E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Screenplay: Melissa Mathison
Cast: Henry Thomas, Robert MacNaughton, Drew Barrymore
(via YouTube): E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial - Original Trailer (1982)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4yUQJeKZNs&feature=related
E.T.- The Extra Terrestrial
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAP9f_GJQxI
E.T Funny Scene
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHApjDCkt9U&feature=related
I think E.T is a lovely film + the little creature with feelings was a moving experience . I enjoyed it.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Landmark Map Of World On Display
(via BBC News) Vincent Dowd writes about the map, which has just gone on permanent display for the first time, bought by America's Library of Congress four years ago (the map is thought to have been drawn exactly 500 years ago by a monk in the present-day French region of Lorraine) + other viewpoints @ http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7142784.stm
Art, Restored
David Armstrong writes about Julian G.Y. Radcliffe, the founder and chairman of Art Loss Register, which maintains the world's largest database for stolen art + other viewpoints@ http://www.forbes.com/global/2007/1224/090.html
Useful link:
www.artloss.com
Useful link:
www.artloss.com
Lights, Action, Camera!
Barbara Pollack writes about new direction (s) in photography, taking postmodern theory into the realm of constructed narratives and fabricated realities by international photographers + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=643
The Dawn Of The Reformation
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Returning to Nuremberg in 1494, Albert Durer—as we shall henceforth call him—married almost immediately Agnes Frei, daughter of a respected citizen. The young artist already had some reputation: in 1497 he painted the portrait of his father, and in the following year the splendid portrait of himself. This comparatively early work, now at Madrid, shows all the characteristics of his later portraits; it has a simple dignity almost amounting to austerity, remarkable penetration into character, and in execution it shows perfect mastery of drawing and coloring.
In 1498 Albert Durer published a series of wood-engravings illustrating the Apocalypse, which greatly increased his reputation, for in these he was able to show not only the perfection of his drawing and design, but also the extraordinary power of his imagination. No design in this series is more famous than ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’, which has recently become still more widely known by the popular novel of Ibanez and the film with the same title, both of which were directly inspired by Durer’s masterpiece.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat thereon had a bow: and there was given unto him a crown: and he came forth conquering and to conquer....And another horse came forth, a red horse: and to him that sat thereon it was given to take peace from the earth, and that they should slay one another: and there was given to him a great sword.....And I saw, and behold a black horse; and he that sat thereon had a balance in his hand. And I heard as it were a voice saying, A measure of wheat for a penny....and behold a pale horse; and he that sat upon him, his name was Death.
These are the verses from Revelation (vi. 2-8) which Durer set himself to illustrate; and since it was executed in a period just previous to the Reformation, some critics have argued that its inner meaning is an attack on the Papacy. It is improbable, however, that Durer was at this time in any way actuated by religious bias; the series as a whole certainly attacks corruption, both lay and ecclesiastical, but in this woodcut, the most famous of the series, it is more likely that Durer confined himself strictly to his text. The Holy Roman Empire was in a chronic state of war, and Durer must have seen enough of fighting in his youth and early manhood to know who and what were the grim companions of conquest. The meaning of this magnificent rushing design is clear; it reveals Durer’s view of War, war which sweeps mercilessly on, sparing neither man nor woman, priest nor layman, and inevitably accompanied by Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The most subtle touch of a satire is the third rider with the balances. In portraying Famine as this sleek, well-nourished, handsomely clothed man, Durer seems to hint that he is not ignorant of the existence of the War-Profiteer. The emaciated horse and its rider by his side tell their own tale.
It was by his engravings still more than by his paintings that Durer became famous, for the prints spread throughout Europe and created a great sensation. But though invited to become a citizen of Venice or Antwerp by these municipalities, Durer remained loyal to his native city. He continued to reside in Nuremberg. After his father’s death in 1502 his responsibilities increased, for now in addition to his own family Albert had to look after his mother and his younger brother Hans.
