17, 1917. He seldom went out and he had few visitors, the most intimate friends of his later years being the Dutch picture-dealer, Mr E J Van Wisselingh and his wife, a Scottish lady, daughter of Mr Craibe Angus, of Glasgow, who had been one of the earliest British patrons of Matthew Maris. His later paintings became more and more mysterious; instead of the clear outlines of his earlier pictures, forms were seen dimly as through a mist, and these pictures he would work over and over many times, each re-painting seeming to cast a new veil over faces and figures that became more and more spiritual. Had he wished, Matthew Maris might have had fortune as well as fame, for there were ardent collectors in many countries eager to secure examples of his works, but his means were straightened largely because he could with difficulty bring himself to part with a picture and desired to keep them all in his painting room. In 1911 a Dutch admirer of his work, Mr Thomsen, of The Hague, offered to the compatriot of whom he was proud a small pension. This the painter accepted, and the pension was continued till his death.
An abnormal being, Matthew Maris was ‘alone in the world’ because he chose of his own accord to live the life of a hermit shut up with his dreams.
Nevertheless it is important to note that there is not the same note of romanticism in pictures he painted only two years earlier. In 1868 Matthew joined his brother James in Paris, and we may see in the National Gallery a little picture he painted there in 1870. ‘Montmartre,’ as it is called, shows us dust-carts tipping rubbish on the side of a hill which has a windmill at the top. It is beautifully painted, perfect in its refined realism, but it is not romantic.
When the Franco-Prussian war broke out, James Maris returned to Holland. Matthew remained, went through the siege of Paris, and, like other residents, was enrolled in the Municipal Guard and called out for duty. His post was on the fortifications, opposite Asniéres and just under Mont Valérien, and he suffered considerably from the bitter cold during night duty. Military life was not congenial to this gentle artist, and the thought of killing anybody was abhorrent to him. He confessed afterwards, ‘I never put a bullet in my gun, but only pretended to do so!’
His war experiences certainly did Matthew Maris no good; they saddened him and tended to make him shrink into himself, so that he became more and more of a recluse. After the siege Matthew Maris came to London in 1872, and there he remained to the end of his days. He had rooms at first in the house of an art decorator named Daniel Cottier in St James’s Terrace, Regent’s Park, and Cottier, a strong active business man, had much influence over him, telling him what sort of pictures he ought to paint. Although Cottier, an admirer of Rossetti, undoubtedly encouraged the romantic element in the Dutch artist. Matthew Maris rebelled at painting under his direction and professed that he was thoroughly unhappy in his house. Yet between 1872 and 1875, when he was under the spell of Cottier, Matthew Maris painted what are generally considered to be his finest pictures. Among them we may mention ‘The Girl at the Well’ and ‘Feeding Chickens’, painted in 1872; ‘The Christening’ and ‘Enfant Couchée’, in 1873; ‘He is Coming’—in 1874; and ‘The Sisters’ in 1875. Yet even these works, full of indescribable poetry and romantic beauty, failed to satisfy the artist, who in after years would speak of them as ‘potboilers’ which he had compelled to paint by a tyrannical taskmaster.
Though discontended and professedly unhappy, Matthew Maris was slow to leave what he regarded as a house of bondage, and it was not till 1887—and then chiefly because Mrs Cottier was in ill-health—that he finally left. He went to 47 St John’s Wood Terrace, intending to remain there only a fortnight, while he looked around for a more convenient studio, and he stayed there nineteen years. In 1906 he found a home at 18 Westbourne Square, Paddington, in a half-flat with a small painting room, and in this modest abode, tended by a faithful housekeeper, he remained till he died on August 17, 1917. He seldom went out and he had few visitors, the most intimate friends of his later years being the Dutch picture-dealer, Mr E J Van Wisselingh and his wife, a Scottish lady, daughter of Mr Craibe Angus, of Glasgow, who had been one of the earliest British patrons of Matthew Maris. His later paintings became more and more mysterious; instead of the clear outlines of his earlier pictures, forms were seen dimly as through a mist, and these pictures he would work over and over many times, each re-painting seeming to cast a new veil over faces and figures that became more and more spiritual. Had he wished, Matthew Maris might have had fortune as well as fame, for there were ardent collectors in many countries eager to secure examples of his works, but his means were straightened largely because he could with difficulty bring himself to part with a picture and desired to keep them all in his painting room. In 1911 a Dutch admirer of his work, Mr Thomsen, of The Hague, offered to the compatriot of whom he was proud a small pension. This the painter accepted, and the pension was continued till his death.
