Wednesday, December 26, 2007
What Makes A Great Painting Great?
Katie Clifford writes about the evaluation process of a modern masterpiece by experts + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnewsonline.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=780
The Pride Of Flanders
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
Of all the many followers of Rubens, the two most famous were Van Dyck and Jacob Jordaens (1593-1678), another exuberant Fleming, who though greatly influenced by Rubens was never actually his pupil. The ‘Riches of Autumn’ in the Wallace Collection is a fine example of the bacchanalian opulence of Jordaens. The fruit, vegetables, and most of the foliage in this picture are painted by Frans Snyders (1579-1657), a noted painter of ‘still-life’ who frequently collaborated with Rubens and other painters. The skill of Jordaens as a portrait-painter may be seen in his ‘Baron Waha de Linter of Namur’ in the National Gallery, but though a capable and skillful painter of whatever was before him, Jordaens had no imagination and added little of his own to the art of Rubens.
Antony Van Dyck, who was born at Antwerp in 1599, was supposed to have entered the studio of Rubens as a boy of thirteen, but recent research has shown he was originally a pupil of Hendrick van Balen and did not enter the studio of Rubens till about 1618. He was the favorite as well as the most famous of his master’s pupils, and yet temperamentally he was miles apart from Rubens. Where Rubens made all his sitters robust and lusty, Van Dyck made his refined and spiritual. From Rubens he learnt how to use his tools, but as soon as he had mastered them he obtained widely different results. The English Ambassador at The Hague persuaded Van Dyck to visit England in 1620 when he was only just of age, but at that time he made only a short stay, and after his return to Antwerp Rubens urged him to visit Italy. It was good advice. The dreamy, poetic-looking youth, whose charming painting of himself at this time we may see in the National Portrait Gallery, London, was spiritually nearer akin to the Italian than to the Flemish painters. What he learnt from them, especially from Titian, may be seen in ‘The Artist as a Shepherd’ in the Wallace Collection, painted about 1625-6, and from the still more splendid portraits in the National Gallery of the Marchese and Marchesa Cattaneo, both painted during the artist’s second stay in Genoa.
Strengthened and polished by his knowledge of Italian art, Van Dyck returned to Antwerp, there to paint among many other fine things two of his outstanding achievements in portraiture, the paintings of Philippe Le Roy and his wife which now hang in the Wallace Collection. These portraits of the Governor of the Netherlands and his wife were painted in 1630 and 1631, when the artist was little over thirty years of age, and in the following year the young painter was invited by Charles I to visit England, where he became Sir Antony Van Dyck, Principal Painter in Ordinary to His Majesty.
His great equestrian portrait ‘Charles I on Horseback,’ passed through several hands before it found a permanent home in the National Gallery. When King Charles’s art collection was sold by the Puritans in 1649, this picture passed into the collection of the Elector of Bavaria. Afterwards it was purchased at Munich by the great Duke of Marlborough, from whose descendant it was bought in 1885 for the National Gallery, the price given for this and Raphael’s ‘Ansidei Madonna’ being £87500.
After he had established himself in England Van Dyck slightly altered his manner, creating a style of portraiture which was slavishly followed by his successors, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller.
To speak of the elegance of Van Dyck’s portraits is to repeat a commonplace, but what the causal observer is apt to overlook is that this elegance penetrates below externals to the mind and spirit of the sitter. Of his powers in both directions an exquisite example is the portrait group of ‘Lords John and Bernard Stuart’, one of the most beautiful pictures he ever painted in England, and a work which proves Van Dyck to have been not only a supremely fluent master of the brush, but also a profound and penetrating psychologist.
Had he lived longer no one can say what other masterpieces he might have achieved: but unfortunately, with all his other great qualities as a painter, Van Dyck lacked the health and strength of his master Rubens. How good-looking he was in his youth, we can see by the charming portrait of himself which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, but this refined, almost girlish face suggests delicacy and weakness. Weak in a way, he was; though not spoiled by success, he could not stand the social whirl and dissipation on which a Rubens could thrive. Very superstitious, he was a victim to quacks and spent much time and money in endeavoring to discover the philosopher’s stone. It is said that his failure to find this precious fable of the alchemists preyed on his mind and contributed to his collapse in 1641, when, though no more than forty two, his frail body was worn out with gout and excesses. On the death of Rubens in 1640 Van Dyck went over to Antwerp. It was his last journey, and soon after his return to London he joined his great compatriot among the ranks of the illustrious dead.
Van Dyck established a style in portraiture which succeeding generations of painters have endeavored to imitate; but none has surpassed, few have approached him, and when we look among his predecessors we have to go back to Botticelli before we find another poet-painter who with equal, though different, exquisiteness mirrored not merely the bodies but the very souls of humanity.