When commissions for portraits and altar-pieces were not forthcoming, Durer’s wife used to hawk at fairs and gatherings her husband’s prints illustrating episodes in the life of the Holy Family, and these wood and copper engravings not only brought in ready money by satisfying a popular demand, but they were the foundation of the artist’s reputation as an engraver. The success of these separate prints was immediate, and soon after the publication of the Apocalypse prints, Durer set to work on other sets of engravings, one of which was to illustrate the Passion of Our Lord and another the Life of the Virgin.
At the instigation and by the kindness of his friend, Wilibald Pirkheimer, who lent him the money for the journey, Durer in 1506 paid a visit to Venice, where he was commissioned by the German merchants to paint a panel for their chapel. At first the painters of Venice were inclined to regard Albert Durer as a mere engraver who did not understand how to use color, but the completion of this panel soon silenced hostile criticism and the work proved to be a veritable triumph for the painter.
The Dawn Of The Reformation (continued)
Returning to Nuremberg in 1494, Albert Durer—as we shall henceforth call him—married almost immediately Agnes Frei, daughter of a respected citizen. The young artist already had some reputation: in 1497 he painted the portrait of his father, and in the following year the splendid portrait of himself. This comparatively early work, now at Madrid, shows all the characteristics of his later portraits; it has a simple dignity almost amounting to austerity, remarkable penetration into character, and in execution it shows perfect mastery of drawing and coloring.
In 1498 Albert Durer published a series of wood-engravings illustrating the Apocalypse, which greatly increased his reputation, for in these he was able to show not only the perfection of his drawing and design, but also the extraordinary power of his imagination. No design in this series is more famous than ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’, which has recently become still more widely known by the popular novel of Ibanez and the film with the same title, both of which were directly inspired by Durer’s masterpiece.
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat thereon had a bow: and there was given unto him a crown: and he came forth conquering and to conquer....And another horse came forth, a red horse: and to him that sat thereon it was given to take peace from the earth, and that they should slay one another: and there was given to him a great sword.....And I saw, and behold a black horse; and he that sat thereon had a balance in his hand. And I heard as it were a voice saying, A measure of wheat for a penny....and behold a pale horse; and he that sat upon him, his name was Death.
These are the verses from Revelation (vi. 2-8) which Durer set himself to illustrate; and since it was executed in a period just previous to the Reformation, some critics have argued that its inner meaning is an attack on the Papacy. It is improbable, however, that Durer was at this time in any way actuated by religious bias; the series as a whole certainly attacks corruption, both lay and ecclesiastical, but in this woodcut, the most famous of the series, it is more likely that Durer confined himself strictly to his text. The Holy Roman Empire was in a chronic state of war, and Durer must have seen enough of fighting in his youth and early manhood to know who and what were the grim companions of conquest. The meaning of this magnificent rushing design is clear; it reveals Durer’s view of War, war which sweeps mercilessly on, sparing neither man nor woman, priest nor layman, and inevitably accompanied by Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The most subtle touch of a satire is the third rider with the balances. In portraying Famine as this sleek, well-nourished, handsomely clothed man, Durer seems to hint that he is not ignorant of the existence of the War-Profiteer. The emaciated horse and its rider by his side tell their own tale.
It was by his engravings still more than by his paintings that Durer became famous, for the prints spread throughout Europe and created a great sensation. But though invited to become a citizen of Venice or Antwerp by these municipalities, Durer remained loyal to his native city. He continued to reside in Nuremberg. After his father’s death in 1502 his responsibilities increased, for now in addition to his own family Albert had to look after his mother and his younger brother Hans.
When commissions for portraits and altar-pieces were not forthcoming, Durer’s wife used to hawk at fairs and gatherings her husband’s prints illustrating episodes in the life of the Holy Family, and these wood and copper engravings not only brought in ready money by satisfying a popular demand, but they were the foundation of the artist’s reputation as an engraver. The success of these separate prints was immediate, and soon after the publication of the Apocalypse prints, Durer set to work on other sets of engravings, one of which was to illustrate the Passion of Our Lord and another the Life of the Virgin.
At the instigation and by the kindness of his friend, Wilibald Pirkheimer, who lent him the money for the journey, Durer in 1506 paid a visit to Venice, where he was commissioned by the German merchants to paint a panel for their chapel. At first the painters of Venice were inclined to regard Albert Durer as a mere engraver who did not understand how to use color, but the completion of this panel soon silenced hostile criticism and the work proved to be a veritable triumph for the painter.