An abnormal being, Matthew Maris was ‘alone in the world’ because he chose of his own accord to live the life of a hermit shut up with his dreams.
Random Thoughts
(via Seeking alpha, Fashion Industry: Move Over Money Men, The Biz Men Are Back, March 28, 2008) Lauren Goldstein Crowe writes:
I think that fashion schools really owe it to their students to start offering basic classes in business. The designers who land big corporate jobs seem to lack understanding of how those structures work to enable them such freedom. Life without the corporate suits system may seem ideal -- and if you can finance your own business, it probably is. But if you've got to go hat in hand to others for money, you might be surprised what a cold hard place the world of business is. No matter how big your name recognition, no matter how great your talent, no one worth getting money from is going to give a designer money without asking for control. I mean, would you?
Brilliant! She was spot on.
I think that fashion schools really owe it to their students to start offering basic classes in business. The designers who land big corporate jobs seem to lack understanding of how those structures work to enable them such freedom. Life without the corporate suits system may seem ideal -- and if you can finance your own business, it probably is. But if you've got to go hat in hand to others for money, you might be surprised what a cold hard place the world of business is. No matter how big your name recognition, no matter how great your talent, no one worth getting money from is going to give a designer money without asking for control. I mean, would you?
Brilliant! She was spot on.
China's Growing Luxury Market
I found the article on China’s growing luxury market @ http://www.investorideas.com/articles/032608a.asp intriguing because understanding China’s consumer needs require special skills, unlimited patience and excellent local network support + long-term commitment to stay put + the reality is only a very few outsiders succeed in China + it's shocking, but that's the truth!
Useful link:
www.investorideas.com
Useful link:
www.investorideas.com
The Theory Of The Leisure Class
The Theory of the Leisure Class by Thorstein Veblen + Robert Lekachman is considered one of the great works of economics + Veblen argues that economic life is driven not by notions of utility, but by social vestiges from pre-historic times (true!) + what's amazing to me is this book although written over 100 years ago is still valid + being brought up in a consumercentric society I see a heavily included portrait of myself in this book--a unique total internal reflection + it's a must-read book.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
A Famous Opal
The extraordinary opal dubbed, 'Flame Queen' (263.18 carats), was discovered in 1914 at the Bald Hill Workings in Lightning Ridge, Australia by three partners: Jack Phillips, Walter Bradley and Joe Hegarty + and now International fine arts auctioneers Bonhams & Butterfields will offer in its June 22, 2008 sale the most famous and recognizable opal in the world.
Useful link:
www.bonhams.com
Useful link:
www.bonhams.com
Run Fatboy Run
Run Fatboy Run is one-of-a-kind gentle comedy movie with its own message + I liked it.
I think you'll enjoy the movie.
Useful links:
www.runfatboyrunmovie.com
www.runfatboyrunmovie.co.uk
I think you'll enjoy the movie.
Useful links:
www.runfatboyrunmovie.com
www.runfatboyrunmovie.co.uk
U.S. Government Views On Laundering In The Diamond Industry
Chaim Even Zohar writes about the just-released report on money laundering and financial crimes by the U.S Treasury Department’s Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN) + the country profile (s) + other viewpoints @
http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
The Tiffany
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The golden-yellow Tiffany is not only a typical Stellar Cut Brilliant with a star-like arrangement of small facets round the culet, but the crown is stepped, which consequently involves splitting the main facets. This was a standard procedure. The pavilion, however, received three steps: between the regular two steps a third shallow step was applied, which was probably unique. This involved the splitting of the lower main facets into two triangular and one flat keystone-shaped facet. Consequently the Tiffany diamond received forty actual facets on the crown and forty eight facets on the pavilion, plus the compulsory table and culet—in all, ninety facets compared with the fifty-six plus two facets of the standard Brilliant Cut.
No one has ever explained why such a bulky step cut was applied to this diamond. It seems that priority was given to weight retention, since the prestige of a diamond dependend at that time primarily on its weight. Dr Kunz stated ‘that this unprecedented number of facets was given the stone not to make it more brilliant, but less brilliant. The stone was of yellow color, and it was thought better to give it the effect of a smothered. Smouldering fire than one of flashing radiance.’ The stone has the unusual feature, in a yellow diamond, of retaining its color by artificial light. The designers decided to ignore the modern rules of proportioning (such as those introduced to America by Morse) since these would have produced a Brilliant of well below the magic figure of 100ct, which entitles a diamond to the name ‘Paragon’. Here, even the classic proportions would not have done—a Brilliant with the width and length of this stone (27mm and 28.25mm) with 45° angles would have barely weighed 100ct.
