Chaim Even Zohar writes about the colors of certifigate + the lack of universal nomenclature on the wording of the various color grades + the GIA monopoly on color grades + the consumer's dilema + other viewpoints @ http://www.idexonline.com/portal_FullEditorial.asp
Chaim Even Zohar is the 'natural' voice--not only for the trade but also for the consumers + he has written vividly as to what goes on behind the scene + at times I wonder whether the concept of diamond grading is an idiot's game + the consumer is but one of the victims of GIA’s certifigate + the far greatest damage was done – and still is being done + as he rightly put it, in the small colored goods community, it had become apparent that if you didn’t play the game and were out of favor with the GIA’s power brokers, you really had no chance of staying in the business. Shocking!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Global Business Leader
The book The Global Business Leader: Practical Advice for Success in a Transcultural Marketplace by J. Frank Brown is full of fantastic business advice + I believe his ideas are not only timely but spot on.
Useful link:
http://knowledge.insead.edu/contents/FrankBrown.cfm
Useful link:
http://knowledge.insead.edu/contents/FrankBrown.cfm
John Mawe’s Blunders
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
For many years I wondered who had first introduced the idea that, for a Brilliant to be correctly shaped, it was desirable that it should have an overall height equal to its wideth. Then I came across the following passage from the second edition of John Mawe’s Treatise on Diamonds: ‘The rule to be adopted in regulating the height of the brilliant is (supposing the stone to be a regular octahedron), to divide it into eighteen parts. Five-eighteenths are cut away to form the table, and one-eighteenth for the collet, which will reduce the height one-third, and the diameter of the collet will be one-fifth of the table. If these distances are preserved, the collet will play in the center of every facet, but if there is any variation, it will play higher or lower, and greatly diminish the intensity of luster...’
Mawe cannot have meant an octahedron, but rather a bipyramid reduced in advance to a shape with an overall height equal to its width—he goes on to repeat the rules of Jeffries and to give additional proof, both in his illustration of a correctly proportioned Brilliant and in his own text: ‘the inclination of the facets to the girdle ought to be 45°, and the bizel should be inclined to the table at the supplement of the same angle.’ His first statement is an obvious misprint or oversight, yet no writer appears to have noticed it, not even Paul Grodzinski who, in his reprinted edition of Mawe’s Treatise, comments on a number of other details but not on this. Many other writers have simply accepted the error, believing that Mawe was referring to early Brilliant Cuts with octehedral main angles. But it is obvious that a stone of this sort could have been fashioned only in the very rare instances where the rough stone was a regular octahedron. No cutter would ever have started fashioning a stone by transforming an irregular crystal into an octahedral shape, thereby considerably reducing its weight. The old rules remained in force and no changes in standard proportions were made until the late nineteenth century.
Of course, cutters did not always observe the rules for ideal proportions, but even the earliest Square Cut Brilliants were hardly likely to be fashioned from octahedral rough; for the most part they were refashionings of obselete cuts. If an old square-shaped Point or Table Cut displayed satisfying light effects, the gem was simply faceted into a Brilliant without changing the proportions. It is possible, presumably, that such recuts may occasionally have served as prototypes for fashioning directly from octehedral rough.
For many years I wondered who had first introduced the idea that, for a Brilliant to be correctly shaped, it was desirable that it should have an overall height equal to its wideth. Then I came across the following passage from the second edition of John Mawe’s Treatise on Diamonds: ‘The rule to be adopted in regulating the height of the brilliant is (supposing the stone to be a regular octahedron), to divide it into eighteen parts. Five-eighteenths are cut away to form the table, and one-eighteenth for the collet, which will reduce the height one-third, and the diameter of the collet will be one-fifth of the table. If these distances are preserved, the collet will play in the center of every facet, but if there is any variation, it will play higher or lower, and greatly diminish the intensity of luster...’
Mawe cannot have meant an octahedron, but rather a bipyramid reduced in advance to a shape with an overall height equal to its width—he goes on to repeat the rules of Jeffries and to give additional proof, both in his illustration of a correctly proportioned Brilliant and in his own text: ‘the inclination of the facets to the girdle ought to be 45°, and the bizel should be inclined to the table at the supplement of the same angle.’ His first statement is an obvious misprint or oversight, yet no writer appears to have noticed it, not even Paul Grodzinski who, in his reprinted edition of Mawe’s Treatise, comments on a number of other details but not on this. Many other writers have simply accepted the error, believing that Mawe was referring to early Brilliant Cuts with octehedral main angles. But it is obvious that a stone of this sort could have been fashioned only in the very rare instances where the rough stone was a regular octahedron. No cutter would ever have started fashioning a stone by transforming an irregular crystal into an octahedral shape, thereby considerably reducing its weight. The old rules remained in force and no changes in standard proportions were made until the late nineteenth century.