After Van Dyck’s death, numerous imitators, both British and Flemish, endeavored to copy his style of portraiture, but the next great impetus art was to receive after Rubens came, not from England nor from Flanders, but from Spain. It is to the contrary of Velazquez and Murillo, therefore, that we must next turn our attention.
2
Of all the many followers of Rubens, the two most famous were Van Dyck and Jacob Jordaens (1593-1678), another exuberant Fleming, who though greatly influenced by Rubens was never actually his pupil. The ‘Riches of Autumn’ in the Wallace Collection is a fine example of the bacchanalian opulence of Jordaens. The fruit, vegetables, and most of the foliage in this picture are painted by Frans Snyders (1579-1657), a noted painter of ‘still-life’ who frequently collaborated with Rubens and other painters. The skill of Jordaens as a portrait-painter may be seen in his ‘Baron Waha de Linter of Namur’ in the National Gallery, but though a capable and skillful painter of whatever was before him, Jordaens had no imagination and added little of his own to the art of Rubens.
Antony Van Dyck, who was born at Antwerp in 1599, was supposed to have entered the studio of Rubens as a boy of thirteen, but recent research has shown he was originally a pupil of Hendrick van Balen and did not enter the studio of Rubens till about 1618. He was the favorite as well as the most famous of his master’s pupils, and yet temperamentally he was miles apart from Rubens. Where Rubens made all his sitters robust and lusty, Van Dyck made his refined and spiritual. From Rubens he learnt how to use his tools, but as soon as he had mastered them he obtained widely different results. The English Ambassador at The Hague persuaded Van Dyck to visit England in 1620 when he was only just of age, but at that time he made only a short stay, and after his return to Antwerp Rubens urged him to visit Italy. It was good advice. The dreamy, poetic-looking youth, whose charming painting of himself at this time we may see in the National Portrait Gallery, London, was spiritually nearer akin to the Italian than to the Flemish painters. What he learnt from them, especially from Titian, may be seen in ‘The Artist as a Shepherd’ in the Wallace Collection, painted about 1625-6, and from the still more splendid portraits in the National Gallery of the Marchese and Marchesa Cattaneo, both painted during the artist’s second stay in Genoa.
Strengthened and polished by his knowledge of Italian art, Van Dyck returned to Antwerp, there to paint among many other fine things two of his outstanding achievements in portraiture, the paintings of Philippe Le Roy and his wife which now hang in the Wallace Collection. These portraits of the Governor of the Netherlands and his wife were painted in 1630 and 1631, when the artist was little over thirty years of age, and in the following year the young painter was invited by Charles I to visit England, where he became Sir Antony Van Dyck, Principal Painter in Ordinary to His Majesty.
His great equestrian portrait ‘Charles I on Horseback,’ passed through several hands before it found a permanent home in the National Gallery. When King Charles’s art collection was sold by the Puritans in 1649, this picture passed into the collection of the Elector of Bavaria. Afterwards it was purchased at Munich by the great Duke of Marlborough, from whose descendant it was bought in 1885 for the National Gallery, the price given for this and Raphael’s ‘Ansidei Madonna’ being £87500.
After he had established himself in England Van Dyck slightly altered his manner, creating a style of portraiture which was slavishly followed by his successors, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller.
To speak of the elegance of Van Dyck’s portraits is to repeat a commonplace, but what the causal observer is apt to overlook is that this elegance penetrates below externals to the mind and spirit of the sitter. Of his powers in both directions an exquisite example is the portrait group of ‘Lords John and Bernard Stuart’, one of the most beautiful pictures he ever painted in England, and a work which proves Van Dyck to have been not only a supremely fluent master of the brush, but also a profound and penetrating psychologist.
Had he lived longer no one can say what other masterpieces he might have achieved: but unfortunately, with all his other great qualities as a painter, Van Dyck lacked the health and strength of his master Rubens. How good-looking he was in his youth, we can see by the charming portrait of himself which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, but this refined, almost girlish face suggests delicacy and weakness. Weak in a way, he was; though not spoiled by success, he could not stand the social whirl and dissipation on which a Rubens could thrive. Very superstitious, he was a victim to quacks and spent much time and money in endeavoring to discover the philosopher’s stone. It is said that his failure to find this precious fable of the alchemists preyed on his mind and contributed to his collapse in 1641, when, though no more than forty two, his frail body was worn out with gout and excesses. On the death of Rubens in 1640 Van Dyck went over to Antwerp. It was his last journey, and soon after his return to London he joined his great compatriot among the ranks of the illustrious dead.
