Interior designer Jeanne Barousse was explaining the color scheme for
the new upstairs private dining rooms at Galatoire’s when a brassy
trumpet fanfare interrupted her in mid-sentence, drowning out her
description of the buttermilk walls.
Curious, the three of us –
Barousse, public relations spokesman Marc Ehrhardt and myself – walked
onto the balcony overlooking Bourbon Street. Here’s what we saw:
The
U.S. Navy Band, in inky blue uniforms, had fallen into formation in
front of the restaurant, bisecting the road, horns on one side, drums
and cymbals on the other.
Inside Galatoire’s, the Friday lunch
was at full tilt in the downstairs dining room. Cocktail-soaked
conversations were raising the room’s decibel level. But it was no match
for the horn section outside.
Diners flowed out into the
street. A woman in a dime-store tiara and Diane Von Furstenberg dress
held a champagne flute aloft. Construction crews working nearby silenced
their saws. On the balcony next door, a stripper in fishnets, craned
over the railing.
Carnival season in full swing. Friday lunch at Galatoire’s. Needless to say, it was very hard to go back to work.
After
the hubbub – word was that the Navy band was there to play for the
Krewe of Pontchartrain’s pre-parade lunch – Barousse, Ehrhardt and I
returned inside, where I was getting a tour of 215 Bourbon St., the new
addition to Galatoire’s.
Last year, the hidebound, 108-year-old restaurant bought the vacant, three-story building next door.You must not use the laser cutter
without being trained. The space had been empty since Mike Anderson’s
Seafood was shuttered in 2005 following Hurricane Katrina.
The
plan is to use the building three ways: the third floor will be a
wood-paneled wine room, the second floor will be additional Galatoire's
private dining space, and the first floor will be a long bar facing
Bourbon Street with a separate, new restaurant behind it.
The
renovation is still a work in progress, but the new bar – at this point
just called Galatoire's bar – will debut this weekend, and some
well-heeled Super Bowl visitors will get their first sit-down dinner in
the second-floor rooms this week.
The second-floor banquet room
was the most complete on my visit. It’s located just behind the existing
upstairs bar at Galatoire’s. A small passageway connects them.
We
passed through it – squeezing by a birthday party clad in cocktail
attire at 2 in the afternoon – and into a quiet, plushly carpeted space.
The aesthetic is genteel ballroom – mushroom velvet drapes with
Greek key trim, buttermilk walls, alabaster light fixtures – and it's
complementary, rather than a carbon copy of the original restaurant’s
fin de siècle design.
Barousse purposefully didn’t just roll out
a facsimile of Galatoire’s black-and-white mosaic tile floors and call
it a day. To avoid an uproar, the construction hasn’t duplicated, or
even touched, Galatoire’s first-floor dining room, a place where change
is never welcome.
“We’ve taken great pains to make this feel
like an extension of Galatoire’s,” Barousse said. “We’re not trying to
replicate it.”
The third floor is a masculine, clubby space,
with dark wood, a golden rug and seating for 18 surrounded by wine
racks. During my tour,Learn how an embedded microprocessor in a smart card
can authenticate your computer usage and data. chef Michael Sichel
poked his head in the room. “Look at this attention to detail,” he said,
marveling at the marble bathrooms.
Galatoire’s owners haven’t
yet divulged their plans for the new restaurant's menu, but Barousse
talked a little about the look. It will have wood-beamed ceilings, brass
and crystal chandeliers and a series of historic Louisiana maps framed
on the walls.
The space was still a hard-hat construction zone
during my visit. But broad windows looked out onto Bourbon Street, and
the the frame for the long bar was in place. It doesn’t take much
imagination to envision the sweating Sazeracs soon to come.
Mr.
Chan is often called in when collaboration is required. Take the Opus
project, whose architecture Mr.We've had a lot of people asking where we
had our make your own bobblehead
made. Chan likens to a dynamic envelope—"the envelope changes, and it's
very exciting." For three years Mr. Chan worked on its interior layout,
which he compared to a cauliflower in that "every floor is different."
