Drunken Master II (1994)
Directed by: Chia-Liang Liu, Jackie Chan
Screenplay: Edward Tang, Man-Ming Tong, Kai-Chi Yun
Cast: Jackie Chan, Felix Wong
(via YouTube): Drunken Master II (1) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyExHRoIAjU
The Legend of Drunken Master (Jui kuen II)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffQGz3DMoyQ
Drunken Master II (3) 醉拳
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypPSnUcLJNA
I enjoy watching Jackie Chan's beautifully choreographed action films + those death-defying stunts are stunning
Monday, December 10, 2007
Coffee Legends
National Geographic writes about the history of coffee + descriptions of different varieties + map of coffee-producing countries + other viewpoints @ http://www.nationalgeographic.com/coffee
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
Useful links:
www.coffee.com
www.allrecipes.com/directory/3162.asp
www.coffeescience.org
www.coffeetv.com
www.ncausa.org
scaa.org
teacofmag.com
A Good Eye
Economist writes about the superb art collections of Giorgio Marsan and Umberta Nasi + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10273868
Aftershocks
Kelly Devine Thomas writes about art loss from the attacks on the World Trade Center + local perspectives + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=1005
The Splendor Of Venice
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
The Art of Titian, Tintoretto, Lotto, Moroni, And Paul Veronese
1
We never think of Titian as a young man; to all of us he is the Grand Old Man of Italian art, and there is something patriarchal in his figure. He was, indeed, very old when he died. Some would make out that he lived to be ninety-nine, but there is considerable doubt whether he was really as old as he pretended to be. The National Gallery catalogue queries 1477 as the year of Titian’s birth, but few modern historians consider this to be accurate. The date 1477 is only given by the artist in a begging letter to King Philip of Spain, when it was to Titian’s advantage to make himself out to be older than he was, because he was trying to squeeze money out of rather tight-fisted monarch on the score of his great age.
Vasari and other contemporary writers give 1489 as the date of birth, but probably the nearest approach to the truth is given in a letter (dated December 8, 1567) from the Spanish Consul in Venice (Thomas de Cornoca), which fixes the year of Titian’s birth as 1482. This would make Titian to have been ninety-four when he died.
Whether Titian lived to be ninety-four or, as Sir Herbert Cook thinks, only eighty-nine, is a small matter compared to the greater fact that he was born in the hill-town of Cadore on a spur of the Alps, and spent his boyhood amid solemn pinewoods and Alpine solitudes. Breathing the keen mountain air, he grew up a young Hercules, deep-chested, his features ‘sun-browned as if cast in bronze,’ his eyes clear, with an eagle glance bred of Alpine distances.
So the young Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) came to Venice, hardy mountaineer among the children of the plain, and all his art bears the impress of his origin. What we call the idealism of Titian is not the result of aesthetic reflection, but, as Muther has pointed out, ‘the natural point of view of a man who wandered upon the heights of life, never knew trivial care, nor even experienced sickness; and therefore saw the world healthy and beautiful, in gleaming and majestic splendor.’
By the early death of Giorgione in 1510, Titian was left without a rival in his own generation, and six years later (1516), when Bellini died, Titian was elected to succeed him as the official painter of Venice. Thenceforward his career was a royal progress. ‘All princes, learned men, and distinguished persons who came to Venice visited Titian,’ says Vasari, for ‘not only in his art was he great, but he was a nobleman in person.’ He lived in a splendid palace, where he received Royalty, and was able to give his beautiful daughter and his two sons every conceivable luxury, for Titian, says Vasari, ‘gained a fair amount of wealth, his labors having always been well paid.’
Of the dramatic quality in Titian’s art we have a splendid instance at the National Gallery in the ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’, which, painted about 1520, is also a famous example of Venetian color. Nobody before had ever given so dramatic and impassioned a rendering of Bacchus, the God of Wine, leaping from his chariot to console and cherish Ariadne, the beautiful maiden forsaken by her false lover Theseus. There is action not only in the drawing, in the spirited rendering of movements, but there is life also in the color; the amber, ruby, and sapphire of the following draperies, sparkle quiver, and radiate.