Van Dyck established a style in portraiture which succeeding generations of painters have endeavored to imitate; but none has surpassed, few have approached him, and when we look among his predecessors we have to go back to Botticelli before we find another poet-painter who with equal, though different, exquisiteness mirrored not merely the bodies but the very souls of humanity.
After Van Dyck’s death, numerous imitators, both British and Flemish, endeavored to copy his style of portraiture, but the next great impetus art was to receive after Rubens came, not from England nor from Flanders, but from Spain. It is to the contrary of Velazquez and Murillo, therefore, that we must next turn our attention.
I Pass From Paris To London: ‘Malacoot’
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 gem industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had had more than the usual share of reverses as a broker in Paris, for which I had had only myself to blame. However, I thought that my ‘luck’ would change if I changed my surroundings. Where should I go? America? Australia? England? I had learned English; it seemed about time that I should practise it in an English-speaking country. It was no toss of the coin that decided me to go to London. The fare there was less than to Perth in Western Australia, or New York. I packed my few belongings without regret. ‘England is the place for me,’ I said.
Jet is the stone associated with that Channel crossing. I do not remember if it was rough or smooth, only that no less than five of the lady passengers wore complete sets of jet ornaments. They were all Englishwomen. Although this fashion may at that time have prevailed in France also, I never noticed it until I came to England.
Anxious to improve my accent, I got into conversation with the husband of one of the jet-wearers. Discreetly questioned, he was rather pleased to enlighten me with the information that this kind of stone came from Whitby in Yorkshire and that it was greatly prized in England for mourning jewelry.
He insisted that jet was a gemstone. ‘The decrees of fashion,’ I remember declaiming at him, ‘may raise a green cheese to the status of a planet, but the textbooks still lay it down that this black substance is a fossil wood, a king of immature coal, and not very hard at that—‘
‘Please do not let my wife hear you say that,’ he said in a frigid tone, ‘for she is excessively proud of her jet ornaments.’ Thereupon he left me abruptly and I saw him no more.
As I gazed intently at the rapidly approaching white cliffs of Dover, a voice spoke in inner ear. It said” ‘There are many ways of putting people against you. But the most sure way of all is to insist on telling them the unpalatable truth.’
After a day or two I found myself in a typical Bloomsbury boarding-house, dining in the company of four Indian law students, a City solicitor, an unfrocked Catholic priest, a newly arrived Capetown stockbroker and his wife, and the divorcée of a brilliant barrister who within the year took silk. The table was presided over by Mrs Francis, the landlady, a tall passée blonde with, as I discovered later, a kind heart. At first I had some difficulty in following the animated conversation, for I was still rather rocky in my knowledge of English, to say the least of it. But presently I realized that the conversation was turning on a green stone in the ring of the South African lady which she described as a ‘malacoot’.
A ‘malacoot’? I had never heard of such a stone. My professional curiosity was aroused. I begged for a sight of the stone. With the greatest of pride and affability she had it passed down to me. In indifferent English, but with the greatest complacency in the world I pronounced it (in a double sense) to be a ‘malachite’, a mineral found in great abundance in the Ural Mountains, which is sometimes used for ornamental tables, mural inlays and decorations.
The South African lady was not greatly impressed. Her stone, she said, was a ‘malacoot’, guaranteed to be nothing else by the reputable Capetown jeweler who had sold it to her. What did I know about South African gems?
At this point tact belatedly overtook me and I allowed her to make her point. But later on, when the ladies and most of the men had adjourned to the drawing-room (this was still the custom even in Bloomsbury boarding-houses), those who had remained, suspecting that I knew what I was talking about, drew me out on the subject of ‘malachite’.
I was only too eager to shine. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Malachite is a very common substance. I don’t think it occurs in South Africa at all. It is a gemstone only by courtesy. Mineralogically speaking it is just a copper carbonate. I have handled large plaques of it and beads by the bushel, I assure you, gentlemen.’
For further information of those who want to be able to distinguish malachite from any other green stone, I may here state that it is a bright green, grained with black, and is a stone which takes on a good polish.
Among the number of less well-known semi-precious stones which at one period kept the family pot boiling was the peridot.
I must confess here that although I had long known the stone by name and had seen it included in lists of potential gem material, I was not at all acquainted with its appearance until some time in 1903 when a German lapidary paid me a visit. I had been recommended to him as one likely to prove of considerable assistance to him, but to my disappointment he revealed that his entire stock-in-trade consisted of peridots, several pounds weight of them, of every size and shape.
‘And what do you expect to do with a stock of that kind in London?’ I asked.