The Dawn Of The Reformation (continued)
The Case Of The Nun’s Ruby
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:
Actually this was an episode of mystery in the vein of Le Queux or Edgar Wallace. I have grievously misled you, although the story contains a nun and also a ruby, both of high degree.
While I was still busy measuring up the copper roofs of the religious house near Cracow, I used to meet some times the Abbess of the nunnery, a most stately lady of gentle grace. I had learned that she came of a very noble Polish family, but of course into the religious life and no one was allowed to refer in her presence to her rank.
This lady took quite an interest in my doings about the place, and she used to ask me many questions about my own people. Where did they live? What did they do? Was I happy? Did I see sometimes a puzzled flicker in her eyes as she surveyed me, scion of a race so strangely different, surely, in its life and aspirations from her own? However, when I told her that my mother traded in pearls and precious stones she remembered a ruby of her own to which she attributed considerable value. She had long thought of selling it so that she might apply the proceeds to some charitable cause. And now here was I, a messenger, if an odd one, who might further her charitable aims.
I offered at once to send the gem to Vienna for valuation and for an offer to be made. On the following day she gave it into my hands without apparent hesitation—although she can have known nothing of me—and I dispatched it to my mother. An offer came back. She accepted it. And generous to a fault, she paid me a commission altogether disproportionate to my services. Such was my first vacation—a busman’s holiday; my first effort also as a gem broker.
When I returned to Vienna my head was filled with the idea of the money to be earned by gem broking and as a merchant. ‘If I can pick up a ruby from a nun,’ I said to my mother, ‘and make more money on it than I earn in two months at my job, I ought to be in your line of business.’
But she would hear nothing of it, not because she did not think that her profession was not as good as any other, but because she was afraid I might make money too easily; she thought that making money too easily was the worst thing that could happen to a young man. But what with her paternal care and, later on, many other reasons, I never, whether as young man or adult, underwent the supreme misfortune of gaining easy money—the nun’s ruby along being excepted, naturally.
Look back, the ruby of the Abbess Anastasia seems now to have been a veritable pόint de départ in the story of my life. It also serves another purpose. It is as good an excuse as any other to embark upon the subject of rubies in general.
It was presumably the Oriental ruby which King Solomon had in mind when he appraised its worth as being less than that of a good woman; few who have expert knowledge of both would be prepared to challenge his statement—which is, however, clear proof that his generation, no less than all succeeding ones, considered the red transparent variety of crystallized corundum as the gem of gems.
The world ‘ruby’ is derived quite straightforwardly from the Latin rubens; that is, ‘red’. When you talk of an Oriental ruby you mean a particular kind of ruby which is found in Upper Burma, not just any sort of ruby that might be ‘picked up’ east of Suez! This Burmese ruby ranks next in the scale of hardness to the sapphire. There is, as a matter of fact, little to choose between the Oriental ruby and the sapphire in respect of hardness, that of the former being 8.5 and that of the latter 9.
There are other rubies. The spinel ruby, another red transparent stone, is closely allied also to corundum, but is of lesser density and inferior hardness, and for these reasons it is not held in the same esteem as the Oriental ruby.
Oriental rubies vary in color from pale rose to deep crimson. Frequently the stone has a tinge of purple. Particularly valued by the connoisseur is the ‘pigeon’s blood ruby,’ whose very name conveys even to the layman the idea of a high-grade gem. There is a place called Mogok, about ninety miles N.N.E of Mandalay, which is the home of the Burma ruby, where it is found embedded in limestone formations. From this region come all the great rubies. And many great rubies there have been in history.
There was the noble stone, for instance, by which a great sought to write his name imperishable upon human memory. He knew better than Shelly’s Ozymandias, ‘King of Kings’:
‘I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.......Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies......
