Saturday, December 01, 2007
The Wild Ones
(via The Guardian) Here is an interesting perspective on fairies and other spirits that have long haunted the words and images of English literature + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/visualart/story/0,,2216168,00.html
Wyeth's Black Models
Mary Lynn Kotz writes about Andrew Wyeth + the artist's depictions of his African American friends and neighbors + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=916
Sierra Leone’s Presidential Beneficiation Visions: A Reality Test
Chaim Even Zohar writes about Sierra Leone's plans to join the diamond beneficiation concept + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
The Wonder Of The Renaissance
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
Nine people out of ten, if asked to name the greatest artist who ever lived, would reply Michael Angelo Buonarotti, who was born in 1475 at Castel Caprese, a small town near Florence, of which his father was chief magistrate. The babe was put out to nurse with the wife of a marble worker, and in later days the great sculptor jokingly attributed his vocation to his foster-mother’s milk. His father had other ideas for him, and used a stick freely to impress on the lad the advantages of a commercial career, but Michael Angelo was obstinate and intractable. At last the father gave way, and when the son was thirteen he apprenticed him to Ghirlandaio for three years. Long before his apprenticeship was out, the boy had shown a preference for sculpture. His talent in modeling was brought to the notice of Lorenzo de Medici, who nominated him for the famous ‘Garden School’ of sculpture which he had founded under the direction of Donatello’s chief assistant Bartoldo. The ruler of Florence, pleased with the progress of his protege took him to his household, and made him an allowance of 500 ducats a month. This lasted till 1492, when Lorenzo died, and the youth had to make his own way in the world. Meanwhile a new influence came into his life.
In 1400, when Michael Angelo was boy of fifteen, Savanarola had begun to preach his impassioned sermons in Florence. The whole city trembled at the terrible voice, which hurled thunderbolts at the Pope himself. All Florence was like a revival meeting; people rushed about the street weeping and shouting, wealthy citizens became monks, high officials abdicated their positions.
Michael Angelo for the first time in his life was afraid, afraid of the unknown horrors predicted for Florence. He was miserable under the degenerate Piero de Medici, a stupid tyrant who wasted his time and his talent by commanding him to model a statue in snow. One night a poet friend of the sculptor dreamt that the dead Lorenzo appeared to him and bade him warn Piero that soon he would be driven from his house, never to return. He told the Prince, who laughed and had him well cudgelled; he told Michael Angelo, who believed and fled to Venice.
That was in October 1494. A month later Piero fled in his turn, and Florence, with the support of Savonarola, was declared a republic, owning no king but Jesus Christ. Michael Angelo soon got over his superstitious terrors. That winter he spent at Bologna in learned circles, and forgetting Savonarola, he read Dante and Petrarch; he was absorbed by the beauty of Nature and the dignity of the antique world. At the very time when his contemporaries at Florence were fanatically indulging in a religious revival, Michael Angelo seemed to assert his paganism by carving a ‘Sleeping Cupid’ so full of Greek feeling that it was sold in Rome to the Cardinal San Giorgio as an antique by a Greek sculptor. When he discovered he had been cheated, the deceived collector was so delighted to think a living Italian could rival the dead Greeks that he sent for the young sculptor and took him under his protection. In 1496, while the Florentines were heaping pagan pictures, ornaments, and books on Savonarola’s ‘Bonfire of Vanities’, when his own brother, the monk Leonardo, was being prosecuted for his faith in the Friar, Michael Angelo in Rome seemed anxious to prove himself a pagan of pagans, producing a ‘Bacchus,’ an ‘Adonis,’ and the lovely ‘Cupid’ which is now at South Kensington.
On May 23, 1498, the fickle populace of Florence turned against its idol. Savonarola was burnt to death at the stake. Still Michael Angelo appeared to take no notice. No mention of Savonarola or his martyrdom can be found in any of the sculptor’s letters.
But in his own art he made his own comment. From 1498 to 1501 he worked feverishly, perhaps remorsefully, on a marble group the like of which had never before been seen; a Virgin whose haunting face is impressed with a ‘sorrow more beautiful than beauty’s self,’ across whose knees is lying a Christ of such serene physical beauty and perfection that we say, ‘His is not dead but sleepeth.’