‘Sell it for good English money,’ he replied with an assurance that was rather disconcerting, for I had no doubt whatsoever that a German lapidary on his first visit to London had nothing to teach me about the class of gems saleable in that city.
‘I am sorry to disillusion you,’ I said, ‘but candidly we shall only be wasting our time.’
‘Before the day is out you will think differently,’ he replied. ‘Will you be my broker for the day?’
As my new acquaintance was a good-natured twenty-one stone Teuton with a single-track mind, I did not wish him to feel that he must return to Germany without having had at least a chance of showing his goods to the trade. He would discover for himself fast enough that London was not peridot-minded.
Yet, before the week was out, my German friend had to send an urgent message home for fresh supplies. So much for my cocksureness. We managed to cash in on a short-lived fashion, however. The wave of popularity that had raised the olive-green transparent lustrous stone, despite its softness, into general favor soon subsided. This is usually the way with the lesser semi-precious stones; unlike the aristocrats, which always have a world-market, the small fry among gems depend very greatly upon the vagaries of fashion.
There are several localities where peridots are mined. Burma is one of these, and New Mexico and Queensland are others, but in the opinion of those best-informed the Egyptian peridot excels all others. In these latter days the stone is little seen in jeweler’s shops, but no doubt sooner or later they will be on view again.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
I had had more than the usual share of reverses as a broker in Paris, for which I had had only myself to blame. However, I thought that my ‘luck’ would change if I changed my surroundings. Where should I go? America? Australia? England? I had learned English; it seemed about time that I should practise it in an English-speaking country. It was no toss of the coin that decided me to go to London. The fare there was less than to Perth in Western Australia, or New York. I packed my few belongings without regret. ‘England is the place for me,’ I said.
Jet is the stone associated with that Channel crossing. I do not remember if it was rough or smooth, only that no less than five of the lady passengers wore complete sets of jet ornaments. They were all Englishwomen. Although this fashion may at that time have prevailed in France also, I never noticed it until I came to England.
Anxious to improve my accent, I got into conversation with the husband of one of the jet-wearers. Discreetly questioned, he was rather pleased to enlighten me with the information that this kind of stone came from Whitby in Yorkshire and that it was greatly prized in England for mourning jewelry.
He insisted that jet was a gemstone. ‘The decrees of fashion,’ I remember declaiming at him, ‘may raise a green cheese to the status of a planet, but the textbooks still lay it down that this black substance is a fossil wood, a king of immature coal, and not very hard at that—‘
‘Please do not let my wife hear you say that,’ he said in a frigid tone, ‘for she is excessively proud of her jet ornaments.’ Thereupon he left me abruptly and I saw him no more.
As I gazed intently at the rapidly approaching white cliffs of Dover, a voice spoke in inner ear. It said” ‘There are many ways of putting people against you. But the most sure way of all is to insist on telling them the unpalatable truth.’
After a day or two I found myself in a typical Bloomsbury boarding-house, dining in the company of four Indian law students, a City solicitor, an unfrocked Catholic priest, a newly arrived Capetown stockbroker and his wife, and the divorcée of a brilliant barrister who within the year took silk. The table was presided over by Mrs Francis, the landlady, a tall passée blonde with, as I discovered later, a kind heart. At first I had some difficulty in following the animated conversation, for I was still rather rocky in my knowledge of English, to say the least of it. But presently I realized that the conversation was turning on a green stone in the ring of the South African lady which she described as a ‘malacoot’.
A ‘malacoot’? I had never heard of such a stone. My professional curiosity was aroused. I begged for a sight of the stone. With the greatest of pride and affability she had it passed down to me. In indifferent English, but with the greatest complacency in the world I pronounced it (in a double sense) to be a ‘malachite’, a mineral found in great abundance in the Ural Mountains, which is sometimes used for ornamental tables, mural inlays and decorations.
The South African lady was not greatly impressed. Her stone, she said, was a ‘malacoot’, guaranteed to be nothing else by the reputable Capetown jeweler who had sold it to her. What did I know about South African gems?
At this point tact belatedly overtook me and I allowed her to make her point. But later on, when the ladies and most of the men had adjourned to the drawing-room (this was still the custom even in Bloomsbury boarding-houses), those who had remained, suspecting that I knew what I was talking about, drew me out on the subject of ‘malachite’.
I was only too eager to shine. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Malachite is a very common substance. I don’t think it occurs in South Africa at all. It is a gemstone only by courtesy. Mineralogically speaking it is just a copper carbonate. I have handled large plaques of it and beads by the bushel, I assure you, gentlemen.’