In the end, a number of solutions were found. Obviously, the diameter of the finished gem was weighed against a symmetrical outline. But the height of the crown, the thickness of the girdle and the depth of the pavilion could all be substantially increased. In fact they managed to retain a vertical measurement of 81.5 per cent (22.2mm) as compared with Jeffries 68 per cent and the modern 60 per cent.
The convex silhouette shows not only the weight saved through stepping but also an exceptionally high crown and deep pavilion. Other measures were taken in order to produce desired light effects. An exact calculation was made of the angles of reflection and refraction of light and the culet was given a size which made it act as a reflector. Until the Tiffany diamond is professionally examined two queries remain unsolved: the four extra facets on the pavilion, adjacent to the girdle, and the often mentioned seventeen polished spots on the girdle which, according to a check-up at the premises of Tiffany in 1945, are ‘no true facets’.
We know that the rough, a fine octahedron weighing 287.42 ct, was found in about 1878 in what appears to have been the French-owned part of the De Beers mines. It was shipped to Paris where it was shown to the Tiffany representatives. The firm’s eminent gemologist, George F Kunz, was commissioned to help plan the fashioning of it into the most magnificent gem possible. The result was extraordinary, as we have seen. The finished gem has the amazing weight of 128.51ct. It was, until recently, the largest golden-yellow diamond in the world. According to the official invoice from a Paris office, the Tiffany diamond was shipped to New York on the City of Chester on 15 June 1880, and was listed with a number of other gems ‘on consignment’ at 100,000 French francs.
The golden-yellow Tiffany is not only a typical Stellar Cut Brilliant with a star-like arrangement of small facets round the culet, but the crown is stepped, which consequently involves splitting the main facets. This was a standard procedure. The pavilion, however, received three steps: between the regular two steps a third shallow step was applied, which was probably unique. This involved the splitting of the lower main facets into two triangular and one flat keystone-shaped facet. Consequently the Tiffany diamond received forty actual facets on the crown and forty eight facets on the pavilion, plus the compulsory table and culet—in all, ninety facets compared with the fifty-six plus two facets of the standard Brilliant Cut.
No one has ever explained why such a bulky step cut was applied to this diamond. It seems that priority was given to weight retention, since the prestige of a diamond dependend at that time primarily on its weight. Dr Kunz stated ‘that this unprecedented number of facets was given the stone not to make it more brilliant, but less brilliant. The stone was of yellow color, and it was thought better to give it the effect of a smothered. Smouldering fire than one of flashing radiance.’ The stone has the unusual feature, in a yellow diamond, of retaining its color by artificial light. The designers decided to ignore the modern rules of proportioning (such as those introduced to America by Morse) since these would have produced a Brilliant of well below the magic figure of 100ct, which entitles a diamond to the name ‘Paragon’. Here, even the classic proportions would not have done—a Brilliant with the width and length of this stone (27mm and 28.25mm) with 45° angles would have barely weighed 100ct.
In the end, a number of solutions were found. Obviously, the diameter of the finished gem was weighed against a symmetrical outline. But the height of the crown, the thickness of the girdle and the depth of the pavilion could all be substantially increased. In fact they managed to retain a vertical measurement of 81.5 per cent (22.2mm) as compared with Jeffries 68 per cent and the modern 60 per cent.
The convex silhouette shows not only the weight saved through stepping but also an exceptionally high crown and deep pavilion. Other measures were taken in order to produce desired light effects. An exact calculation was made of the angles of reflection and refraction of light and the culet was given a size which made it act as a reflector. Until the Tiffany diamond is professionally examined two queries remain unsolved: the four extra facets on the pavilion, adjacent to the girdle, and the often mentioned seventeen polished spots on the girdle which, according to a check-up at the premises of Tiffany in 1945, are ‘no true facets’.
