Thursday, November 22, 2007
Daniel Terdiman
New Business Models: Bryan Gardiner writes about Daniel Terdiman + his new book The Entrepreneur's Guide to Second Life: Making Money in the Metaverse + Second Life entrepreneurism + other viewpoints @ http://www.wired.com/print/techbiz/people/news/2007/11/terdiman
Léolo
Léolo (1992)
Directed by: Jean-Claude Lauzon
Screenplay: Jean-Claude Lauzon
Cast: Gilbert Sicotte, Maxime Collin
(via YouTube): Leolo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OqC7ELoRrM
An extravagant fantasy + magical realism + hilarious.
Directed by: Jean-Claude Lauzon
Screenplay: Jean-Claude Lauzon
Cast: Gilbert Sicotte, Maxime Collin
(via YouTube): Leolo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OqC7ELoRrM
An extravagant fantasy + magical realism + hilarious.
People Are More Dangerous Than HIV
A few weeks ago, in a movie theatre, a person felt something poking from her seat When she got up to see what it was, she found a needle sticking out of the seat with a note attached saying
"You have just been infected by HIV".
The Disease Control Center (in Paris ) reports many similar events in many other cities recently. All tested needles were HIV Positive. The Center also reports that needles have been found in cash dispensers at public banking machines.
We ask everyone to use extreme caution when faced with this kind of situation. All public chairs/seats should be inspected with vigilance and caution before use. A careful visual inspection should be enough. In addition, they ask that each of you pass this message along to all members of your family and your friends of the potential danger.
Recently, one doctor has narrated a somewhat similar instance that happened to one of his patients at the Priya Cinema in Delhi. A young girl, engaged and about to be married in a couple of months, was pricked while the movie was going on. The tag with the needle had the message "Welcome to the World of HIV family".
Though the doctors told her family that it takes about 6 months before the virus grows strong enough to start damaging the system and a healthy victim could survive about 5-6 years, the girl died in 4 months, perhaps more because of the "Shock thought".
We all have to be careful at public places, rest God help!
"You have just been infected by HIV".
The Disease Control Center (in Paris ) reports many similar events in many other cities recently. All tested needles were HIV Positive. The Center also reports that needles have been found in cash dispensers at public banking machines.
We ask everyone to use extreme caution when faced with this kind of situation. All public chairs/seats should be inspected with vigilance and caution before use. A careful visual inspection should be enough. In addition, they ask that each of you pass this message along to all members of your family and your friends of the potential danger.
Recently, one doctor has narrated a somewhat similar instance that happened to one of his patients at the Priya Cinema in Delhi. A young girl, engaged and about to be married in a couple of months, was pricked while the movie was going on. The tag with the needle had the message "Welcome to the World of HIV family".
Though the doctors told her family that it takes about 6 months before the virus grows strong enough to start damaging the system and a healthy victim could survive about 5-6 years, the girl died in 4 months, perhaps more because of the "Shock thought".
We all have to be careful at public places, rest God help!
A Date With The Chapmans
(via The Guardian) Absolutely free. Exclusive online art work by Jake and Dinos Chapman @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/visualart/page/0,,2212423,00.html
Art Rocks
Barbara Pollack writes about a new generation of artists that combine music, flamboyant costumes, video projections + a new wave of contemporary artists whose projects blur the distinction between popular music and fine art + other viewpoints @ http://artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1228
Single Or Plain Pointed Star Cuts
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
Only in portraits have I ever come across Pointed Star Cuts without girdle facets, but very few portrait painters have ever known enough about jewelry to reproduce gems with any degree of accuracy. Even J.H von Hefner-Alteneck, Professor of Design and Superintendent of the Bayerrisches Nationalmuseum, made a serious but very typical mistake. In his illustrated work on sixteenth-century jewelry, published in 1890, he reproduced a perfect drawing by Mielich but turned the regular Double Rosettes into groups of plain, three-facet Rose cuts—the design which, at the time he was writing, most closely resembled the earlier cut. With his background and training he should certainly have known better. But if someone of the calibre of Hefner-Alteneck was capable of making so glaring an error, how can one rely on details of jewelry by even the greatest portrait painters?