Since each apartment, occupying an entire floor, was "an open space,
like a gallery, a museum space," the challenge was to make sense of it
for prospective buyers, dividing it into practical living areas "so
people can understand it," he says.
Originally from Hong Kong,
Mr. Chan, 52, says he stumbled into architecture after failing as a
pre-med and economics student in California. He moved to New York in the
early 1980s, where he studied at the Institute of Architecture and
Urban Studies, followed by Rhode Island School of Design and later
Columbia University. Back in Hong Kong, he spent close to a decade
working for local architecture firms before establishing BTR,Ein
innovativer und moderner Werkzeugbau
Formenbau. which today employs some 40 staff members based in the
industrial district of Kwun Tong. Its clients include big-name
developers such as Sun Hung Kai 0016.Where you can create a custom lanyard
from our wide selection of styles and materials.HK -0.39% and Hong Kong
Land, as well as powerful individuals and families such as the Tiens,
whose patriarch is James Tien, a politician and businessman.
2013年1月31日 星期四
2011年8月18日 星期四
Sculptural Surprises Grace the Streets
It is the outdoor art season in New York and therefore a good time to ask what makes for a successful piece of urban public art. When art ventures away from the nurturing shelter of the white-walled gallery, it must contend with all kinds of distractions: huge buildings; noisy vehicular and pedestrian traffic; spectacular, sexy commercial signs with dizzying video imagery; unpredictable weather; the verdant beauty of a park; and the sheer interestingness and variety of so much else that in the artificial and natural fabric of the city.
One way for public art to distinguish itself is to be really big. This year’s prize for size should go to Jaume Plensa’s “Echo,” a gigantic, ghostly, white head of a girl in Madison Square Park. Towering 44 feet, it is made of molded fiberglass resin parts fitted together so the seams show. It looks as if it had been carved from a huge, laminated block of marble, and the girl’s features are rendered smoothly as if they had been eroded by the elements over the years. The head is also oddly distorted — flattened in such a way that it resembles a digitally manipulated three-dimensional photograph or a hologram. Viewed from a distance at night, when it is bathed in the bright light of lamps around its base, it seems to glow, a silently plaintive specter conjured, maybe, by the guilty conscience of a rapacious modernity.
Less spectacular but effectively haunting in its own way — partly because of its grand scale — is one of a number of works commissioned by the High Line: a greatly enlarged black-and-white photograph by Robert Adams mounted on a billboard next to that elevated park. Made in 1978 in rural Nebraska, the photograph shows a narrow, much weathered country road running between fields of tall grass and extending from the foreground to the top of a low, faraway hill. Dried, fallen leaves from small trees have gathered at the side of the road. A melancholy mood is enhanced by blocks of funereal black filling in the oblong expanse of the billboard on either side of the picture. Like Mr. Plensa’s sculpture the photograph evokes something neglected, a soulful road not taken. But there is too an eerie feeling of hopefulness, of a possibility not yet foreclosed. (The billboard will regularly present landscapes by eminent photographers selected by the photographer Joel Sternfeld.)
Mr. Adams’s photograph works not only because of its drive-in-movie scale but also because it is so different from the kind of visual material that normally attracts and assaults the public eye. A few yards farther up the High Line, strollers come upon another billboard: not an artwork but a huge advertisement for Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club. With its blaring purple and gold hues and the come-hither expression of the sultry woman it pictures, it must be an embarrassing thorn in the side of the High Line’s administrators, who clearly favor low-key subtlety over high-impact flash. Another expansive piece on the High Line, for example, is a long wall of windows by Spencer Finch called “The River That Flows Both Ways.” Each of hundreds of panes is the color of a pixel from a photograph of the surface of the Hudson River. Jade, wine, teal and other muted hues produce a lovely, quiet symphony of color.
