A Tribute to Ray Harryhausen

Jason wouldn't have stood a chance ...

HAPPY EARTH DAY 2013

Weathered boulders near Bay of Sails, Antarctica

Earth is a beautiful place filled with creatures that harvest photons, exploit chemical gradients, and consume the bodies or byproducts of other creatures. Each organism (or perhaps more properly, each colony of organisms) grows, reproduces, ages, and dies. In the process, they cycle elements and, for a time, leave their signatures. This dynamic process is what we call life. As so many luminaries have said before, Earth is truly a living planet. Many of us contemplate this concept each April 22nd.

Antarctica illustrates most, if not all, aspects of the living Earth: from undersea environments teeming with micro-, macro-, and mega-scale organisms, to physical forces slowly eroding boulders left behind by the last ice age, liberating elements and exposing new habitats for life. One need only sit (or float) and take it all in. Compared to our world, the "physical" seems more "physical" here and life seems more resilient.

Nothing is fragile, except the unprepared human. And, at times, even the "prepared" human psyche.

Beginnings ...

As an undergraduate, I never thought much about the parallels between art and science. It took a pal of mine - Anthony Tassarotti - to lead me down that path. At the time, I was a student in Sam McGee-Russell's electron microscopy class, and "Tony" was deeply involved with photography. When he saw some of my micrographs, he went into the darkroom and started making some "crazy prints" (my words at the time).

Anthony's rendering of a carbon-platinum shadowed latex sphere

You never know where friendships will take you!

The mind of an artist

An artist colleague once remarked that if I was to understand how artists think, I need to reverse roles in life. With a perplexed look, and a "huh? what does that mean," he suggested that I try working in the lab wearing my scuba suit. The next day I followed his suggestion ...

Showing up for a day's work, ready to experience the artist's mind.

Most of the day involves paperwork (sigh).

But occasionally I get to use fancy equipment, like this low voltage scanning electron microscope ...

... or the Albany high-voltage transmission electron microscope ...

It was hard to see anything through a fogged scuba mask.

Dejected and less inspired about understanding artists, I return to the lab. Sorry, Jan, it's better to collaborate with artists than it is to think like one ...

(Thanks to Amanda Andreas for taking these photos and tolerating my humor)

Palms and incongruent connections

I've been reading Edward Heron-Allen's book The Language of the Hand, which was published in the late 1800's -- a time when palmistry, phrenology, and other pseudosciences were popular. Although such practices have been falsified by modern science, this rational biologist shamelessly admits to getting a thrill each time he cracks open a fortune cookie. Imagine how I would feel if this legendary foraminiferologist read my palm?

Mental sparks fly while reading Heron-Allen's text, and wildly incongruous connections are made. If afforded the opportunity to talk with him today, it seems likely that the discussion would center on how he reconciled his early years as a palm reader with his later years as a scientist. If he defended palmistry as a science to the end, then I would have to point out that the body is riddled with lines and patterns. Why restrict psychoanalysis and fortune-telling to those of the hand?

I'm curious: Notice the lines around the eyes of a young Sam Bowser:

These lines are physically closer to his spirit center; they should, by such proximity, be more revealing than those on his palm. (As I explore methods of meditation and related healing approaches, I've noticed that this sort of logic has been employed throughout the ages.)

• Did they predict the years he would spend squinting in Antarctic summer sun?
• Did they predict the chiseled grimaces of trigeminal neuralgia (TGN)?
• Did they predict years of billowing mad-scientist laughter?

Perhaps these lines are simply the consequence of his genetic stock. (Some say he has his granny's eyes. Should this also be true for the lines of his hands?)

Those lines around his eyes have become more exaggerated over the years, and are now seen to possess certain bird-like attributes. Further curiosity: What do these crow's feet foretell?

• More squinting in the Antarctic sun?
• More episodes of TGN?
• More unbridled laughter?

Eye lines revealed using highly sophisticated imaging algorithms, from images obtained while: (1) smiling, (2) resting, (3) experiencing unbearable pain, (4) laughing like a madman. Notice that the contrast of the eye lines accurately reflects emotional status. Note also that eye lines deflect at different angles relative to their resting position. I'm sure that all of this can be formulated into a new, highly "scientific" way to interpret the psyche and predict the future. Let me know if it's already been done - I don't want to waste my time!