Certainly in Elizabethan portraits, Star Cuts, particularly those of exceptional size, may have been simply combinations of eight triangular diamonds, not unlike the eight-petalled Rosettes of the period. They were clearly inspired by the Pointed Star Cut, but had been created for show, following royal command. However, artists may also have been instructed to exaggerate the splendor of the jewels, as Holbein often did in his portraits of English royalty.
The accession of Elizabeth I to the English throne in 1558 was significant in the world of fashion. Magnificent jewelry, hitherto worn mainly by men, was now used more and more by women. In fact, from now on, opulent jewels gradually became the prerogative of queens. Although in her portrait (The Phoenix Portrait of Elizabeth 1 by Nicholas Hilliard, c. 1575—National Portrait Gallery, London), pearls appear to overshadow Elizabeth’s other jewels, the three large Pointed Star Cut diamonds are the most important gems. I do not believe that any of the Star Cuts could have been sapphires, as is sometimes maintained. Portrait painters frequently painted diamonds with a bluish tinge. Certainly such diamond cuts existed and were favored, particularly by royalty, throughout the sixteenth century.
The diamonds in the brooch (A Gonzaga Princess by Frans Pourbus the Younger, c. 1605—Museo degli Argenti, Palazzo Pitti, Florence) are all pointed. The square and lozenge-shaped gems are of the Standard type, with four large facets in both crown and pavilion. The rectangular stones are normal Hogbacks. The eight round ones are Star Cuts. Four of the diamonds—assuming that they are correctly reproduced by the artist—were already out of date; their facets meet in a ridge, like basically faceted half-moons. All the gems appear to be pavilion-based and must surely have displayed attractive light effects.
Only in portraits have I ever come across Pointed Star Cuts without girdle facets, but very few portrait painters have ever known enough about jewelry to reproduce gems with any degree of accuracy. Even J.H von Hefner-Alteneck, Professor of Design and Superintendent of the Bayerrisches Nationalmuseum, made a serious but very typical mistake. In his illustrated work on sixteenth-century jewelry, published in 1890, he reproduced a perfect drawing by Mielich but turned the regular Double Rosettes into groups of plain, three-facet Rose cuts—the design which, at the time he was writing, most closely resembled the earlier cut. With his background and training he should certainly have known better. But if someone of the calibre of Hefner-Alteneck was capable of making so glaring an error, how can one rely on details of jewelry by even the greatest portrait painters?
Certainly in Elizabethan portraits, Star Cuts, particularly those of exceptional size, may have been simply combinations of eight triangular diamonds, not unlike the eight-petalled Rosettes of the period. They were clearly inspired by the Pointed Star Cut, but had been created for show, following royal command. However, artists may also have been instructed to exaggerate the splendor of the jewels, as Holbein often did in his portraits of English royalty.
The accession of Elizabeth I to the English throne in 1558 was significant in the world of fashion. Magnificent jewelry, hitherto worn mainly by men, was now used more and more by women. In fact, from now on, opulent jewels gradually became the prerogative of queens. Although in her portrait (The Phoenix Portrait of Elizabeth 1 by Nicholas Hilliard, c. 1575—National Portrait Gallery, London), pearls appear to overshadow Elizabeth’s other jewels, the three large Pointed Star Cut diamonds are the most important gems. I do not believe that any of the Star Cuts could have been sapphires, as is sometimes maintained. Portrait painters frequently painted diamonds with a bluish tinge. Certainly such diamond cuts existed and were favored, particularly by royalty, throughout the sixteenth century.
The diamonds in the brooch (A Gonzaga Princess by Frans Pourbus the Younger, c. 1605—Museo degli Argenti, Palazzo Pitti, Florence) are all pointed. The square and lozenge-shaped gems are of the Standard type, with four large facets in both crown and pavilion. The rectangular stones are normal Hogbacks. The eight round ones are Star Cuts. Four of the diamonds—assuming that they are correctly reproduced by the artist—were already out of date; their facets meet in a ridge, like basically faceted half-moons. All the gems appear to be pavilion-based and must surely have displayed attractive light effects.