This was Michael Angelo’s confession to his Maker, the supreme ‘Pieta’ at St. Peter’s Rome: a work of which the exquisite beauty is only equalled by its ineffable sadness. Botticelli, too, was more moved by the end of Savonarola than ever he had been by his preaching. But Botticelli was then an old man: Michael Angelo had just turned twenty three and was only on the threshold of his career. Already his pagan days were over. Melancholy claimed him for her own, and never after let him go. In five years he had established his reputation as the greatest sculptor in the world, but then, as now, glory is not necessarily remunerative. His family believed he was making a fortune; and too proud to acknowledge his true poverty-stricken condition, he starved himself to give alms to his kindred. His own father pestered and abused him worst of all; his whole family bled him white, and then denounced him as being mean.
3
Nine people out of ten, if asked to name the greatest artist who ever lived, would reply Michael Angelo Buonarotti, who was born in 1475 at Castel Caprese, a small town near Florence, of which his father was chief magistrate. The babe was put out to nurse with the wife of a marble worker, and in later days the great sculptor jokingly attributed his vocation to his foster-mother’s milk. His father had other ideas for him, and used a stick freely to impress on the lad the advantages of a commercial career, but Michael Angelo was obstinate and intractable. At last the father gave way, and when the son was thirteen he apprenticed him to Ghirlandaio for three years. Long before his apprenticeship was out, the boy had shown a preference for sculpture. His talent in modeling was brought to the notice of Lorenzo de Medici, who nominated him for the famous ‘Garden School’ of sculpture which he had founded under the direction of Donatello’s chief assistant Bartoldo. The ruler of Florence, pleased with the progress of his protege took him to his household, and made him an allowance of 500 ducats a month. This lasted till 1492, when Lorenzo died, and the youth had to make his own way in the world. Meanwhile a new influence came into his life.
In 1400, when Michael Angelo was boy of fifteen, Savanarola had begun to preach his impassioned sermons in Florence. The whole city trembled at the terrible voice, which hurled thunderbolts at the Pope himself. All Florence was like a revival meeting; people rushed about the street weeping and shouting, wealthy citizens became monks, high officials abdicated their positions.
Michael Angelo for the first time in his life was afraid, afraid of the unknown horrors predicted for Florence. He was miserable under the degenerate Piero de Medici, a stupid tyrant who wasted his time and his talent by commanding him to model a statue in snow. One night a poet friend of the sculptor dreamt that the dead Lorenzo appeared to him and bade him warn Piero that soon he would be driven from his house, never to return. He told the Prince, who laughed and had him well cudgelled; he told Michael Angelo, who believed and fled to Venice.
That was in October 1494. A month later Piero fled in his turn, and Florence, with the support of Savonarola, was declared a republic, owning no king but Jesus Christ. Michael Angelo soon got over his superstitious terrors. That winter he spent at Bologna in learned circles, and forgetting Savonarola, he read Dante and Petrarch; he was absorbed by the beauty of Nature and the dignity of the antique world. At the very time when his contemporaries at Florence were fanatically indulging in a religious revival, Michael Angelo seemed to assert his paganism by carving a ‘Sleeping Cupid’ so full of Greek feeling that it was sold in Rome to the Cardinal San Giorgio as an antique by a Greek sculptor. When he discovered he had been cheated, the deceived collector was so delighted to think a living Italian could rival the dead Greeks that he sent for the young sculptor and took him under his protection. In 1496, while the Florentines were heaping pagan pictures, ornaments, and books on Savonarola’s ‘Bonfire of Vanities’, when his own brother, the monk Leonardo, was being prosecuted for his faith in the Friar, Michael Angelo in Rome seemed anxious to prove himself a pagan of pagans, producing a ‘Bacchus,’ an ‘Adonis,’ and the lovely ‘Cupid’ which is now at South Kensington.
On May 23, 1498, the fickle populace of Florence turned against its idol. Savonarola was burnt to death at the stake. Still Michael Angelo appeared to take no notice. No mention of Savonarola or his martyrdom can be found in any of the sculptor’s letters.
But in his own art he made his own comment. From 1498 to 1501 he worked feverishly, perhaps remorsefully, on a marble group the like of which had never before been seen; a Virgin whose haunting face is impressed with a ‘sorrow more beautiful than beauty’s self,’ across whose knees is lying a Christ of such serene physical beauty and perfection that we say, ‘His is not dead but sleepeth.’
