The Imaging Center was amazing. On the microscope with the video camera (can't remember the name) we looked at the underside of a starfish and identified tiny, cube shaped salt crystals clinging to it from salt water. Sight is arguably the most important sense to humans and these devices give us a look at the world in ways otherwise impossible. I am interested in observing the activities of tiny organisms. They're micro-universes seem so alien.
Kate Casanova
I'm always interested in how things work, and the interaction of different parts in a complex system. An interesting thing about the imaging lab was how the scientists and technicians interacted with the digital and mechanical equipment and biological material. Each contributed to the experience, and also to make the invisible apparent. The scientist needed to explore the various calibrations in order to achieve the most articulate image. The material presented challenged these folks to work with the equipment in a very creative mode; exploring, experiencing and reacting to both the digital/mechanical and the biological. Observation of this process is an example of how humans can co-exist with other life, rather than dominate, as Young had suggested.
One thing I found interesting at the imaging lab was the difference between the 3 devices. I understand how the 2 more powerful microscopes were conceptually much more interesting than the stereoscope, but the stereoscope, to me, was much more aesthetically interesting. While the confocal microscopes allowed you to understand the biological body much more deeply, the stereoscope presented much more visible detail.
However, the other two microscopes seem to be capable of providing much more interesting information over the course of time. The idea of viewing microscopic changes over time might yield some interesting results for me.
What I found to be the most interesting piece of equipment at the Imaging Center (though they were all pretty impressive) was the macro-confocal microscope, which revealed natural fluorescence in organisms. When looking at Laura's monarch wing under the microscope, she pointed out how each individual scale follows a Cartesian system (x and y axes). It was like looking at a blueprint of nature on a very micro level. The formation of the individual scales seemed to mimic the way humans lay shingles on a roof and could be best described as micro architecture.
The white spot on the monarch wing was also imperfect under the microscope. It wasn't made to be a perfect circle or ellipse, but had a white scale or two that lay outside the general cluster of white scales. This caused the greatest amounts of fluorescence to be slightly scattered across the wing, rather than all entirely concentrated within the white spot. There was something humbling about seeing the imperfections of such a small creature. I began thinking about how the dialogue between science and nature often revolves around how to correct and perfect upon nature's flaws in both animals and in humans. It was the first time I ever considered that a monarch and I could have anything in common, both flawed creatures when put under scrutiny.
I'm now considering a project involving before and after photos of genetically modified plants, essentially mirroring the use of before and after photos in popular culture (i.e. weight loss ,fashion makeovers, plastic surgery. I'm curious to see how new and improved versions of these organisms compare to their naturally occurring ancestors.
-Teréz
while i think the imaging lab was an unbelievably neat experience, i am really not sure what to take away from it. the confocal microscopes were the ones i spent the most time with... and while everyone there did a wonderful job explaining to me how they work in i way i could understand and why they are incredibly useful i just didn't know how i could personally connect with the technology in a way that would be "useful" to me. while the imaging was amazing and i fully understood how awesome it was for me to be standing next to a piece of machinery that could do what they did, i left shrugging.
i spent a lot of the time wondering about the colors of the fiber optic and laser lights they were choosing for the samples and why those were the ones they were using (i must have missed that part somehow). in the end when i asked diane it was a disappointingly simple answer, those were the colors that the samples were created to react to. i think this was disappointing to me because right now in my personal research i spend most of my time exploring metamerism and what different spectrums of light mean for me as a lighting designer and painter. i had hoped that there was some room for playing with the microscopes and the samples... or perhaps that was what they were doing to get those results which didn't make sense because the color of the sample, the color of the light, and the color of the image did not jive with my understanding of LED color mixing.
i definitely value the experience on many levels, but i just don't know what to do with any of the knowledge i have acquired from it yet.
After looking at a butterfly wing under a series of microscopes I began to muse about the potential lenses have to shift our perspectives. The butterfly, for example, is often deployed as a cliche metaphor in poetry or song, but the lens itself twists that romanticized image out of its stilted, dead state--we see the point where the wing was ripped from the body of the creature and the scales that grow off of the substrate of its wings. We not only see new aspects of the butterflies physical makeup, but we see a glimpse of what happened to its living body (and the violence that happened to its carcass). The lens is capable of shifting both our symbolic and material understandings of the thing that we place under them--indeed, the symbolic and the material need not be distinct categories.
How does the perspective of a lens (or lenses, plural) shift, alter, elapse, and mechanically embody subjectivity? To what degree is the lens itself made of the flesh that manipulates and views the images it optically (or physically) re-presents? To what degree can lenses explode point of view? To what degree do they "other" (estrange) the subjective out of the familiar, embodied form and place it in the material, bio-political realm of raw actants? The potential of the microscopes we used to shift our viewpoints out of our familiarized realm of the experiential is quite wonderful, I think. They allowed us to view things that would normally be impossible to see. They also gave new, more complex, viewpoints of images that we might already have from other similar technologies--these are lenses that allow to see new viewpoints that may have political potential.