The Birth Of Modern Painting
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
5
Romantic mysticism, which budded with Fra Angelico, passed by Lippi to flower with all sweetness and beauty in the art of his pupil, Alessandro Filipepi, famed as Botticelli. Sandro Botticelli was born in Florence about 1447, and was first apprenticed to a goldsmith. To the end of his life he was a jeweler in colors, but owes little beside the name of Botticelli, by which we known him, to his goldsmith master, whom he soon left, to devote himself thenceforth entirely to painting. The thing that differentiates the art of Botticelli from that of all his predecessors is the intensely personal, even egotistical note that he strikes in all his work. The exquisite, delicate melancholy which pervades the expression, both of Christian saints and Pagan gods, in all his pictures, is his own, not theirs, as though he were sorry for them for being saints and gods, and so, by their very nature, deprived of all those ecstasies alike of faith and of doubt, of conviction and speculation, which are the compensating privileges of human imperfection.
The Italy of Botticelli was not the Italy of Fra Angelico. Beauty was no longer the handmaid of religion. The Church was no longer the only patron of art, nor were church walls the only outlet for artists. Cosimo de Medici and Lorenzo the Magnificent did not worry their painters with theological restrictions; it was beauty that they wanted. It was not till his master Lippi left Florence in 1467 to undertake a commission at Spoleto, that Botticelli began to develop his own individuality. Pictures before that date, as ‘The Adoration of the Magi’ in the National Gallery, reflect the art of Lippi. But as soon as the young painter was left alone in Florence, he mixed with other artists like the Pollaiuoli, who had greater knowledge of anatomy than Lippi, and his art made rapid progress. On another page is shown one of the most beautiful of these early works, ‘Judith with the Head of Holophernes’. Muscular action is finely expressed in the swinging stride of the maid who follows bearing the head of of the slain tyrant, while the heroine herself is depicted with all the fresh girlish charm of one of the young Florentine maids who frequented the artist’s studio. In the distance the great army of invasion is seen retreating in confusion through a spacious landscape.
Botticelli’s chief patron in Florence was not Lorenzo the Magnificent, but a distant kinsman of the Duke with the same name. For the villa at Castello, belonging to this younger Lorenzo de Medici, Botticelli painted a number of pictures, among them, about 1477, the famous ‘Primavera’. No more beautiful allegory of the coming of Spring has ever been painted than this picture. In the center Venus, the Goddess of Love, awaits Spring’s coming, with Cupid hovering over her. On her right are the Three Graces, with Mercury, the Messenger of the Gods; on her left gaily-decked Spring advances, gently pushed forward by Flora, the goddess of flowers, and by Zephyr, who personifies the mild west wind. Where’er she treads the flowers spring to life. Beautiful as an interpretation of old Greek legends, which make a human story out of all the phenomena of Nature, this picture is also an expression of the revived pagan delight in physical form which was typical of fifteenth century Florence.
The fame of this and other pictures by Botticelli spread to Rome, whither in 1481 he was summoned by the Pope to assist in the decoration of the Sistine Chapel, where three great frescoes, the ‘History of Moses’, ‘Destruction of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,’ and ‘Temptation of Christ’, remain to this day as a monument of his skill, his energy, and his sense of drama and beauty. After two years in Rome, Botticelli returned to Florence, where, in 1483, he painted the most exquisite of all his Madonnas, ‘The Magnificat’. But the happy days of the painter were drawing to an end. After the death of Lorenzo in 1492 and the accession of his worthless son Piero, Florence was agitated by political troubles; and to that city, tired of pleasure and weary of knowledge, came Girolamo Savonarola, the great reformer priest.