This was Michael Angelo’s confession to his Maker, the supreme ‘Pieta’ at St. Peter’s Rome: a work of which the exquisite beauty is only equalled by its ineffable sadness. Botticelli, too, was more moved by the end of Savonarola than ever he had been by his preaching. But Botticelli was then an old man: Michael Angelo had just turned twenty three and was only on the threshold of his career. Already his pagan days were over. Melancholy claimed him for her own, and never after let him go. In five years he had established his reputation as the greatest sculptor in the world, but then, as now, glory is not necessarily remunerative. His family believed he was making a fortune; and too proud to acknowledge his true poverty-stricken condition, he starved himself to give alms to his kindred. His own father pestered and abused him worst of all; his whole family bled him white, and then denounced him as being mean.
More About Diamonds. Some Famous Stones
Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Most people know that diamonds can be white, yellow or blue white, and that blue white stones are considered to be the best, also that off-colored or yellow stones are the least esteemed.
What the average person does not realize is that diamonds may be of any color or tint, from coal-black to emerald green or rose-pink. Their coloring is due to various metallic oxides. When, therefore, diamonds are for some time exposed to high temperatures, their color is apt to change, though only temporarily. An experiment with diamond, probably the first of its kind, was carried out by Sir William Crookes, who embedded a pale-yellow diamond in radium bromide for eleven weeks. At the end of that time, the pale yellow had changed into a bluish green.
I myself saw and handled an eight carat stone which, by the same means, had been turned from brown into a poor tourmaline-green. In my opinion the stone had been utterly spoilt by the treatment, for not only had its market value not improved, but it looked a most uninteresting stone. Whether the color was permanent, no one, of course, was in a position to judge. The stone might either gradually drift back to its original color or change suddenly and unpredictably. In either case the buyer was due for an unpleasant surprise. If anyone asked my advice about such a stone I should certainly tell him not to buy, whatever the price and however attractive the new color might be, for the radioactivity to which it had been exposed is still an unknown quantity, and no one could tell what bio-chemical changes it might bring about in the body of the wearer, detrimental to his or her health. And if to wear a radium-treated stone exposes the wearer to unknown dangers, the purveyor likewise risks being mulcted of heavy damages.
Lovers of diamonds, however, need not have much fear of buying a radium-treated stone unawares, for such experiments are rare and costly and only carried out to satisfy the curiosity of savants. Likewise, the diamond-wearing classes may also calmly rejoice in their possessions without worrying much about laboratory-made diamonds, lest overnight some experimenter should make diamonds two a penny. Diamond crystals of microscopic size have, indeed, been produced in the laboratory crucible, but their cost of production stood in inverse ratio to their dimensions, which goes to prove that a laboratory success can be at the same time a financial disaster.
Not so many years ago, and not long enough ago for those of my generation to have forgotten the incident, a rogue of a French chemist managed to extract a considerable sum of money from the diamond-making process; but not by making genuine diamonds, merely by ‘telling the tale’ to a great diamond magnate and coaxing the shekels from his well-buttoned pocket.
The Frenchman claimed that he could produce good sized diamonds in the laboratory. With unerring psychological insight he approached a man already so rich that a further accretion of wealth could cause him no thrill. Such a man could be touched by only one appeal—the threat of losing what he already had. All his money was in diamonds. He was thus an easier mark than you or I would have been, and a little sleight of hand did the rest. It was money for jam until the magnate chose to test the process for himself. Then he brought the cheat into court and the whole diamond trade rocked with laughter. If I had been that magnate I should have bought the impostor’s silence for a large sum.
I wonder how many of those fortunate people who can afford to wear diamonds know how many facets there are in a brilliant, and how those facets are distributed? Not a great many, I expect, for most people are not particularly observant in small matters (or even in large ones, often).
Even the average dealer in gems and professional jeweler, who might be able to answer unhesitatingly and correctly that there are in all fifty eight facets in a full cut standard representative brilliant, might not be able to give the technical names of them. Now, if you look at a brilliant carefully, you will see that the stone is divided by the girdle into two parts, top and bottom. The girdle is that part which impinges upon the metal setting. The top is, of course, that portion of the stone which is visible in a piece of jewelry and the bottom that which is hidden in wear.