Of course, cutters did not always observe the rules for ideal proportions, but even the earliest Square Cut Brilliants were hardly likely to be fashioned from octahedral rough; for the most part they were refashionings of obselete cuts. If an old square-shaped Point or Table Cut displayed satisfying light effects, the gem was simply faceted into a Brilliant without changing the proportions. It is possible, presumably, that such recuts may occasionally have served as prototypes for fashioning directly from octehedral rough.
The Romantic Movement In France
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
The Art of Delacroix, Gericault, Corot, Millet, And The Barbizon School
1
Some thirty years before the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood began its triumphant fight in England for the free expression of new ideals in art, a similar struggle between old and new schools of artists was waged with extraordinary vehemence in France. We saw how under the Revolution and the Empire a cold Classicism was the dominating tendency in French painting, and how gradually there arose among the younger artists a reaction against this traditional art. The spirit of unrest, which profoundly agitated France after the restoration of the Bourbons and culminated in the revolutionary explosion of 1848, first began to show itself in the art and literature of the younger generation. On one hand were the defenders of tradition, of the ‘grand style’ of Academic painting, defenders of the classic ideal based on the sculpture of ancient Greece and Rome; on the other were ardent young reformers, intoxicated with the color and movement of life itself, who found their inspiration, not in the classics, but in romantic literature, in Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, and Sir Walter Scott. Passion, movement, the imaginative expression of life were the aims of this group of artists, who became known as the Romantics.
‘Who will deliver us from the Greeks and Romans?’ was a catchword among the young enthusiasts who found more beauty in life and Nature than in the masterpieces of ancient sculpture. The deliverer was found in the ranks of the reactionaries, in a young artist who was the pupil of Guérin the classicist. Jean Louis André Théodore Géricault was born at Rouen in 1791 and came to Paris about 1806, studying first with Carle Vernet and afterwards with Guérin. His method of drawing was so different from that approved by the school of David, that it exasperated his ‘correct’ and academic master, who told Géricault he had better give up art because it was evident he would never succeed in it.
One day as Géricault was walking along a road near St. Cloud, a dapple-grey horse in a cart turned restive and plunged about in the sunshine. Géricault whipped out his sketch-book and jotted down notes of the movement of the animal and the play of light and shade on his dappled coat, and these notes gave him the idea of a great picture. He would paint an equestrian portrait, not the stiff image of a man on a wooden horse, but a vivid presentment of the plunging, sun-illumined animal he had seen. He persuaded his friend Lieutenant Dieudonné to pose for the rider, and he had a cab-horse brought round each morning that he might freshen his eye with the points of the horse. Working with the highest enthusiasm and energy Géricault, in the space of a fortnight, produced his ‘Officier des Chasseurs à Cheval,’ now in Louvre. This picture created a sensation in the Paris Salon of 1812.
Two years afterwards Géricault repeated his success with a companion picture, ‘The Wounded Cuirassier,’ and after a short period of military service—when he had further opportunities of studying his favorite equine models—he went in 1817 to Italy, where he ‘trembled’ before the works of Michael Angleo, who henceforward became his inspiration and idol.
When Géricault returned to France in 1818, he found all Paris talking about nothing but a naval disaster of two years earlier, an account of which had just been published by two of the survivors. The drama of the shipwreck of the Medusa seized upon the imagination of the artist, who determined to make it the subject of a picture. He spent months in collecting material for this work. He found the carpenter of the Medusa and induced him to make a model of the famous raft by which the survivors were saved. He spent days in hospitals studying the effects of illness and suffering. He persuaded two of the surviving officers of the ship to give him sittings, and painted one leaning against the mast and the other holding out his two arms towards the rescuing ship on the horizon. All his models were taken from life, and it is interesting to note that his friend, the famous artist Eugène Delacroix, posed for the man who lies inert on the left with his head against the edge of the raft.
The Romantic Movement In France (continued)
The Art of Delacroix, Gericault, Corot, Millet, And The Barbizon School
1
Some thirty years before the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood began its triumphant fight in England for the free expression of new ideals in art, a similar struggle between old and new schools of artists was waged with extraordinary vehemence in France. We saw how under the Revolution and the Empire a cold Classicism was the dominating tendency in French painting, and how gradually there arose among the younger artists a reaction against this traditional art. The spirit of unrest, which profoundly agitated France after the restoration of the Bourbons and culminated in the revolutionary explosion of 1848, first began to show itself in the art and literature of the younger generation. On one hand were the defenders of tradition, of the ‘grand style’ of Academic painting, defenders of the classic ideal based on the sculpture of ancient Greece and Rome; on the other were ardent young reformers, intoxicated with the color and movement of life itself, who found their inspiration, not in the classics, but in romantic literature, in Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, and Sir Walter Scott. Passion, movement, the imaginative expression of life were the aims of this group of artists, who became known as the Romantics.