When the Medici were expelled from Florence, the young Lorenzo went with them, and Botticelli lost his best patron. During these tumultuous years Botticelli devoted much of his time to executing a wonder series of illustrations to Dante, the originals of which are still preserved in Vatican Library and the Berlin Museum. These drawings reveal not only an intimate knowledge of the great poem, but also a profound sympathy with the feelings of the poet. Savonarola preached and Botticelli listened, though happily he did not follow the example of some of his contemporaries, and burn his earlier pictures of pagan subjects. Though his brother Simone, who lived with him in these later years, was a fanatical disciple of Savanarola, Sandro himself does not appear to have been wholly converted till the great preacher in turn became the victim of the fury of a fickle populace.
In the same year (1498) in which Savanarola was burned at the stake in the Piazza della Signoria, Botticelli painted his great picture, ‘The Calumny of Apelles’. This work, had a double purpose. Nominally it was an attempt to reproduce a famous lost picture, Calumny, by the ancient Greek painter Apelles, from the description of it given by the Greek writer Lucian. But we can have little doubt that the inward and spiritual meaning of this picture, which shows black-robed Calumny (or according to another interpretation, Remorse) slinking from the radiant presence of the naked Truth, was directed against the calumniators of the martyred friar. Among all Botticelli’s pictures this painting is distinguished by its exquisite finish and richness of detail, and we may regard it as the last great expression of his powers both as a classic and a humanist. Distressed both by the disturbed state of his native city and by the tragic end of Savanoralo, Botticelli fretted himself into melancholia during his last years. The few religious pictures of this period which remain—many of them probably finished by pupils after the master’s death—contain a strange exaggeration of gesture and facial expression, and an almost theatrical vehemence of action, which are entirely foreign to the poetical fantasies of his earlier manner. As an example of the high-strung emotions of his last years, ‘The Mourning of Christ’ may be compared in these pages with the serene tranquility of Botticelli’s early and middle-period work. The happiest painting of his last period is the little ‘Nativity’ in the National Gallery.
5
Romantic mysticism, which budded with Fra Angelico, passed by Lippi to flower with all sweetness and beauty in the art of his pupil, Alessandro Filipepi, famed as Botticelli. Sandro Botticelli was born in Florence about 1447, and was first apprenticed to a goldsmith. To the end of his life he was a jeweler in colors, but owes little beside the name of Botticelli, by which we known him, to his goldsmith master, whom he soon left, to devote himself thenceforth entirely to painting. The thing that differentiates the art of Botticelli from that of all his predecessors is the intensely personal, even egotistical note that he strikes in all his work. The exquisite, delicate melancholy which pervades the expression, both of Christian saints and Pagan gods, in all his pictures, is his own, not theirs, as though he were sorry for them for being saints and gods, and so, by their very nature, deprived of all those ecstasies alike of faith and of doubt, of conviction and speculation, which are the compensating privileges of human imperfection.
The Italy of Botticelli was not the Italy of Fra Angelico. Beauty was no longer the handmaid of religion. The Church was no longer the only patron of art, nor were church walls the only outlet for artists. Cosimo de Medici and Lorenzo the Magnificent did not worry their painters with theological restrictions; it was beauty that they wanted. It was not till his master Lippi left Florence in 1467 to undertake a commission at Spoleto, that Botticelli began to develop his own individuality. Pictures before that date, as ‘The Adoration of the Magi’ in the National Gallery, reflect the art of Lippi. But as soon as the young painter was left alone in Florence, he mixed with other artists like the Pollaiuoli, who had greater knowledge of anatomy than Lippi, and his art made rapid progress. On another page is shown one of the most beautiful of these early works, ‘Judith with the Head of Holophernes’. Muscular action is finely expressed in the swinging stride of the maid who follows bearing the head of of the slain tyrant, while the heroine herself is depicted with all the fresh girlish charm of one of the young Florentine maids who frequented the artist’s studio. In the distance the great army of invasion is seen retreating in confusion through a spacious landscape.