Whence came these qualities so new to Venetian painting? They came from the great painter’s memories of his birthplace, his boyhood’s home beside the River Piave roaring down from storm-capped heights, from memories of the wind that swept through the tree-tops and rattled the rafters of the house. Familiar from childhood with the awe-inspiring, dramatic elements of Nature, Titian expressed her majesty and drama in his art.
Amid the wealth of pictorial beauty left by Titian it is difficult indeed to say which is his supreme masterpiece. According to Vasari, Titian’s ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ was held by his fellow citizens to be the ‘the best modern painting,’ and though it is no longer modern but an ‘old master,’ we cannot conceive a more impressive rendering of the subject than this picture, in which we almost hear the wind caused by the soaring ascent of the Virgin, her garments grandly swelling in the breeze by which the encircling cherubs waft her upwards.
Yet to this great painting of his mature years (1541) at least one of his earlier pictures is equal in beauty. To the transitional period in Titian’s life, while the direct influence of Giorgeione yet lingered, belongs the picture in the Borghese Gallery, Rome, known as ‘Sacred and Profane Love’. But the title is only a makeshift. Nobody knows the true meaning of this picture of two lovely women, one lightly draped, the other in the full splendor of Venetian dress, seated on either side of a well in the midst of a smiling landscape. There is a tradition that the one represents ‘Heavenly Love,’ the other ‘Earthly Love,’ but on the other hand a passage in Vasari about another painting by Titian, now lost, gives countenance to the theory that these figures are personifications of Grace and Beauty, or more probably Grace and Truth. A third theory is that the picture illustrates a passage in some lost poem.
The Splendor Of Venice (continued)
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods
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:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Instead of the creased nondescript piece of material which had shrouded half his person and left the other half bare, a freshly laundered silk sarong of tartan design now covered his nether limbs, down to the ankles. A khaki-colored tunic with upstanding starched military collar remained unbuttoned to disclose a clean Aertex vest, through whose meshes the swarthy skin peeped as through many windows. Six Siamese silver tikals, the buttons of this outfit, represented probably the total wealth of Mirzah’s house, but he had bestowed the greatest care of all on a towering brilliant-colored turban which accentuated unduly the grievous hollows of his cheeks. He carried a massive ebony stick, whether for protection or support I did not discover.
As we stood ready to go, a pleasant feminine voice spoke from the inmost recesses of the house. Mirzah’s face lit up with a smile and he explained that one of his wives was wishing us luck. The prayers of a woman with child, he added, count twofold. In this delicate manner he conveyed to me that he was anticipating the joys of fatherhood.
When he had walked about a quarter of a mile we came to a good open road which led by an easy gradient up a hill, from which a fair view could be had over the near countryside. Upon the very crest of this hill stood a noble three-winged grey building of stone amidst exquisitely laid out grounds. Mirzah beckoned to a gardener who was working at hand and dispatched him to the house as a warning of the European’s coming. It was well, for when we sauntered up to the main door it was open, and a Chinese serving woman within bade us enter.
We were ushered at once into a large room, of a size to hold a small congregation, if the immense quantity of furniture that practically filled the place had been removed. It was uncarpeted throughout and the amber-colored crystal pavement, for such was the floor, promised a less secure foothold to me than to Mirzah, who was unshod. But he moved forward and I followed gingerly after, taking stock of my surroundings as I went. I noticed that the walls were covered with long mirrors and with pendant picture scrolls upon which in beautiful Chinese calligraphy were perpetuated the sayings of sages doubtless long dead. Mirzah salaamed respectfully to these, as he also salaamed in all directions to the carved fantastic Chinese furniture, to the tall plants in the gay porcelain tubs filling every odd space, to the long-stalked cut blooms in vases of every shape and size that ran riot over a multitude of low tables and high stands.