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’
The Mogul Emperor Jehangir had his name carved on a noble ruby, secure in the belief that thereby he would be remembered by posterity for a longer period than through monuments of stone or the records of historians. For the ruby may be small. It may be easily lost in times of disturbance. But somehow, somewhere, it will survive destruction and appear again. The Mogul ruby passed in time into the hands of Shah Jehan, who gave it to his lovely wife, the same lady for whom as a sorrowing widower he built the Taj Mahal, jewel of jewels among buildings. And royal gem as it was, it came at last into the hands of Queen Victoria, a few years before the great diamond, Kohinoor.
Another ruby, one of extraordinary size—for it was nearly as large as a pigeon’s egg as well as being the color of pigeon’s blood—also graced royalty and was set in the diadem made for the coronation of Catherine the Great of Russia. But there are more tragic rubies. Such were the rubies composing a fine parure which belonged to the Princess Charlotte of Belgium, she who married the Archduke Maximilian of Austria and as his wife became Empress of Mexico. They have seemed to bring no luck to their possessors. Consider the fate of those who have owned them.
Few more unhappy heads have worn crowns than Maximilian’s. It was Napoleon III who induced Maximilian to accept the Mexican throne. When Charlotte accompanied him to the Americas she took with her her fine set of rubies. But within a short time the new ruler of Mexico found trouble. He was arraigned as a usurper. Charlotte precipitately fled her palace at Chapultepec, not leaving her husband to his fate, but to seek support, armed support, from Napoleon III. But Napoleon callously refused the help she begged. The Emperor Maximilian, younger brother of the Emperor Francis Joseph I of Austria-Hungary (for so near is that dark exotic tale to our time) was tried by a revolutionary tribunal and shot. Many years after, the Princess Charlotte also ended her days, in a mental home. But her rubies, which she had left behind at Chapultepec, fell into the hands of the great family of De Madero.
The Case Of The Nun’s Ruby (continued)
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Actually this was an episode of mystery in the vein of Le Queux or Edgar Wallace. I have grievously misled you, although the story contains a nun and also a ruby, both of high degree.
While I was still busy measuring up the copper roofs of the religious house near Cracow, I used to meet some times the Abbess of the nunnery, a most stately lady of gentle grace. I had learned that she came of a very noble Polish family, but of course into the religious life and no one was allowed to refer in her presence to her rank.
This lady took quite an interest in my doings about the place, and she used to ask me many questions about my own people. Where did they live? What did they do? Was I happy? Did I see sometimes a puzzled flicker in her eyes as she surveyed me, scion of a race so strangely different, surely, in its life and aspirations from her own? However, when I told her that my mother traded in pearls and precious stones she remembered a ruby of her own to which she attributed considerable value. She had long thought of selling it so that she might apply the proceeds to some charitable cause. And now here was I, a messenger, if an odd one, who might further her charitable aims.
I offered at once to send the gem to Vienna for valuation and for an offer to be made. On the following day she gave it into my hands without apparent hesitation—although she can have known nothing of me—and I dispatched it to my mother. An offer came back. She accepted it. And generous to a fault, she paid me a commission altogether disproportionate to my services. Such was my first vacation—a busman’s holiday; my first effort also as a gem broker.
When I returned to Vienna my head was filled with the idea of the money to be earned by gem broking and as a merchant. ‘If I can pick up a ruby from a nun,’ I said to my mother, ‘and make more money on it than I earn in two months at my job, I ought to be in your line of business.’
But she would hear nothing of it, not because she did not think that her profession was not as good as any other, but because she was afraid I might make money too easily; she thought that making money too easily was the worst thing that could happen to a young man. But what with her paternal care and, later on, many other reasons, I never, whether as young man or adult, underwent the supreme misfortune of gaining easy money—the nun’s ruby along being excepted, naturally.
Look back, the ruby of the Abbess Anastasia seems now to have been a veritable pόint de départ in the story of my life. It also serves another purpose. It is as good an excuse as any other to embark upon the subject of rubies in general.
It was presumably the Oriental ruby which King Solomon had in mind when he appraised its worth as being less than that of a good woman; few who have expert knowledge of both would be prepared to challenge his statement—which is, however, clear proof that his generation, no less than all succeeding ones, considered the red transparent variety of crystallized corundum as the gem of gems.