Botticelli’s chief patron in Florence was not Lorenzo the Magnificent, but a distant kinsman of the Duke with the same name. For the villa at Castello, belonging to this younger Lorenzo de Medici, Botticelli painted a number of pictures, among them, about 1477, the famous ‘Primavera’. No more beautiful allegory of the coming of Spring has ever been painted than this picture. In the center Venus, the Goddess of Love, awaits Spring’s coming, with Cupid hovering over her. On her right are the Three Graces, with Mercury, the Messenger of the Gods; on her left gaily-decked Spring advances, gently pushed forward by Flora, the goddess of flowers, and by Zephyr, who personifies the mild west wind. Where’er she treads the flowers spring to life. Beautiful as an interpretation of old Greek legends, which make a human story out of all the phenomena of Nature, this picture is also an expression of the revived pagan delight in physical form which was typical of fifteenth century Florence.
The fame of this and other pictures by Botticelli spread to Rome, whither in 1481 he was summoned by the Pope to assist in the decoration of the Sistine Chapel, where three great frescoes, the ‘History of Moses’, ‘Destruction of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,’ and ‘Temptation of Christ’, remain to this day as a monument of his skill, his energy, and his sense of drama and beauty. After two years in Rome, Botticelli returned to Florence, where, in 1483, he painted the most exquisite of all his Madonnas, ‘The Magnificat’. But the happy days of the painter were drawing to an end. After the death of Lorenzo in 1492 and the accession of his worthless son Piero, Florence was agitated by political troubles; and to that city, tired of pleasure and weary of knowledge, came Girolamo Savonarola, the great reformer priest.
When the Medici were expelled from Florence, the young Lorenzo went with them, and Botticelli lost his best patron. During these tumultuous years Botticelli devoted much of his time to executing a wonder series of illustrations to Dante, the originals of which are still preserved in Vatican Library and the Berlin Museum. These drawings reveal not only an intimate knowledge of the great poem, but also a profound sympathy with the feelings of the poet. Savonarola preached and Botticelli listened, though happily he did not follow the example of some of his contemporaries, and burn his earlier pictures of pagan subjects. Though his brother Simone, who lived with him in these later years, was a fanatical disciple of Savanarola, Sandro himself does not appear to have been wholly converted till the great preacher in turn became the victim of the fury of a fickle populace.
In the same year (1498) in which Savanarola was burned at the stake in the Piazza della Signoria, Botticelli painted his great picture, ‘The Calumny of Apelles’. This work, had a double purpose. Nominally it was an attempt to reproduce a famous lost picture, Calumny, by the ancient Greek painter Apelles, from the description of it given by the Greek writer Lucian. But we can have little doubt that the inward and spiritual meaning of this picture, which shows black-robed Calumny (or according to another interpretation, Remorse) slinking from the radiant presence of the naked Truth, was directed against the calumniators of the martyred friar. Among all Botticelli’s pictures this painting is distinguished by its exquisite finish and richness of detail, and we may regard it as the last great expression of his powers both as a classic and a humanist. Distressed both by the disturbed state of his native city and by the tragic end of Savanoralo, Botticelli fretted himself into melancholia during his last years. The few religious pictures of this period which remain—many of them probably finished by pupils after the master’s death—contain a strange exaggeration of gesture and facial expression, and an almost theatrical vehemence of action, which are entirely foreign to the poetical fantasies of his earlier manner. As an example of the high-strung emotions of his last years, ‘The Mourning of Christ’ may be compared in these pages with the serene tranquility of Botticelli’s early and middle-period work. The happiest painting of his last period is the little ‘Nativity’ in the National Gallery.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
How Basic Are Behavioral Biases? Evidence From Capuchin Monkey Trading Behavior
A recent study published by a group of researchers at Yale University, titled, 'How Basic Are Behavioral Biases? Evidence From Capuchin Monkey Trading Behavior' is interesting + educational. Jewelers/gem dealers/gemologists/art dealers may want to read the report @
http://www.som.yale.edu/Faculty/keith.chen/papers/Final_JPE06.pdf
http://www.som.yale.edu/Faculty/keith.chen/papers/Final_JPE06.pdf
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)