We know that the rough, a fine octahedron weighing 287.42 ct, was found in about 1878 in what appears to have been the French-owned part of the De Beers mines. It was shipped to Paris where it was shown to the Tiffany representatives. The firm’s eminent gemologist, George F Kunz, was commissioned to help plan the fashioning of it into the most magnificent gem possible. The result was extraordinary, as we have seen. The finished gem has the amazing weight of 128.51ct. It was, until recently, the largest golden-yellow diamond in the world. According to the official invoice from a Paris office, the Tiffany diamond was shipped to New York on the City of Chester on 15 June 1880, and was listed with a number of other gems ‘on consignment’ at 100,000 French francs.
The Modern Dutch School
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
It was not till he was nearing thirty that James Maris changed his manner of painting and acquired the style which eventually brought him fame. In 1865 he went to Paris, where he remained for six years, and there, under the influence of the Barbizon masters, he gradually broadened his style, abandoning his former intimacy of detail and now aiming at a more general effect of grandeur. Henceforward he devoted himself almost exclusively to landscape, and though the change of his style was brought about by French painting, his mature work is akin to that of Ruysdael in the nobility and majesty of its outlook. We can hardly escape thinking of Ruysdael’s ‘Mill’ when we see ‘The Stone Mill’ by James Maris in the Mesdag Museum; a picturesque stone mill, with an open gallery round it, makes a stately figure against a sky with white drifting clouds. In the foreground are sandhills, in the distance the red roofs of a village, but though the accessories taken together make up a scene quite distinct from that shown in Ruysdael’s famous picture, both pictures have a touch of sublimity in the dignity of their design. Equally characteristic of the way in which this artist subordinates particular objects to the general effect is his painting of ‘Dordrecht’. All details are merged in these masses of light and shade, yet everyone who has seen this town at eventide will agree that the painter has given us the essential characteristic of the ‘Venice of the North’, its Groote Kerke, its shipping, its wide canals, and the rolling grey sky overhead, and has presented these with incomparable dignity and grandeur.
William Maris is more limited in his range than either of his brothers, and though in their early days the work of all three showed a certain similarity of style, William’s work altered least in style and in subject. He is nearer to Roelofs than either of his brothers, and his favorite subjects were landscapes with cattle, which he painted, as a rule, in full daylight, so that his pictures are rather brighter and gayer in color than those of his brothers. A meadow extending along the border of the sandhills, in which are seen a few stunted trees and some cows, a pond perhaps in the immediate foreground, and a cloudy sky overhead, this is a typical William Maris subject. Less poetic than Mauve, less grand than his brother James, and less romantic than his brother Matthew, William Maris was a happy realist whose rich colored pictures are full of sunshine and mirror the luxuriant greens of Holland’s pasturelands.
Matthew Maris stands apart from his brothers and from all the Dutch artists of his generation. He was different in his temperament, different in his life, and different in his art. Tracing it to his foreign extraction, to his Austrian, or, as we should now say, to his Czecho-Slovak blood, Professor Muther says there broke out in Matthew Maris a ‘Teutonic medieval mysticism’ from which his brothers were free. Matthew no doubt possessed that he was influenced by the romantic mediavalism of Rossetti. It was in England that Matthew Maris painted his most charcteristic pictures, and in England, where he lived for forty five years, he drifted apart from his brethren in his art as in his life.
The beginnings of Matthew were almost parallel with those of James. The two brothers studied, as we have seen, at The Hague and Antwerp, and they were together in Paris. One incident must be chronicled which appears to have had far more influence on Matthew than on James. In 1858 the two brothers were back from Antwerp at The Hague, and three years later, having made some money by copying pictures, the two set out together on a tour through the Black Forest to Switzerland, returning through France by Dijon to the Puy-de-Dôme. Matthew was tremendously impressed by the romantic castles and buildings he saw in Central France; to his poetic imagination they were enchanted palaces. The recollection of this tour never faded from his mind, and in pictures painted years afterwards we catch echoes of the turrets and battlements which remained fixed in his memory. We may see evidence of this in the background of ‘Feeding Chickens’, painted in 1872.