The world ‘ruby’ is derived quite straightforwardly from the Latin rubens; that is, ‘red’. When you talk of an Oriental ruby you mean a particular kind of ruby which is found in Upper Burma, not just any sort of ruby that might be ‘picked up’ east of Suez! This Burmese ruby ranks next in the scale of hardness to the sapphire. There is, as a matter of fact, little to choose between the Oriental ruby and the sapphire in respect of hardness, that of the former being 8.5 and that of the latter 9.
There are other rubies. The spinel ruby, another red transparent stone, is closely allied also to corundum, but is of lesser density and inferior hardness, and for these reasons it is not held in the same esteem as the Oriental ruby.
Oriental rubies vary in color from pale rose to deep crimson. Frequently the stone has a tinge of purple. Particularly valued by the connoisseur is the ‘pigeon’s blood ruby,’ whose very name conveys even to the layman the idea of a high-grade gem. There is a place called Mogok, about ninety miles N.N.E of Mandalay, which is the home of the Burma ruby, where it is found embedded in limestone formations. From this region come all the great rubies. And many great rubies there have been in history.
There was the noble stone, for instance, by which a great sought to write his name imperishable upon human memory. He knew better than Shelly’s Ozymandias, ‘King of Kings’:
‘I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.......Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies......
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’
The Mogul Emperor Jehangir had his name carved on a noble ruby, secure in the belief that thereby he would be remembered by posterity for a longer period than through monuments of stone or the records of historians. For the ruby may be small. It may be easily lost in times of disturbance. But somehow, somewhere, it will survive destruction and appear again. The Mogul ruby passed in time into the hands of Shah Jehan, who gave it to his lovely wife, the same lady for whom as a sorrowing widower he built the Taj Mahal, jewel of jewels among buildings. And royal gem as it was, it came at last into the hands of Queen Victoria, a few years before the great diamond, Kohinoor.
Another ruby, one of extraordinary size—for it was nearly as large as a pigeon’s egg as well as being the color of pigeon’s blood—also graced royalty and was set in the diadem made for the coronation of Catherine the Great of Russia. But there are more tragic rubies. Such were the rubies composing a fine parure which belonged to the Princess Charlotte of Belgium, she who married the Archduke Maximilian of Austria and as his wife became Empress of Mexico. They have seemed to bring no luck to their possessors. Consider the fate of those who have owned them.
Few more unhappy heads have worn crowns than Maximilian’s. It was Napoleon III who induced Maximilian to accept the Mexican throne. When Charlotte accompanied him to the Americas she took with her her fine set of rubies. But within a short time the new ruler of Mexico found trouble. He was arraigned as a usurper. Charlotte precipitately fled her palace at Chapultepec, not leaving her husband to his fate, but to seek support, armed support, from Napoleon III. But Napoleon callously refused the help she begged. The Emperor Maximilian, younger brother of the Emperor Francis Joseph I of Austria-Hungary (for so near is that dark exotic tale to our time) was tried by a revolutionary tribunal and shot. Many years after, the Princess Charlotte also ended her days, in a mental home. But her rubies, which she had left behind at Chapultepec, fell into the hands of the great family of De Madero.
The Case Of The Nun’s Ruby (continued)
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Yo - Yo Ma
Yo - Yo Ma is a French-born American cellist + winner of multiple Grammy Awards + he works with musicians from diverse countries + his music possesses a unique luster and tone + he currently plays with his own Silk Road Ensemble.
He is an inspiration + a great cellist.
Useful links:
www.yo-yoma.com
www.silkroadproject.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yo-Yo_Ma
He is an inspiration + a great cellist.
Useful links:
www.yo-yoma.com
www.silkroadproject.org
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yo-Yo_Ma
Chocolate In Beta Testing
Katie Hafner writes about Louis Rossetto, the co-founder of Wired magazine + the application of the language of high-technology business to chocolate making + the story of Tcho dark chocolate + other viewpoints @ http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/10/technology/10chocolate.html?_r=1&ref=business&oref=slogin
Useful link:
Tcho.com
Useful link:
Tcho.com
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