Take the idea of a "mood"--we can say that it is an effect of being in a body, or we can look at the various chemical processes that led to that mood (a Vitamin D or Omega-3 deficiency, perhaps). Or, we can begin to think about how trash isn't simply "away" in the landfill (since it is directly removed from a direct, phenomenological relationship)--the trash is engaged in a series of complex actions: leeching chemicals, building up its volume in a particular area, and producing massive clouds of harmful methane gas. The ability to take on this vitalized form of materialism--where other things act--can allow for a critical eye on how bodies are being affected. This can also be applied to human bodies--what is the perspective of the "other," what happens when the quality of that lens gets leveled to be on the same level as our own? What happens when currents, weather patterns, or even butterflies exert biopolitical power. What lens do butterflies see through? To what degree are our lenses merged and of the same raw, material "stuff" ?
Also, I found this cool new popular application of some of the same imaging technologies we used in the lab:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7babcK2GH3I&feature=player_embedded
After leaving the class on Tuesday, I told my dad I got the chance to work with state of the art microscopes (a rare occurrence for me as an art and theatre student) that each cost more than my entire undergraduate tuition 8 times over, and the reason behind why I got to (for an art class) left me feeling puzzled. We might get to use these new technologies from another department for the sake of "art" - in a way it's a privilege, in another way, I feel it comments at a much larger and more interesting philosophical concept. Upon reflection of my experience at the imaging center, I found myself amused at the entire concept of the center, as well as at our reason for being there. I have to step back and remind myself of the larger picture sometimes:
I am taking a class registered under the title of 'art studio' within a large university. We are exploring the biological body within art and are, as a class body, an assembly of biological human bodies, each with very different and unique sets of skills, interests, backgrounds, disciplines, and credentials. We are getting the chance to use state of the art equipment to observe anything (within the limits of the research facility) we want, and to then manipulate the products of our research in anyway we want in order to achieve an artistic aesthetic yet to be determined.
All this makes me wonder if there is not some other kind of biological body observing us for the sake of their own strange ways of self expression - or maybe that is just my own projection onto another life form that may not even exist. These microscopes are so fixed on specific details of microscopic (no pun intended) forms that I sometimes can't even grasp what it is we are seeing through the lenses. I would be interested in zooming out to look at a larger picture and observe live organisms - cells or animals - just as they move about. The images we could look at of the butterfly wing, or cat whiskers, or roots of a mustard plant are all incredibly fascinating; but what do those images mean? I get so lost within these tiny details and so caught up with my own fascination of the complexity of what it is we are seeing that I easily forget how all of that information connects back to my reason for being here.
So, instead of starting out small and trying to expand outwards to figure out what those ideas mean, I'd like to start with a larger idea and work my way down because I learn better when I can see the process by delving into a subject layer by layer rather than starting at the smallest possible detail and working my way back in order to relate it to a larger picture.
Hannah S
As I experience the world and forms of life in it, it is evident that the presence of gravity has a profound effect on the evolution of species and the expression of traits. I find the relationship of the fundamental force of gravity with biology to be fascinating. It dictates why whales have evolved to be so massive. But there is also some kind of resilience to gravity that insects have despite the constant force of gravity which I can't explain, but is amazing because it completely breaks the proportional relationship between gravity and size that we would expect.
What was engaging about visiting the imaging lab was using tools made by man that break the barrier that prevent us from interacting with bodies out of scale with humans. We have evolved our senses and their limits for a reason, and by making and using such tools, it feels almost forbidden or special that we can engage with things so small or so huge.
I am interested in biological bodies at the cellular level. I find humans and animals difficult and relatively uninteresting to study because they operate under motives. Micro-organisms, cells, molecules are pure biology to me, and therefore more interesting and telling about the phenomenon of life.
I'm attaching a tiny picture because it is in the same vane as my comment about man's use of tools to see things beyond our intended limits. This is a cell phone picture I took a few years ago through a telescope of Jupiter. The two tiny dots to the right of Jupiter are two of its moons. It is absolutely mind-blowing to think that we can do that.
-Peter
It is interesting to consider that when we say "the ocean is blue," what we actually mean is that it is blue to us as humans with our eyes that are sensitive to particular light wavelengths. Blueness does not have to do with the ocean's essence as much as the particles (is this the right terminology?) it is made of, which absorb some wavelengths of light and reflect others. They of course have other properties as well that arguably make the ocean what it is. In the imaging lab I was struck by the fact that these scientists are looking for ways to visually differentiate parts of cells, creatures, etc. but are not necessarily concerned with how it looks, just what the way it looks tells us. They are using different colored lights and fluorescence to indicate material differences or to illuminate actions. They want things to be visible by whatever means possible. What they are looking for seems to have to do more with differentiating relationships among things/materials/processes, which is possibly a more objective way to understand the nature of an object. In their labs it is essentially irrelevant that an image of something is "true" to how it would look if we could actually see it with our own eyes.
For whatever reason, the only creatures I know for certain that I truly fear are arachnids. For this reason, seeing a gilded tick at extreme magnification was a very interesting experience. In particular, I found it interesting to note that I felt a combination of simultaneous revulsion and appreciation of its beauty. The gold covering made the tick look like a piece of ornate jewelry, which made me think a lot about how covering the tick in gold objectified it for me--made it seem less real, and therefore less threatening.
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