The Wonder Of The Renaissance

(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:

4

Happy the painter who has no history! Life, so cruel to Michael Angelo, had nothing but kindness for his young contemporary, Raphael Sanzio. Born at Urbino in 1483, his way was smoothed for him from the moment (1504) that he left the workshop of his master Perugino to begin an independent career. Beautiful as an angel in person, sweet in disposition, charming in manner and conversation, Raphael was a favorite everywhere. After perfecting his art by study in Florence, he was invited to Rome in 1508 to undertake the decoration of the Stanze in the Vatican. These paintings at once established his reputation, and in 1511 he was appointed Chief Architect of St. Peter’s, Surveyor and Guardian of the Ancient Monuments of Rome, and overwhelmed with commissions for mighty projects of painting which his gentle courtesy had not the determination to refuse.

He walked through Rome, in those years of his glory, amid a throng of assistants and admirers. Thus meeting him once, grim old Michael Angelo growled out, ‘You look like a General at the head of an army.’

Laughing and quite unspoilt, Raphael wittily retorted: ‘And you, sir, like an executioner on the way to the scaffold.’

As a portrait-painter his ‘Balthasar Castiglione’ at the Louvre, as a painter of altar-pieces his ‘Sistine Madonna’ at Dresden and the ‘Ansidei Madonna’ in the National Gallery have made Raphael familiar to all and love by all. In 1520, he was working on his great ‘Transfiguration’ in the Vatican, when a fever struck him down. On March 27 he laid down the brush that he was never to hold again, and on Good Friday, April 6, his birthday, he died as the sun went down, amid the tears of those who mourned not only the artist but the man. He had lived only thirty seven years, but from that day to this not for one moment has the luster of his name been dimmed.

Diamonds Of Fate

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:

One of the greatest gems of the world was the ‘Great Mogul’. Only a particularly magnificent piece is worthy of such a title, and in every way it was worthy of its name.

It was called after Shah Jehan, the fifth in succession to Baber, founder of the so-called Mogul Dynasty in Hindustan. We have a description of the stone from the pen of one who was singularly well qualified to speak, for not only was he an intrepid traveler, one of the world’s foremost dealers in precious stones in his generation, but also he was gifted with a flair for the uncommon, the rare, the exquisite. This was the Frenchman Tavernier, supplier of gems to the ‘Roi Soleil’, Louis XIV. Tavernier gives the weight of the Great Mogul as 319½ carats, which corresponds to 280 European carats, because the rati or Indian carat was only seven-eighths of our own carat weight. In shape it is said to have been round, rather high on one side and of the cut called rose cut, which I have already described.

We know from the records that have come down to us that a certain Hortensio Berghis, a diamond cutter, was commissioned to facet the stone, but that he bungled the work in such a manner that instead of receiving a wage for his labors he was fined 10000 rupees. Shortly after Tavernier saw the gem, in the middle of the seventeenth century, it apparently disappeared from history like so many of the big diamonds of the old days. And yet perhaps its whole tale is not told. According to at least one expert, the ‘Orloff’ diamond, part of the present Russian State treasure, is none other than the Great Mogul.

The story of the so-called Orloff diamond—from the European point of view—begins only in the eighteenth century with one of those thefts which are still so popular as the background for thrillers. It was part of the temple treasure, the eye of a Buddha (not quite the green eye of the little yellow god, but near enough), and a French soldier, dressing himself up a worshipper, managed to steal it. He sold it to an English sea captain at Madras for two thousand pounds, and the sailor sold it in London for three times as much as he gave for it. Finally it reached Amsterdam and was bought by the Russian Prince Orloff for the then stupendous sum of a million and a half florins, almost a hundred thousand pounds. Orloff, who was in disfavor with his queen, Catherine II, bought the gem in order to present it to the Russian Throne, and it now adorns the Imperial sceptre of an Empire which has no use for Emperors. In its present cut state it weighs 193 carats, whereas the Great Mogul’s weight was given as 319½, but this discrepancy might be accounted for by the wastage in the cutting process.

More convincing is the identification of the Kohinoor with the Great Mogul. Except for the fact that the Kohinoor has a history which goes back to the remotest times, a history of blood, rapacity, cruelty, during which period the gem changed hands many times, but never for gold, there might be some color in such a tale. It too is linked with Baber, the great Mogul, who owned it, and when it came to England (to be presented to Queen Victoria on June 3rd, 1850) its weight was then either 186 or 193 carats. The weights are variously given by the authorities I have consulted. That did not prove it had no connection with the other stone, for it is suggested that it might be only a portion of the lost diamond. We are here confronted with a great mystery, however, to which I can add nothing.