Finally, we reached the end of this maze and saw, sitting in a much-becushioned chair, a very small and very ancient Chinese lady, who smiled benignly upon me. It was only a feeble smile that flitted over that deeply wrinkled face, but nevertheless, one of real welcome. She extended her right arm slightly, and obediently Mirzah drew up two chairs for us, two cheap Viennese bentwood things such as are in common use throughout the Far East, where they often strike an incongruous note, as here. To me at that hour, however, they looked friendly, for they reminded me of my childhood home.
When I had seated myself I became aware of another presence, the old lady’s cockatoo which perched above us all on a bamboo rod and silently surveyed the scene. In face of the bird’s disconcerting stare I brought out from my attache-case the four morocco-leather wallets which held the diamond papers containing my stock-in-trade. Beside these I ranged methodically, as was my wont, carat scales, corn-tongs and magnifying glass. The old lady watched my deliberate movements with a humorous twinkle in her intelligent eyes, but her fidgetings showed that she was anxious for me to cut the cackle and come to the horses.
As Mirzah had told me that the lady wished to buy a five carat stone and I had gathered the price she was likely to pay. I brought out at once what I thought might suit her taste and pocket. In order to display the stone to the greatest advantage, I inserted it in the chromed spring grip I carried, which gives the effect of a ring setting, and held it out to her.
The first thing she did when she took it in her tiny clawlike hand was to shake it loose upon the table. No new-fangled methods for her. Then, like the critical buyer I saw her to be, she picked the brilliant up between the long horny-pink-enamelled nails of her thumb and first finger. After examining is closely with her naked eye for some while—she had scornfully refused my lens—she put it down again, saying disdainfully: ‘Tanda hitam’. These words she repeated twice more in a reproachful tone.
I Sell Diamonds: Contrast In Methods (continued)
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Elton John
Elton John is a five-time Grammy and one-time Academy Award-winning English pop/rock singer, composer and pianist + he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994 + he frequently collaborates with other artists + he has a distinctive vocal style + founded the Elton John AIDS Foundation in 1992 as a charity to fund programmes for HIV/AIDS + he continues to inspire musicians today.
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
I love his music.
Useful links:
www.eltonjohn.com
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elton_John
The Hidden Language Of Baseball
In my view, the intricate system (s) of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal is comparable to the hidden, and inner aspects of colored stone/diamond/art market (s). One must reread Paul Dickson's The Hidden Language of Baseball to understand the scientific aspects of the game and relate the concept to the gem/jewelry/art markets.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
Here is what the description of The Hidden Language Of Baseball says (via Amazon):
Baseball is set apart from other sports by many things, but few are more distinctive than the intricate systems of coded language that govern action on the field and give baseball its unique appeal. During a nine-inning game, more than 1,000 silent instructions are given-from catcher to pitcher, coach to batter, fielder to fielder, umpire to umpire-and without this speechless communication the game would simply not be the same. Baseball historian Paul Dickson examines for the first time the rich legacy of baseball's hidden language, offering fans everywhere a smorgasbord of history and anecdote.
Baseball's tradition of signing grew out of the signal flags used by ships and soldiers' hand signals during battle. They were first used in games during the Civil War, and then professionally by the Cincinnati Red Stockings, in 1869. Seven years later, the Hartford Dark Blues appear to be the first team to steal signs, introducing a larcenous obsession that, as Dickson delightfully chronicles, has given the game some of its most historic-and outlandish-moments.
Whether detailing the origins of the hit-and-run, the true story behind the home run that gave "Home Run" Baker his nickname, Bob Feller's sign-stealing telescope, Casey Stengel's improbable method of signaling his bullpen, the impact of sign stealing on the Giants' miraculous comeback in 1951, or the pitches Andy Pettitte tipped off that altered the momentum of the 2001 World Series, Dickson's research is as thorough as his stories are entertaining. A roster of baseball's greatest names and games, past and present, echoes throughout, making The Hidden Language of Baseball a unique window on the history of our national pastime.
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