The Bigger Picture: Visual Archives and the Smithsonian
Posts tagged with: Health/Medicine
This is one of a series of posts written in celebration of Women's History Month, and profiling additions of new images of female scientists added to the Smithsonian Flickr Commons. We invite you to subscribe to The Bigger Picture blog and to the Smithsonian Flickr Commons feed to keep up with new posts and image additions.
Maud Slye, (1879–1954), was a pathologist and tireless cancer researcher whose contributions to the role of genetics and cancer were game changing.
While at the University of Chicago working with Japanese "waltzing mice"—which suffer from a genetic neurologic disorder—Slye became interested in the link between genetic inheritance and disease expression. Her work with cancer, however, was prompted by what she was observing in her own lab mice and a report of cattle from the same ranch who all suffered from the same sort of cancer of the eye. Based on this report and additional scientific evidence, she set out to determine if there was a genetic link to explain why cancer developed in some animals and not in others.
Using her skill in breeding mice (her breeding records and charts are in the archives at the University of Chicago, she was able to develop strains of cancer-prone and cancer-resistant mice and reliably predict which pairings would develop cancer. Her success with the mouse model was compelling and challenged the long-held notion that cancer spread through a contagion. Her findings also led her to advocate for a comprehensive archive of human medical records to identify genetic weaknesses and help control cancer through healthy pairings. As she stated in a January 1937, Time article, "I breed out breast cancers. I don't think we should feel so hopeless about breeding out other types. Only romance stops us. It is the duty of scientists to ascertain and present facts. If the people prefer romance to taking advantage of these facts, there is nothing we can do about it." I bet Eugenicists loved that. But I digress…
Although her exacting work answered some questions regarding why cancers run in families, it was criticized as overly simplistic and not fully appreciative of the complexity of extraneous factors that could also prompt the emergence of cancer. Nevertheless, there was more to Maud Slye than mice and cancer.
Like many scientists, Slye had an artistic and expressive side. Poetry may, on its face, appear to be at odds with her detailed statistical analysis of mouse heredity and cancer, but I think her propensity for it makes perfect sense. Good science and poetry require keen observation, analysis, interpretation, and persuasive presentation for success.
Her two books of poetry, Songs and Solaces (Stratford Co., 1934) and I the Wind: Symphony no. 1 and minor songs (Stratford Co., 1936) are not thin little volumes published by a vanity press. These are substantial works of several hundred pages each and were received well by critics. The poems (what snatches I’ve been able to find) are evocative, romantic, and linguistically rich.
Maud Slye was a complex women who managed to combine the pursuits of truth and beauty and succeeded at both.
Reading anthropologist Doug Ubelaker’s recent click! commentary about how photography has been used in the practice of forensic anthropology, especially in the analysis of evidence, brought to mind the photographs, most of them portraits, made by photographer William Bell in the years just after the Civil War. Like the anthropological images of bones and objects left over from human activity, Bell’s images of wounded soldiers constitute an archive where the interesting questions are about what you can see if you know how to look. William Bell was first a soldier, serving in the war between the United States and Mexico in 1846-48, and then a photographer, opening a studio in Philadelphia in 1860. He served in the American Civil War with the First Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers. After the war, he became head of the photographic department for the Army Medical Museum. The original Army Medical Museum (now the National Museum of Health and Medicine) was founded as a research facility in 1862 and collected and commissioned photographs to study specimens of morbid anatomy, surgical or medical. At the beginning of the Civil War, newly enlisted doctors had almost no experience with gunshot wounds, especially those made by the recently developed Minié ball. Shaped like a pointed cone, this high-speed bullet caused significantly worse wounds than the older lead balls. In an era before X-Rays, short of dissecting the body, no one knew what a wound looked like inside of damaged tissue. Bell and the photographers who succeeded him at the Army Medical Museum carefully documented the effects rather than the events of the war.
The seven-volume Photographic Catalogue of the Surgical Section of the Army Medical Museum, begun in 1865, included detailed case histories and fifty tipped-in albumen prints. Photographs of shattered bones and skulls display an appropriately clinical approach to the subject of scientific inquiry. The portraits of the wounds of survivors, however, command (and are arguably compromised by) a more emotional scrutiny. These elegant, studio-style portraits are unnervingly intimate. Formal science is linked with artistic formality. Along with the catalogue’s detailed descriptions of the affliction and the appropriate medical procedure, the photographs were useful to doctors who wondered just what the slice or dice they contemplated might look like when finished. Today, it is hard to know where to cast your eye in these pictures. The subjects (it is hard to refer to them in the vocabulary of portraiture as “sitters”) often gaze intensely, and considering the extent of both their disfigurement and state of undress, unabashedly, at the camera. I wonder, is it the face or the wound that gives us the most information about war? Bell’s photographs of mutilated soldiers suggest the near-impossibility of simultaneous looking and seeing. These images of wounds and wounded still are so very beautiful, and heartbreaking. See more medical photographs by Bell from the Smithsonian American Art Museum here. For a more complete description of surgical practice during the Civil War go to the National Museum of Health and Medicine’s on line exhibition, Trauma and Surgery: Medicine During the Civil War.
Merry Foresta is the Former Director of the Smithsonian Photography Initiative.