For further information of those who want to be able to distinguish malachite from any other green stone, I may here state that it is a bright green, grained with black, and is a stone which takes on a good polish.
Among the number of less well-known semi-precious stones which at one period kept the family pot boiling was the peridot.
I must confess here that although I had long known the stone by name and had seen it included in lists of potential gem material, I was not at all acquainted with its appearance until some time in 1903 when a German lapidary paid me a visit. I had been recommended to him as one likely to prove of considerable assistance to him, but to my disappointment he revealed that his entire stock-in-trade consisted of peridots, several pounds weight of them, of every size and shape.
‘And what do you expect to do with a stock of that kind in London?’ I asked.
‘Sell it for good English money,’ he replied with an assurance that was rather disconcerting, for I had no doubt whatsoever that a German lapidary on his first visit to London had nothing to teach me about the class of gems saleable in that city.
‘I am sorry to disillusion you,’ I said, ‘but candidly we shall only be wasting our time.’
‘Before the day is out you will think differently,’ he replied. ‘Will you be my broker for the day?’
As my new acquaintance was a good-natured twenty-one stone Teuton with a single-track mind, I did not wish him to feel that he must return to Germany without having had at least a chance of showing his goods to the trade. He would discover for himself fast enough that London was not peridot-minded.
Yet, before the week was out, my German friend had to send an urgent message home for fresh supplies. So much for my cocksureness. We managed to cash in on a short-lived fashion, however. The wave of popularity that had raised the olive-green transparent lustrous stone, despite its softness, into general favor soon subsided. This is usually the way with the lesser semi-precious stones; unlike the aristocrats, which always have a world-market, the small fry among gems depend very greatly upon the vagaries of fashion.
There are several localities where peridots are mined. Burma is one of these, and New Mexico and Queensland are others, but in the opinion of those best-informed the Egyptian peridot excels all others. In these latter days the stone is little seen in jeweler’s shops, but no doubt sooner or later they will be on view again.
Hallmarking Act Implementation In India
According to the Gems and Jewellery Federation (GJF) in India, the government intends to make gold hallmarking compulsory from January 2008. The proposed amended Act requires every jewelry outlet to obtain a licence to sell hallmarked jewelry. The federation is concerned by the move because they believe the infrastructure for the practical implementation of the Act is inadequate in the country.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Top 10 Startups Worth Watching in 2008
(via Wired): Top 10 Startups Worth Watching in 2008
1. www.23andme.com
2. www.37signals.com
3. www.admob.com
4. www.bittorrent.com
5. www.dash.net
6. www.fon.com
7. www.linkedin.com
8. www.powerset.com
9. www.slide.com
10. www.spock.com
1. www.23andme.com
2. www.37signals.com
3. www.admob.com
4. www.bittorrent.com
5. www.dash.net
6. www.fon.com
7. www.linkedin.com
8. www.powerset.com
9. www.slide.com
10. www.spock.com
Beautiful Microscope Art
(via Wired): The images via Materials Research Society art competition was really interesting. It's beautiful. Link
Useful links:
http://blog.wired.com/wiredscience/2007/12/beautiful-mic-1.html
www.mrs.org
Useful links:
http://blog.wired.com/wiredscience/2007/12/beautiful-mic-1.html
www.mrs.org
Incandescent Light Bulb
The incandescent light bulb will be phased off the U.S. market beginning in 2012 under the new energy law just approved by Congress + this will reduce electricity costs and minimize new bulb purchases in every household in America + earlier this year, Australia became the first country to announce an outright ban by 2010 on incandescent bulbs + The Energy Star website has a good FAQ (frequently asked questions) on CFLs (the compact fluorescent).
Kind Hearts And Coronets
Kind Hearts And Coronets (1949)
Directed by: Robert Hamer
Screenplay: Roy Horniman (novel Israel Rank); Robert Hamer, John Dighton
Cast: Dennis Price, Valerie Hobson, Joan Greenwood, Alec Guinness
(via YouTube): Trailer: Kind Hearts and Coronets (Robert Hamer, 1949)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOGbnECf7NI
Kind Hearts and Coronets clip
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAA41TwZz1w
A Robert Hamer classic + it's fun noir. I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Robert Hamer
Screenplay: Roy Horniman (novel Israel Rank); Robert Hamer, John Dighton
Cast: Dennis Price, Valerie Hobson, Joan Greenwood, Alec Guinness
(via YouTube): Trailer: Kind Hearts and Coronets (Robert Hamer, 1949)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOGbnECf7NI
Kind Hearts and Coronets clip
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAA41TwZz1w
A Robert Hamer classic + it's fun noir. I enjoyed it.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)