The most prominent facet is the flat surface on top called the table. Grouped around it are the eight star facets, four bezels, four lozenges, eight cross and eight skill facets. These facets, thirty three in all, account for the light reflecting surfaces placed at different angles in the top part of a representative diamond. There are, of course, other methods of cutting, both old and new, but that subject demands half a dozen chapters to itself, and would probably not interest the layman anyway. Enough to add that the underside of a diamond cut like the above has fewer facets than the top, twenty five to be exact. Their respective names and numbers are: the culet (that part which opposed to the table), four pavilion facets, four quoins, eight cross, and eight skill facets.
More About Diamonds. Some Famous Stones (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Most people know that diamonds can be white, yellow or blue white, and that blue white stones are considered to be the best, also that off-colored or yellow stones are the least esteemed.
What the average person does not realize is that diamonds may be of any color or tint, from coal-black to emerald green or rose-pink. Their coloring is due to various metallic oxides. When, therefore, diamonds are for some time exposed to high temperatures, their color is apt to change, though only temporarily. An experiment with diamond, probably the first of its kind, was carried out by Sir William Crookes, who embedded a pale-yellow diamond in radium bromide for eleven weeks. At the end of that time, the pale yellow had changed into a bluish green.
I myself saw and handled an eight carat stone which, by the same means, had been turned from brown into a poor tourmaline-green. In my opinion the stone had been utterly spoilt by the treatment, for not only had its market value not improved, but it looked a most uninteresting stone. Whether the color was permanent, no one, of course, was in a position to judge. The stone might either gradually drift back to its original color or change suddenly and unpredictably. In either case the buyer was due for an unpleasant surprise. If anyone asked my advice about such a stone I should certainly tell him not to buy, whatever the price and however attractive the new color might be, for the radioactivity to which it had been exposed is still an unknown quantity, and no one could tell what bio-chemical changes it might bring about in the body of the wearer, detrimental to his or her health. And if to wear a radium-treated stone exposes the wearer to unknown dangers, the purveyor likewise risks being mulcted of heavy damages.
Lovers of diamonds, however, need not have much fear of buying a radium-treated stone unawares, for such experiments are rare and costly and only carried out to satisfy the curiosity of savants. Likewise, the diamond-wearing classes may also calmly rejoice in their possessions without worrying much about laboratory-made diamonds, lest overnight some experimenter should make diamonds two a penny. Diamond crystals of microscopic size have, indeed, been produced in the laboratory crucible, but their cost of production stood in inverse ratio to their dimensions, which goes to prove that a laboratory success can be at the same time a financial disaster.
Not so many years ago, and not long enough ago for those of my generation to have forgotten the incident, a rogue of a French chemist managed to extract a considerable sum of money from the diamond-making process; but not by making genuine diamonds, merely by ‘telling the tale’ to a great diamond magnate and coaxing the shekels from his well-buttoned pocket.
The Frenchman claimed that he could produce good sized diamonds in the laboratory. With unerring psychological insight he approached a man already so rich that a further accretion of wealth could cause him no thrill. Such a man could be touched by only one appeal—the threat of losing what he already had. All his money was in diamonds. He was thus an easier mark than you or I would have been, and a little sleight of hand did the rest. It was money for jam until the magnate chose to test the process for himself. Then he brought the cheat into court and the whole diamond trade rocked with laughter. If I had been that magnate I should have bought the impostor’s silence for a large sum.
I wonder how many of those fortunate people who can afford to wear diamonds know how many facets there are in a brilliant, and how those facets are distributed? Not a great many, I expect, for most people are not particularly observant in small matters (or even in large ones, often).
Even the average dealer in gems and professional jeweler, who might be able to answer unhesitatingly and correctly that there are in all fifty eight facets in a full cut standard representative brilliant, might not be able to give the technical names of them. Now, if you look at a brilliant carefully, you will see that the stone is divided by the girdle into two parts, top and bottom. The girdle is that part which impinges upon the metal setting. The top is, of course, that portion of the stone which is visible in a piece of jewelry and the bottom that which is hidden in wear.
The most prominent facet is the flat surface on top called the table. Grouped around it are the eight star facets, four bezels, four lozenges, eight cross and eight skill facets. These facets, thirty three in all, account for the light reflecting surfaces placed at different angles in the top part of a representative diamond. There are, of course, other methods of cutting, both old and new, but that subject demands half a dozen chapters to itself, and would probably not interest the layman anyway. Enough to add that the underside of a diamond cut like the above has fewer facets than the top, twenty five to be exact. Their respective names and numbers are: the culet (that part which opposed to the table), four pavilion facets, four quoins, eight cross, and eight skill facets.