‘Who will deliver us from the Greeks and Romans?’ was a catchword among the young enthusiasts who found more beauty in life and Nature than in the masterpieces of ancient sculpture. The deliverer was found in the ranks of the reactionaries, in a young artist who was the pupil of Guérin the classicist. Jean Louis André Théodore Géricault was born at Rouen in 1791 and came to Paris about 1806, studying first with Carle Vernet and afterwards with Guérin. His method of drawing was so different from that approved by the school of David, that it exasperated his ‘correct’ and academic master, who told Géricault he had better give up art because it was evident he would never succeed in it.
One day as Géricault was walking along a road near St. Cloud, a dapple-grey horse in a cart turned restive and plunged about in the sunshine. Géricault whipped out his sketch-book and jotted down notes of the movement of the animal and the play of light and shade on his dappled coat, and these notes gave him the idea of a great picture. He would paint an equestrian portrait, not the stiff image of a man on a wooden horse, but a vivid presentment of the plunging, sun-illumined animal he had seen. He persuaded his friend Lieutenant Dieudonné to pose for the rider, and he had a cab-horse brought round each morning that he might freshen his eye with the points of the horse. Working with the highest enthusiasm and energy Géricault, in the space of a fortnight, produced his ‘Officier des Chasseurs à Cheval,’ now in Louvre. This picture created a sensation in the Paris Salon of 1812.
Two years afterwards Géricault repeated his success with a companion picture, ‘The Wounded Cuirassier,’ and after a short period of military service—when he had further opportunities of studying his favorite equine models—he went in 1817 to Italy, where he ‘trembled’ before the works of Michael Angleo, who henceforward became his inspiration and idol.
When Géricault returned to France in 1818, he found all Paris talking about nothing but a naval disaster of two years earlier, an account of which had just been published by two of the survivors. The drama of the shipwreck of the Medusa seized upon the imagination of the artist, who determined to make it the subject of a picture. He spent months in collecting material for this work. He found the carpenter of the Medusa and induced him to make a model of the famous raft by which the survivors were saved. He spent days in hospitals studying the effects of illness and suffering. He persuaded two of the surviving officers of the ship to give him sittings, and painted one leaning against the mast and the other holding out his two arms towards the rescuing ship on the horizon. All his models were taken from life, and it is interesting to note that his friend, the famous artist Eugène Delacroix, posed for the man who lies inert on the left with his head against the edge of the raft.
The Romantic Movement In France (continued)
New Energy Sources
Earth: The Sequel: The Race to Reinvent Energy and Stop Global Warming by Fred Krupp + Miriam Horn is an inspiring book full of ideas + I think there will be new start-ups in the energy sector + some of them will be very lucky!
Useful link:
www.edf.org
Useful link:
www.edf.org
The Chinese Art Market
I found the article Pump and Dump by Gady A. Epstein @ http://www.forbes.com/global/2008/0324/022.html interesting and insightful + here is what Liang Changsheng, art director of the Contemporary Artwork Auction firm in Beijing has to say:
'The trick of creating that next hot artist is an idiot's game. First get critics to write about him(The critics are paid by artists, auction houses and galleries for this service). Then organize exhibitions to introduce his work (That's paid for, too, even at the most prestigious national museums). Then you can put the work in auction with an establishing price and buy it back yourself in order to set an example for the public. Of course, it would be better if some other bidders join in.'
This reminded me of the colored stone + diamond business, especially the high-ticket stones (rubies, sapphires, emeralds, colorless + fancy colored diamonds) with guaranteed best-grade certificates + origin report. It is definitely an idiot's game!
'The trick of creating that next hot artist is an idiot's game. First get critics to write about him(The critics are paid by artists, auction houses and galleries for this service). Then organize exhibitions to introduce his work (That's paid for, too, even at the most prestigious national museums). Then you can put the work in auction with an establishing price and buy it back yourself in order to set an example for the public. Of course, it would be better if some other bidders join in.'
This reminded me of the colored stone + diamond business, especially the high-ticket stones (rubies, sapphires, emeralds, colorless + fancy colored diamonds) with guaranteed best-grade certificates + origin report. It is definitely an idiot's game!
Ian Gittler
Ian Gittler is an author + photographer + designer living in New York City. I liked his work.
Useful link:
www.iangittler.com
Useful link:
www.iangittler.com
The Importance Of Systemic Thinking
I found the article about Toyota by J. Brian Atwater + Paul Pittman on Systematic Thinking interesting because the issues that are related to systematic thinking are also applicable to gem identification.
Useful link:
www.apics.org
Useful link:
www.apics.org
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