An elephantine sculpture in front of the Seagram Building on Park Avenue at 53rd Street has much going for it: impressive scale, contrast with the normal environment and popularly appealing imagery. Urs Fischer’s “Untitled (Lamp/Bear)” is a 23-foot-tall representation of a lumpy yellow stuffed bear wedged into the space between the base and the shade of an old desk light. Weighing in at almost 17 tons, it is made of painted cast bronze and has table-top size button eyes sewn on with rope. The light glows at night. (Christie’s, the auction house that recently sold the sculpture, organized its outdoor presentation.)
For contemporary art followers the obvious comparisons are Jeff Koons sculptures like the giant shiny “Balloon Dog” and the flower-covered “Puppy.” But the Fischer displays little of the fanatical attention to surface and detail seen in Mr. Koons’s work. It also relates to the tradition of the Duchampian found object and the absurdist Pop Art monuments of Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen. Leaving aside its presumptive pedigree, however, it is not very different technically and aesthetically from the kitschy, Pop-realist sculptures of J. Seward Johnson, whose enormous representation of Marilyn Monroe in her upward-billowing dress has caused much debate in Chicago since its recent installation there downtown.
One way for public art to distinguish itself is to be really big. This year’s prize for size should go to Jaume Plensa’s “Echo,” a gigantic, ghostly, white head of a girl in Madison Square Park. Towering 44 feet, it is made of molded fiberglass resin parts fitted together so the seams show. It looks as if it had been carved from a huge, laminated block of marble, and the girl’s features are rendered smoothly as if they had been eroded by the elements over the years. The head is also oddly distorted — flattened in such a way that it resembles a digitally manipulated three-dimensional photograph or a hologram. Viewed from a distance at night, when it is bathed in the bright light of lamps around its base, it seems to glow, a silently plaintive specter conjured, maybe, by the guilty conscience of a rapacious modernity.
Less spectacular but effectively haunting in its own way — partly because of its grand scale — is one of a number of works commissioned by the High Line: a greatly enlarged black-and-white photograph by Robert Adams mounted on a billboard next to that elevated park. Made in 1978 in rural Nebraska, the photograph shows a narrow, much weathered country road running between fields of tall grass and extending from the foreground to the top of a low, faraway hill. Dried, fallen leaves from small trees have gathered at the side of the road. A melancholy mood is enhanced by blocks of funereal black filling in the oblong expanse of the billboard on either side of the picture. Like Mr. Plensa’s sculpture the photograph evokes something neglected, a soulful road not taken. But there is too an eerie feeling of hopefulness, of a possibility not yet foreclosed. (The billboard will regularly present landscapes by eminent photographers selected by the photographer Joel Sternfeld.)
Mr. Adams’s photograph works not only because of its drive-in-movie scale but also because it is so different from the kind of visual material that normally attracts and assaults the public eye. A few yards farther up the High Line, strollers come upon another billboard: not an artwork but a huge advertisement for Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club. With its blaring purple and gold hues and the come-hither expression of the sultry woman it pictures, it must be an embarrassing thorn in the side of the High Line’s administrators, who clearly favor low-key subtlety over high-impact flash. Another expansive piece on the High Line, for example, is a long wall of windows by Spencer Finch called “The River That Flows Both Ways.” Each of hundreds of panes is the color of a pixel from a photograph of the surface of the Hudson River. Jade, wine, teal and other muted hues produce a lovely, quiet symphony of color.
An elephantine sculpture in front of the Seagram Building on Park Avenue at 53rd Street has much going for it: impressive scale, contrast with the normal environment and popularly appealing imagery. Urs Fischer’s “Untitled (Lamp/Bear)” is a 23-foot-tall representation of a lumpy yellow stuffed bear wedged into the space between the base and the shade of an old desk light. Weighing in at almost 17 tons, it is made of painted cast bronze and has table-top size button eyes sewn on with rope. The light glows at night. (Christie’s, the auction house that recently sold the sculpture, organized its outdoor presentation.)