More About Diamonds. Some Famous Stones (continued)
Friday, November 30, 2007
I Made It My Way
Economist writes about the concept of personal manufacturing + the phenomenon of crowdsourcing + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/science/tq/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10202893
The Taille en Seize
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The most reliable seventeenth-century sources are the pattern books published by master jewelers. Writers of the period, such as de Boot, still praised Table Cuts and paid very little attention to the numerous Fancy Cuts. Not even the new Rose Cut was deemed worthy of consideration. They all appeared to be totally unaware of the new trend towards radiantly sparkling diamond cuts. Writers of the early eighteenth century concentrate on Brilliants and Rose Cuts to the exclusion of the old-fashioned cuts. There is not a word anywhere about the influence of the changes in social life on diamond cutting and only in the nineteenth century did people become aware of this phenomenon. For the most part the works that were published were based on guesswork and imagination. Pseudo-scholars wrote wildly fanciful accounts of the changes wrought on fashions in diamond cuts, but their pronouncements were hardly ever based on serious research.
In previous centuries Table Cuts had occasionally been given additional facets, but during the seventeenth century one pattern gradually came to be accepted as the standard for multi-faceted Table Cut designs. This was the Scissor Cut. Stones cut to this pattern had varying outlines and also varying numbers of facets, but square and rectangular Scissor Cut diamonds, to the exclusion of all other shapes, consistently had sixteen facets. Apart from these, no other sixteen-facet Table Cut diamond can be found in the pattern books nor are any mentioned in contemporary inventories.
However, a large number of pointed diamonds with sixteen crown facets are to be found among the designs for jewelry made in the second half of the seventeenth century. The most famous designer was Gilles Legare, today universally acknowledged to have been the most talented member of an illustrious family of Paris jewelers. In 1663 he was appointed Crown Jeweler. His designs are almost all of diamonds with sixteen facets. This means that they were all based on four part symmetry. By splitting certain facets the number could even be increased to thirty two.
Whoever it was who introduced this design, it was evident that it was based on architectural theory, in this case on the drawings of the famous Andrea Palladio (1518-80). It is amazing that the precise reproduction of this cut, which can only have been derived from the dodecahedron or the Burgundian Point Cut, could, right up to the present day, have been confused with the Rose Cut, which has always been based on a geometry of three.
The pointed, pavilion-based sixteen cut was called the Taille en Seize. To what extent such diamonds were fashioned, and whether straight from rough crystals or as recuts of Burgundian Point Cuts, can only be surmised. Not a single diamond in the 1691 French Crown inventory is described as sixteen-cut or can be interpreted as such. On the other hand, a fair number of both fancy and standard Brilliant Cuts are mentioned in various inventories of the last quarter of the century, and the earliest historical Brilliant, the Wittelsbach, dates from about 1664. In 1678 Alvarez, diamontaire to Louis XIV, is reported to have delivered to the king not only the Hortensia Brilliant but also twelve large and hundreds of small Brilliant Cut diamonds.
The existence of the Taille en Seize has been documented by only two acknowledged experts on jewelry—C.W.King (1867) and Clifford Smith (1908)—and eventually repeated by Evans (1970). King claimed that in the seventeenth century the octagonal diamond ‘was highly in vogue on account of its Pythagorean mystic virtue: and antique gems thus reshaped frequently occur in the signets of the time.’ King was right, except that he believed that the octagonal outline was produced ‘by slicing off the corners of the square’. Smith wrote that between the years 1641 and 1643 ‘a more systematic method of faceting in sixteen facets—the Taille en Seize—began to be employed about that time. This process, thought it left much to be desired, was an immense improvement, and set forth the qualities of the stone in a way that had not been possible by the forms previously in use.’
Even though numerous authors illustrate jewels with the Taille en Seize, they fail to recognize it for what it is and mistakenly call it a Rose Cut. It was only by studying the Pythagorean diagrams in Palladio’s I Quattri Libri dell’ Architettura (1570), and then comparing them with the numerous drawings of jewelry by Gilles Legare, published in 1663, that I finally understood the history of the Taille en Seize.