The Modern Dutch School (continued)
It was not till he was nearing thirty that James Maris changed his manner of painting and acquired the style which eventually brought him fame. In 1865 he went to Paris, where he remained for six years, and there, under the influence of the Barbizon masters, he gradually broadened his style, abandoning his former intimacy of detail and now aiming at a more general effect of grandeur. Henceforward he devoted himself almost exclusively to landscape, and though the change of his style was brought about by French painting, his mature work is akin to that of Ruysdael in the nobility and majesty of its outlook. We can hardly escape thinking of Ruysdael’s ‘Mill’ when we see ‘The Stone Mill’ by James Maris in the Mesdag Museum; a picturesque stone mill, with an open gallery round it, makes a stately figure against a sky with white drifting clouds. In the foreground are sandhills, in the distance the red roofs of a village, but though the accessories taken together make up a scene quite distinct from that shown in Ruysdael’s famous picture, both pictures have a touch of sublimity in the dignity of their design. Equally characteristic of the way in which this artist subordinates particular objects to the general effect is his painting of ‘Dordrecht’. All details are merged in these masses of light and shade, yet everyone who has seen this town at eventide will agree that the painter has given us the essential characteristic of the ‘Venice of the North’, its Groote Kerke, its shipping, its wide canals, and the rolling grey sky overhead, and has presented these with incomparable dignity and grandeur.
William Maris is more limited in his range than either of his brothers, and though in their early days the work of all three showed a certain similarity of style, William’s work altered least in style and in subject. He is nearer to Roelofs than either of his brothers, and his favorite subjects were landscapes with cattle, which he painted, as a rule, in full daylight, so that his pictures are rather brighter and gayer in color than those of his brothers. A meadow extending along the border of the sandhills, in which are seen a few stunted trees and some cows, a pond perhaps in the immediate foreground, and a cloudy sky overhead, this is a typical William Maris subject. Less poetic than Mauve, less grand than his brother James, and less romantic than his brother Matthew, William Maris was a happy realist whose rich colored pictures are full of sunshine and mirror the luxuriant greens of Holland’s pasturelands.
Matthew Maris stands apart from his brothers and from all the Dutch artists of his generation. He was different in his temperament, different in his life, and different in his art. Tracing it to his foreign extraction, to his Austrian, or, as we should now say, to his Czecho-Slovak blood, Professor Muther says there broke out in Matthew Maris a ‘Teutonic medieval mysticism’ from which his brothers were free. Matthew no doubt possessed that he was influenced by the romantic mediavalism of Rossetti. It was in England that Matthew Maris painted his most charcteristic pictures, and in England, where he lived for forty five years, he drifted apart from his brethren in his art as in his life.
The beginnings of Matthew were almost parallel with those of James. The two brothers studied, as we have seen, at The Hague and Antwerp, and they were together in Paris. One incident must be chronicled which appears to have had far more influence on Matthew than on James. In 1858 the two brothers were back from Antwerp at The Hague, and three years later, having made some money by copying pictures, the two set out together on a tour through the Black Forest to Switzerland, returning through France by Dijon to the Puy-de-Dôme. Matthew was tremendously impressed by the romantic castles and buildings he saw in Central France; to his poetic imagination they were enchanted palaces. The recollection of this tour never faded from his mind, and in pictures painted years afterwards we catch echoes of the turrets and battlements which remained fixed in his memory. We may see evidence of this in the background of ‘Feeding Chickens’, painted in 1872.
The Modern Dutch School (continued)
Friday, March 28, 2008
The Highest Altitude Vineyard On The Planet
Swiss entrepreneur Donald Hess's Colomé ranch/winery/luxury resort in Argentina is emerging as the next must-visit destination for wine-loving adventurers + the grapevines at 9,849 feet above sea level is believed to be the highest altitude vineyard on the planet.
Useful link:
www.bodegacolome.com
Useful link:
www.bodegacolome.com
Martin Scorsese’s Concert Movie
Shine a Light is a 2008 documentary film directed by Martin Scorsese that chronicles two 2006 performances from rock and roll band The Rolling Stones' A Bigger Bang tour + the film takes its title from the song of the same name, featured on the band's 1972 album Exile on Main St.
Useful links:
www.shinealightmovie.com
www.scorsesefilms.com
Useful links:
www.shinealightmovie.com
www.scorsesefilms.com
Entrepreneurship Update
The artilce on innovation + entrepreneurship @ http://knowledge.wharton.upenn.edu/article/1926.cfm was brilliant + very useful.
Rob Glaser: innovation + timing + good idea + luck = success
Glenn A. Britt: consumer orientation + technology + viable financial model + branding + creative thinking = success
Rob Glaser: innovation + timing + good idea + luck = success
Glenn A. Britt: consumer orientation + technology + viable financial model + branding + creative thinking = success
Azalea
Azaleas are called the royalty of the garden + they always remind me of the colors in tourmaline + in my view flowers are like colored gemstones and they are delightful to watch.
Useful link:
www.azaleas.org
Useful link:
www.azaleas.org
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