For contemporary art followers the obvious comparisons are Jeff Koons sculptures like the giant shiny “Balloon Dog” and the flower-covered “Puppy.” But the Fischer displays little of the fanatical attention to surface and detail seen in Mr. Koons’s work. It also relates to the tradition of the Duchampian found object and the absurdist Pop Art monuments of Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen. Leaving aside its presumptive pedigree, however, it is not very different technically and aesthetically from the kitschy, Pop-realist sculptures of J. Seward Johnson, whose enormous representation of Marilyn Monroe in her upward-billowing dress has caused much debate in Chicago since its recent installation there downtown.
2011年5月22日 星期日
Time-domain tailored-pulse laser enables scribing of CIGS solar modules
Matt Rekow, Richard Murison, PyroPhotonics Lasers, a subsidiary of ESI, Inc, Montreal, QC, Canada
Laser scribing is an enabling process for the formation of monolithic series interconnects for large panel thin film solar cells. Interconnect formation typically requires three scribing operations known in the industry as P1, P2 and P3. A fourth operation, often referred to as P4, removes shunts at the edges and prepares the module for electrical interconnect and encapsulation. Laser scribe processes based on nanosecond (ns) pulsed lasers are preferred for both a-silicon and CdTe thin film PV manufacturing. CIGS (copper indium gallium selenide) is a different story. In this case, the shunt and series resistance of laser processed modules suffers unacceptably due to thermal degradation when traditional ns pulse lasers are used.
Success has been claimed utilizing picosecond (ps) lasers for CIGS P2 and P3, however, negative thermal effects still cannot be avoided as is evident in Fig. 2a. Furthermore, such lasers are much more expensive, much larger and considered far less industrially robust than ns lasers. Consequently, they have yet to gain broad acceptance across the solar industry. Because of these concerns, mechanical stylus scribing continues to be the industry norm for CIGS P2 and P3 scribing.
The tailored-pulse laser
The invention of a new type of fiber laser has enabled discovery and exploitation of a previously unknown process window for the CIGS P2 and P3 process. The laser is a 1064nm pulse programmable fiber laser [1]. Unlike more traditional lasers, this laser technology allows the pulse duration to be varied from approximately two to several 100s of nanoseconds, independent of the laser repetition rate, which can be varied up to 500kHz. In addition, each pulse can be arbitrarily programmed to generate a specific desired temporal profile of instantaneous laser power. Pulse trains comprised of these shaped pulses can be applied to the scribing process at high repetition rates. It is precisely these attributes that are not available in Q-switched or ps lasers that enable this novel and effective process.
Laser scribing is an enabling process for the formation of monolithic series interconnects for large panel thin film solar cells. Interconnect formation typically requires three scribing operations known in the industry as P1, P2 and P3. A fourth operation, often referred to as P4, removes shunts at the edges and prepares the module for electrical interconnect and encapsulation. Laser scribe processes based on nanosecond (ns) pulsed lasers are preferred for both a-silicon and CdTe thin film PV manufacturing. CIGS (copper indium gallium selenide) is a different story. In this case, the shunt and series resistance of laser processed modules suffers unacceptably due to thermal degradation when traditional ns pulse lasers are used.
Success has been claimed utilizing picosecond (ps) lasers for CIGS P2 and P3, however, negative thermal effects still cannot be avoided as is evident in Fig. 2a. Furthermore, such lasers are much more expensive, much larger and considered far less industrially robust than ns lasers. Consequently, they have yet to gain broad acceptance across the solar industry. Because of these concerns, mechanical stylus scribing continues to be the industry norm for CIGS P2 and P3 scribing.
The tailored-pulse laser
The invention of a new type of fiber laser has enabled discovery and exploitation of a previously unknown process window for the CIGS P2 and P3 process. The laser is a 1064nm pulse programmable fiber laser [1]. Unlike more traditional lasers, this laser technology allows the pulse duration to be varied from approximately two to several 100s of nanoseconds, independent of the laser repetition rate, which can be varied up to 500kHz. In addition, each pulse can be arbitrarily programmed to generate a specific desired temporal profile of instantaneous laser power. Pulse trains comprised of these shaped pulses can be applied to the scribing process at high repetition rates. It is precisely these attributes that are not available in Q-switched or ps lasers that enable this novel and effective process.
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