The most reliable seventeenth-century sources are the pattern books published by master jewelers. Writers of the period, such as de Boot, still praised Table Cuts and paid very little attention to the numerous Fancy Cuts. Not even the new Rose Cut was deemed worthy of consideration. They all appeared to be totally unaware of the new trend towards radiantly sparkling diamond cuts. Writers of the early eighteenth century concentrate on Brilliants and Rose Cuts to the exclusion of the old-fashioned cuts. There is not a word anywhere about the influence of the changes in social life on diamond cutting and only in the nineteenth century did people become aware of this phenomenon. For the most part the works that were published were based on guesswork and imagination. Pseudo-scholars wrote wildly fanciful accounts of the changes wrought on fashions in diamond cuts, but their pronouncements were hardly ever based on serious research.
In previous centuries Table Cuts had occasionally been given additional facets, but during the seventeenth century one pattern gradually came to be accepted as the standard for multi-faceted Table Cut designs. This was the Scissor Cut. Stones cut to this pattern had varying outlines and also varying numbers of facets, but square and rectangular Scissor Cut diamonds, to the exclusion of all other shapes, consistently had sixteen facets. Apart from these, no other sixteen-facet Table Cut diamond can be found in the pattern books nor are any mentioned in contemporary inventories.
However, a large number of pointed diamonds with sixteen crown facets are to be found among the designs for jewelry made in the second half of the seventeenth century. The most famous designer was Gilles Legare, today universally acknowledged to have been the most talented member of an illustrious family of Paris jewelers. In 1663 he was appointed Crown Jeweler. His designs are almost all of diamonds with sixteen facets. This means that they were all based on four part symmetry. By splitting certain facets the number could even be increased to thirty two.
Whoever it was who introduced this design, it was evident that it was based on architectural theory, in this case on the drawings of the famous Andrea Palladio (1518-80). It is amazing that the precise reproduction of this cut, which can only have been derived from the dodecahedron or the Burgundian Point Cut, could, right up to the present day, have been confused with the Rose Cut, which has always been based on a geometry of three.
The pointed, pavilion-based sixteen cut was called the Taille en Seize. To what extent such diamonds were fashioned, and whether straight from rough crystals or as recuts of Burgundian Point Cuts, can only be surmised. Not a single diamond in the 1691 French Crown inventory is described as sixteen-cut or can be interpreted as such. On the other hand, a fair number of both fancy and standard Brilliant Cuts are mentioned in various inventories of the last quarter of the century, and the earliest historical Brilliant, the Wittelsbach, dates from about 1664. In 1678 Alvarez, diamontaire to Louis XIV, is reported to have delivered to the king not only the Hortensia Brilliant but also twelve large and hundreds of small Brilliant Cut diamonds.
The existence of the Taille en Seize has been documented by only two acknowledged experts on jewelry—C.W.King (1867) and Clifford Smith (1908)—and eventually repeated by Evans (1970). King claimed that in the seventeenth century the octagonal diamond ‘was highly in vogue on account of its Pythagorean mystic virtue: and antique gems thus reshaped frequently occur in the signets of the time.’ King was right, except that he believed that the octagonal outline was produced ‘by slicing off the corners of the square’. Smith wrote that between the years 1641 and 1643 ‘a more systematic method of faceting in sixteen facets—the Taille en Seize—began to be employed about that time. This process, thought it left much to be desired, was an immense improvement, and set forth the qualities of the stone in a way that had not been possible by the forms previously in use.’
Even though numerous authors illustrate jewels with the Taille en Seize, they fail to recognize it for what it is and mistakenly call it a Rose Cut. It was only by studying the Pythagorean diagrams in Palladio’s I Quattri Libri dell’ Architettura (1570), and then comparing them with the numerous drawings of jewelry by Gilles Legare, published in 1663, that I finally understood the history of the Taille en Seize.
The Crime Of Monsieur Lange
The Crime Of Monsieur Lange (1936)
Directed by: Jean Renoir
Screenplay: Jean Castanyer (story); Jacques Prévert
Cast: René Lefèvre, Florelle
(via YouTube): Le Crime de Monsieur Lange (1936)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zs_SIba34nA
A unique story + totally engaging portrait of ordinary people + their total internal reflections.
Directed by: Jean Renoir
Screenplay: Jean Castanyer (story); Jacques Prévert
Cast: René Lefèvre, Florelle
(via YouTube): Le Crime de Monsieur Lange (1936)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zs_SIba34nA
A unique story + totally engaging portrait of ordinary people + their total internal reflections.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)