The weight of the Kohinoor was reduced by recutting to a mere 106½ carats. Voorsanger was the cutter’s name, a Dutch master of craft who was employed by a Mr Costers. The work was done at the rooms set apart for the restoration of Crown Jewels in London, and the supervisor was Mr Sebastian Garrard, the cost of recutting being £8000. An amusing story is told by an acquaintance of Mr Robert Garrard, another member of the superintending firm.
‘When I met him (Robert Garrard), I said to him: ‘What would you do if the Kohinoor burst?’
‘I would take off my name-plate and bolt,’ he replied.

In the year 1853 a negress was at work at a mine in the province of Minas Gerais, in Brazil, when she dug out of the soil a diamond weighing 254½ carats in the rough. To this gem the name ‘Star of the South’ was attached. The black woman was probably none of the richer for her discovery, but the stone was acquired by a syndicate and subsequently founds its way into the treasure chamber of the Gaekwar of Baroda, who paid £80000 for it. In its cut state, being of oval shape, it turned the scale at 125 carats.

This Indian potentate eventually lost his throne through diamonds. He was rather too fond of prescribing powdered diamonds for those of his subjects who could not see eye to eye with him, and had indeed tried his panacea on the then British resident, Colonel Phayre. A specially commissioned tribunal appointed by the British Government sat on the matter, and having found him guilty, deposed him.

Another brilliant from Brazil, the ‘Pitt’ or ‘Regent’, has an interesting history. It was found as far back as 1701 in the Parteal mines on the Kistna. In the rough state it weighed 410 carats, but cut only 136¾ carats.

The story goes that the slave who found it made a wound in his calf in which to conceal the stone, but another version has it that he merely pretended to be hurt and concealed the stone beneath a bandage. He made his bid for liberty and jumped an outgoing ship, but unfortunately for him he told his story to the captain, who is said to have thrown the fellow overboard after making sure of the gem. Subsequently he sold it for £20000 to Thomas Pitt, Governor of Fort St.George, dissipated the proceeds and hanged himself in a fit of delirium tremens. The stone was offered to the Duke of Orleans in 1717 at a time when Louis XV was still a minor and the Duke his Regent. The price was £135000.

A modern stone without a long and bloody history is the ‘Porter-Rhodes,’ a blue-white diamond from Kimberly, which was found in 1880 and weighed in the uncut state 150 carats. Its original owner proudly claimed that for quality this stone had no rival in the world. Porter-Rhodes, when he visited England, had an audience with Queen Victoria for the purpose of showing her this splendid gem. When she saw it she was surprised, for she confessed she had been under the impression that South Africa produced only yellow diamonds.

The Luxury Index 2007

(via Time Magazine): The Time magazine's The Luxury Index 2007 on styles/designs/colored stones/diamond jewelry was interesting and educational. I liked it.

Useful links:
The Luxury Index 2007
www.time.com/time/specials

Online Jewelry Auctioneer Draws Stock Bidders Too

Paulette Miniter writes about Bidz.com + the CEO David Zinberg (an immigrant from Moldova) + the way they do business online + other viewpoints @ http://www.smartmoney.com/undertheradar/index.cfm?story=20071121&hpadref=1

The Perforated Palace

(via The Guardian) Steve Rose writes about Cologne's new Kolumba art museum + the architect's perception of art + other viewpoints @ http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/architecture/story/0,,2213249,00.html

Closely Watched Trains

Closely Watched Trains (1966)
Directed by: Jirí Menzel
Screenplay: Bohumil Hrabal (also novel), Jirí Menzel
Cast: Václav Neckár, Josef Somr

(via YouTube): Closely Watched Trains – Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Igc0Jp62kEg

Closely watched trains
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp-u2HCyZac

A unique Czech film + it's sweetly funny + a moving masterpiece. I enjoyed it.

The ARTnews 200 Top Collectors

Milton Esterow writes about the world's most active collectors + collectors passion for paying good money for quality/rarity + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=953

The Wonder Of The Renaissance

(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:

Most artists who had received a papal commission of this magnitude began their work with an army of assistants. Bramante, with a show of giving his enemy every assistance, brought some experienced fresco-painters from Florence and erected a scaffolding whereby they might get at the ceiling. Furious and suspicious of everything and everybody, Michael Angelo began by declaring Bramante’s scaffolding to be useless and by raising another. Next he got rid of his assistants. One morning he got there early, destroyed everything they had done, locked himself in, and refused to admit the Florentines.

