Showing results by narrator "Joe Van Riper" in All Categories

Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill has become the most read how-to book on accumulating money. And that's because it works. If it is riches you seek, you've found the blueprint for its achievement. The only issue with the book is that is fairly long. And because each chapter is in itself a crucial step in the art of amassing wealth and abundance, one cannot afford to overlook any practical detail. That's where this book comes in.

To survive in today's fast-changing landscape, companies need to balance consumers' often-competing desire for privacy, security, and convenience. In The New Rules of Consumer Privacy, FaceFirst CEO Peter Trepp establishes the new paradigm for the privacy contract between consumers and organizations that balances these three vital concerns.   

This book discusses the challenges that the American Democratic Party faces in the future. 

An interview with the author J. P. Donleavy, recorded in 1989 on the occasion of his exhibition at Anna-Mei Chadwick Gallery, Chelsea. He describes his formative experience of Dublin, with exhibitions there in 1948, '50, and '51, the catalogue manifestos, for these were his first published writings, leading to work on his first renowned novel, The Ginger Man.

"Gothic Nightmares" at Tate Britain in London was an important exhibition, but not entirely for the reasons that its organizers thought. They clearly saw it as a stage in mapping an episode in British art - the rise of the Sturm und Drang, hand-in-hand with a new age of Gothic sensibility in literature - that has, until now, been relatively uncharted. What they almost entirely failed to perceive was its relevance to recent, and even current, developments in British and American art.

The show of Michelangelo drawings at the British Museum in London counted as one of the artistic events of 2006. It is unlikely that the public will have another chance to see such a complete panorama of the artist’s achievement as a draughtsman for many years to come, if indeed ever again. The reasons for this rush to get in are not hard to discover. Michelangelo’s reputation is that of the greatest of all artists. Most of his finished, or near-finished, works are in marble or fresco, and can never leave their locations in Florence or Rome.

Edward Lucie-Smith reviews Frieze Art Fair London 2013, in a critical take on the contemporary scene. It's pretty easy to get the point of the Frieze Masters art fair, now in its second edition, after a very successful start last year. Its purpose is to present the best of the best - or, at the very least, a good slice of the top quality art that is currently on the market. One of the great pleasures of Frieze Masters, this year more than ever, is the accidental confrontations the event manages to set up.

'Black British Style', the current costume show at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, raises a lot of complex issues for someone like myself. I am not black, but I am undoubtedly West Indian. My family have lived in different parts of the West Indies for more than 300 years and in Jamaica for more than a century.

Dr. Glyn Thompson’s digital book, Duchamp’s Urinal? The Facts Behind the Façade, at first tends to make the heart sink. Dr. Thompson has done his homework, and he is insistent that you should do it too. "No skipping over the chapter-and-verse, boy, in search of something a bit racier." Some of the facts are, however, sufficiently racy in themselves. The urinal, or Fountain, as it is now officially called, turns out not to have been the work - or wheeze - of Duchamp himself, but that of a mad German baroness.

We live at a time when there is great confusion, certainly here in the West, about contemporary art in Russia. It is now nearly a quarter of a century since the Soviet Union fell. No convincing narrative has emerged concerning the development of Russian art during that period.

It is a paradox of a sort that the only fully authentic Holbein painting of King Henry VIII of England should now reside in Madrid, in the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. It left Britain as late as 1933, sold by Earl Spencer, grandfather of Diana, Princess of Wales. Holbein is, after all, the author of what is perhaps the most iconic and formidable of all British royal images. Fittingly, the Thyssen-Bornemizsa portrait adorned the cover of the catalogue that accompanied the "Holbein in England" exhibition at Tate Britain in London. 

In the early years of the 20th century, Paris became the center for an international community of artists. Some of them were French, but the city also offered its hospitality to artists from an increasingly wide range of other nationalities. Some, like Marc Chagall, came from communities that had never produced artists of international note before. The result was a mixture between a stewpot and a laboratory.

This exhibition, based on a single, very personal and - dare one say it? - extremely distinguished private collection, tackles a large subject within a relatively small compass. It aims to examine a now universally recognized crisis, which is what is happening to painting as an art form. Quite a large number of critics and curators have, in recent years, proclaimed that painting is dead: that attention must now be paid to other kinds of art.

Anyone who Googles the phrase curatorial theory will immediately come upon quite a long list of suggested websites. Sometimes it is a little difficult to be sure if the texts offered are intended to be taken entirely seriously. However, if I hack my way through the dense thickets of language, I find myself in agreement with what they seem to be trying to say, which is that curating an exhibition - or for that matter, a website - is not an end in itself.

The new Gauguin exhibition at Tate Modern in certainly the art event of the year in London. It’s a blockbuster exhibition of a kind that, thanks to the continuing worldwide financial crisis, may soon become extinct. It is also an exhibition that raises important questions about how we currently see and think about art.

Very seldom in London can a major show of modern and contemporary art at a highly respected national institution have received such universally negative reviews. As I write this, not all the verdicts on the Royal Academy’s exhibition of Modern British Sculpture have been delivered. However, it is already clear that the majority will be hostile. Paradoxically, it is this, more than any other factor, which makes it seem like an important event - a turning point if you like.

Of the three great Italian High Renaissance masters, Raphael is now the most problematic. Leonardo and Michelangelo continue to fascinate, even though some of the modern audience - myself included - find some of Leonardo's output faintly creepy. Raphael is a different matter. In his own lifetime, he was perhaps the most admired of the three, successful with every type of patron and every type of audience. Where his rivals delayed, Raphael delivered, unflappable and omnicompetent.

This is not an exhibition about ‘Realist’ art, as will be immediately apparent from some of the works included. Instead, it is an exhibition that invites the spectator to consider what his, or her, vision of reality truly is. The philosophical debate about the nature of realism in art began in earnest quite late in the history of Western painting and sculpture. The trigger was the invention of photography. When Louis Daguerre announced his new process in 1839 there were many people who thought that it might, in due course, make the visual artist superfluous.

In 1975, the American critic, Laura Mulvey, published an article entitled "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema". This has over the years been one of the most influential of all feminist texts. In it, Mulvey made use of a version of Freudian theory, as reinterpreted by the French philosopher and psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan. Freud referred to scopophilia - the pleasure of look at other people’s bodies as erotic objects. Mulvey applied this to the cinema.

Rothko is now one of those mythical artists, an icon of 20th century creativity, the central figure in a tragic legend. Which means to say that one is pretty much compelled to agree that everything he did was wonderful, a manifestation of genius. I have to say that I find myself increasingly resistant to this approach. Some works by Rothko I do in fact respond to, with their glowing blocks of color.