These lines also mirror the patterns made by pseudopodia extended by foraminiferan protists. Perhaps this means that I will be a benthic foraminiferan in my next life? (No, I've made other plans.) Or perhaps I was simply destined to study these organisms...

Pseudopodia extended by the foraminiferan protist Allogromia laticollaris, initially photographed using differential interference optics, but then subjected to the same imaging algorithms used for enhancing eye lines. As can be seen by the concordance of pseudopodial patterns with my crow's feet, it's clear that I was destined to be a foraminiferologist!

This exercise proves to me that curiosity can lead to some strange connections. When depicted with skill, some might even call these connections art. In my hands, however, they seem more of a time sink. That is, until this Doctor of Philosophy improves his social status and makes some money by interpreting eyelines of the elite, as his hero Heron-Allen did so many years ago.

Imagine Dr. Bowser telling wealthy, curious souls their fortunes while they wink at him!(?)

The sheer joy of Antarctic Subaquatic Garbage Collecting

Sometimes things fall into holes and are presumed lost forever. Over the years, people working at Explorers Cove have dropped coins (for luck?), hand tools, cameras, nails, screws -- all sorts of things -- into dive holes. As divers, we enjoy discovering and recovering these "lost" items. It gives us a sense of satisfaction being Antarctic Subaquatic Garbage Collectors.

One time I found a penny on the seafloor (it was heads up) and gleefully handed it to Werner Herzog upon surfacing. Another time, Doug Coons and I recovered a 15-ft Jiffy Drill flight. (See this post on how they sometimes get hopelessly stuck in the ice and ultimately drop to the seafloor.)

Nothing can express the joy of Antarctic Subaquatic Garbage Collecting more than this picture of Cecil recovering a "lost" shovel. We used it for the rest of the field season, too!

Out of the fog - a trip to Double Curtain Glacier

One of our most interesting sampling sites is situated at the base of Double Curtain Glacier in the Ferrar Valley. The sea ice there is usually very thick (7 meters or more), and the transition region is littered with many hundreds of scallop shells and the freeze-dried remains of other benthic critters lifted to the surface.

The seafloor at this site is stark, dominated by anchor ice as well as large boulders that gather Antarctic moss while they roll down the steep slope of the adjacent hill. A lens of supercooled fresh water from the nearby Ferrar Glacier freezes instantly when a drill bit makes contact, confounding efforts to fashion a dive hole. It's a magnificent place to lay down tools, open eyes, flare nostrils, and taste the cold air. 

When sea fog rolls in, I'm struck by the solitude of working in Antarctica. Isolation triggers shivers more often than the temperature does.

Sea fog rolls into the Ferrar Valley, obscuring our dive site near Double Curtain Glacier

A few sparks of light on Double Curtain Glacier as the sun sets

Looking back toward the Ferrar Valley, wondering where my coworkers are ...

Tense moments later, their Skidoo light appears from the fog ...

Why does this particular trip stay close to mind? There are times when Antarctica stabs the heart in very fundamental ways, and begs you to ask if your companions are safe.

Perfect Hole Followup

For many years now, I have included at least one artist on our Antarctic research team. The argument for this practice was recently presented at the SCAR meeting in Portland, Oregon (see: Scientists should consider an artist when selecting field team members).

Sometimes these artists have a lot of prior experience  (e.g., Steve Alexander - scientist, diver, and photographer; Shawn Harper - diver, photographer; Henry Kaiser - diver, musician, and videographer), but in other cases they have less (e.g., visual artists Claire Beynon and Laura Von Rosk). Regardless of their level of lab or field training, artists always prove to be excellent team members who remain faithful advocates of the continent.

Nevertheless, I'm often a bit nervous taking visual artists to Antarctica. Their "style" (forgive my ignorance of art terminology) is celebrated by their audience, and I'm concerned that Antarctica will change them in ways that might "ruin them." Will their followers be turned off by their Antarctic-inspired work? Maybe this is a silly concern ...

Laura Von Rosk has spent the last six months producing a new series of paintings. I'm biting nails, hoping that her images are well received. Maybe I shouldn't have asked her to melt so many perfect dive holes ???