During the next four years, working feverishly and in secret, the sculptor accomplished the mightiest series of paintings in the world. He had endless troubles and difficulties. The work was new to him, and he had to learn its technique as he went along. Hardly had he finished painting one panel, ‘The Deluge,’ when the surface became mouldy and had to do it all over again. All this time his relatives badgered him for money; the Pope, irritated at his secrecy and seeming slowness, threatened to have him thrown from the top of his scaffolding, and at last, worn out, but still not content with his creations, Michael Angelo, after lying for four years on his back to paint this ceiling, once more stood erect and allowed the scaffolding to be taken down on All Saints Day 1512.

His worst enemies were amazed at the greatness and magnitude of his achievement. Raphael, great enough himself to fear no rival, was the first to praise it, thanking God aloud that he had been born in the same century. No photographs can do justice to what Raphael and his contemporaries then saw. In default of the original, we can but show a single figure, and let the imagination do the rest.

Michael Angelo divided the great ablong space of the ceiling into nine principal sections, or rather three groups of three scenes each. The first group, illustrating ‘The Creation of the World,’ consisted of (1) ‘God Dividing Light from Darkness,’ (2) ‘God Creating the Luminaries,’ and (3) ‘God Blessing the Earth’. The second group, illustrating ‘The Fall of Man’, showed (4) ‘The Creation of Adam’, (5) “The Creation of Eve,’ and (6) ‘The Temptation and Fall.’ The last three, illustrating the uselessness of sacrifice under the old dispensation, represented (7) ‘The Sacrifice of Noah,’ (8) ‘The Deluge,’ and ‘The Drunkenness of Noah.’ These nine panels were knit together by a connecting framework in which were placed single figures of Prophets, Sibyls, and other decorative figures, lunettes and triangles, so that the whole appeared as an elaborate architectural roof ornamented with reliefs and sculptured figures among which nine great pictures had been inserted.

The work was completed, but Michael Angelo at thirty-seven was an old man. His health was shattered. Working for months on end with his head thrown back had strained his neck and brought on painful swellings on the glands; his sight was injured to such an extent that for long afterwards he could not read a book or letter unless he held it above his head. Then, when the old Pope, satisfied at last, might have rewarded the heroic artist Julius died and was succeeded by Leo X, who had work for Raphael, but none for Michael Angelo.

The harassed sculptor went back to Florence, where he set to work on another masterpiece of sculpture, the ‘Tomb of Lorenzo de Medici,’ with its beautiful recumbent figures of ‘Night’ and ‘Morning,’ ‘Dawn’ and ‘Twilight.’ Worse troubles were in store for him. Disgusted with all things, including himself, he threw himself into the revolution which convulsed Florence in 1527. Though no engineer like Leonardo, the republican revolutionaries put him in charge of the fortification of the city. Distrustful of everybody, Michael Angelo feared that Malatesta Baglione, the general of the Florentine troops, might betray the city to the troops of the new Pope (Clement VII); his warning unheeded by the authorities, he feared the hostility of the powerful commander, and giving way to attack of nerves he fled to Venice for his life. There he was safe and might have gone to France, but an appeal to his honor brought him back to Florence. Once more he took his place in the fighting line, and six months later Malatesta Baglione, as he foresaw, betrayed the city to the Emperor.

Irony of fate! The life of the wretched sculptor was spared in order that he might work again for the glory of those tyrants, the Medici, against whom he had fought. In 1534, another Pope, Paul III, called him to Rome to enter on a new project. Again the sculptor was asked to paint, to cover the immense wall at the entrance to the Sistine Chapel with a fresco representing ‘The Last Judgment’. He began the work when he was sixty one, and again shutting himself up, accomplished the task in a little over five years. It was no work for an old man of nearly seventy, and the following year the sculptor had to turn from painting to architecture; by command of the Pope he designed the mighty Dome which to all the world today is the sign and symbol of the Eternal City.

Vasari, who visited the old man when he was eighty eight, gives a wonderful picture of Michael Angelo’s last years. He lived like a poor man, ate hardly anything but a little bread and drank but a little wine. Unable to sleep, he would get up at night to work with his chisel, and made himself a paper helmet in which a candle was fixed, so that he might have light to work without embarrassing his hands.

On February 12, 1564, the old man spent the whole day on his feet working at a ‘Pieta’. Two days afterwards he was seized with fever, but with his usual obstinacy refused to see a doctor or to go to bed. On the 17th he consented to be put to bed, and fully conscious, dictated his will, bequeathing ‘his soul to God and his body to the earth’. About five o’ clock on the following afternoon, surrounded by his faithful servant and a few friends, the worn-out genius breathed his last and found that rest which had never been granted him in life.