More about a perfect dive hole

The BEST dive hole in 2011 was the last one fashioned, just days before we pulled out of Explorers Cove. Named "the Stockton site" in honor of Dr. Bill Stockton, fellow Antarctic researcher, this hole was made overnight using two Hotsies operating simultaneously.

Laura serves as a scale marker next to the Stockton hole

Bill mapped the density of the Antarctic scallop Adamussium colbecki on the seafloor back in the late 70's/early 80's, and we repeated his survey to see if there have been any changes since that time. This hole exposed an area where Bill reported as many as 80 scallops per square meter -- a huge density.

Adamussium colbecki

I'll report back with the findings once they're published. (Hint: yup, there were changes ...)

Everything ... in its right place

Making uniformly wide (= safe) dive holes through the sea ice in Antarctica has always been a major challenge. For example, at our research sites at Explorers Cove, the sea ice is usually 8-21 feet (roughly 3-7 meters) thick, and layered with wind-blown sediment from the Taylor Valley - factors that create a host of problems. Blasting holes with dynamite worked well in the past, but in this post-9/11 world it is a logistical nightmare to use explosives. The only reasonable option is to slowly melt a dive hole using a Hotsie. Unfortunately, the Hotsie is a gizmo that wasn't designed for this purpose: it's a glorified carpet steam cleaner!

Keeping a Hotsie functional for the 2-3 days needed to melt a hole requires vigilance (and a toolkit). Recently, we've resorted to belief in "order" in order to keep it working.

To wit:

Now that we align its components in orderly ways, with expression of great love and devotion to the Hotsie, we are cranking out perfect dive holes. (Well, almost 50% of the time.)

I'm thinking of starting a new religion ...

Touching the Sublime - like, in 2012?

Dude!

YOU are, like, THE most AWESOME lifeform in the known universe

Like, if I was standing on the edge of the galaxy, looking in?

there would be this most AWESOME sight:

YOU - with, like, this awesome glow of energy?

streaming from you,

lighting up all the stars

Not just the nearby ones

but, like, ALL of them?

And you'd be, like, dancing with joy?

as you swirl and twirl around

planting smiles on all the creatures you encounter?

It would be REALLY awesome

And because I'd be on the EDGE of the galaxy

soooo, like, ready to drop off into nothingness?

It would be the most awesomely sublime thing

Know what I mean???

Seeing Red

One of the tents we use in Antarctica, called a "Polarhaven," is large enough to serve as a dive locker for about four aquanauts.

The Polarhaven at Cape Bernacchi

Because it is heated by a catalytic propane unit, it's also a comfy refuge for sleeping and eating in subzero temperatures. There's only one problem: the walls are red, so the interior is also red.

Laura Von Rosk cinching down the Polarhaven blanket to its wooden floor. The propane heater is seen behind her.

While setting up the Polarhaven at Cape Bernacchi, Laura and I had a brief opportunity to discuss "color" and "composition" (she is a master of both). I've never understood how to use color effectively, and my compositions always feel like run-of-the-mill, "rule of thirds," ho-hum. What could Laura teach me about this during our breaks from work?

A sketch of Astrammina triangularis using watercolor pencils. My drawings seem "cartoon-like" and not very realistic. I always follow the "rules," too. For example, light comes from the upper right, shadow to the lower left. The result just doesn't "feel" interesting to me :-(

Detail of an Astrammina triangularis "arm" that I sketched in normal daylight. I try to do a lot of "deep looking" when studying a subject, but that doesn't always translate into an appealing composition.

Drawing an agglutinated foram inside the tent was an interesting experience. Seeing everything in red light is not too alien, since I spent decades in a darkroom back when photography meant working under a safelight. I never tried to manipulate color in a monochrome setting, though, and wondered if that would be instructive?

Drawing of an agglutinated foram, with notes on objects in the tent, as I remember seeing things in the Polarhaven. (Actually, I placed a red mask over the drawing below, so this is really just a simulation.)

How the drawing looked when viewed outside the Polarhaven - surprisingly ... ugly?

Looking deeply, working hard, trying something new, failing ... but having fun. Art and science share a lot in common.