The Secret Garden

WEird science

That title could apply to so much of science - in fact that is why I love science so much because I find it endlessly fascinating and challenging. But today it refers to this story that I found on Yahoo. It's an exceptionally well-written piece of science writing for a non-scientific publication, but that's not really what I want to talk about.

I wanna discuss the glow in the dark bunnies.

It seems that a group of artists have been using living tissues and technology to create some weird new bio-art. It strikes me (and possibly other biochemists and biologists out there) that finding art and beauty in science is not unusual. Take the Nautilus shell as an example of where form meets function. But what makes this new story unique is that it is the artists that are making the discovery.

This is interesting to me in many ways because it illustrates the relationship that science has with the rest of the world. Artists are being brought into the lab to confront something alien and frightening and to come to terms with it as just another playground for expressing their art. Being a science communicator I am all for this, or at least I was until I read about the rabbits.

One of the artists has used a jellyfish gene to create a rabbit that glows in the dark. In science this sort of technology is nothing new, but for some reason it made me bristle. Why should a rabbit be used in this way just for art? Don't get me wrong, I am opposed to the use of all higher animals in science too, but when does the line need to be drawn?

I have no problem with colonies of bacteria growing in interesting patterns under the influence of Engelbert Humperdink's dulcet tones, or even a woman growing synthetic hymens from her own vaginal cells and rat tissue to make a point about modern society, but using a whole animal as art is wrong.

But then this raises the question of whether science is more important or worthy than art. Who says that science can do something but art can't? Is art the little brother to science? Or does science do more concrete good for humanity and so can justify its use of animal sacrifice in a more meaningful way?

(Incidentally, the pic of the rabbit came from here - a site which raises a whole other debate about our attitude towards the use of this animal in science.)

Drink the Kool-Aid

It looks appetising, doesn't it?

When I started my foray into fibrecraft I swore blind that I would never touch Kool-Aid as a dye. It stands for everything that I dislike about the world, and yet somehow I found myself inexorably drawn in. I found that I could buy it from a sweet shop in London (for a small fortune) and I suddenly had to have one of every flavour (for scientific experimental purposes of course). Everywhere I looked online people were dyeing with Kool-Aid and while that would not normally entice me to try something out, there was something seductive about it.

I had a huge skein of nasty, sheepy-smelling yarn that was just begging to be dyed with this stuff, so I gave it a go. If nothing else then the fruit smell would mask the musky sheepiness of the wool. While I was mixing up wineglasses full of Kool-Aid I chatted with my housemate about how Kool-Aid was used as the drink of choice in the Jonestown Massacre. This was all very interesting, but I think even he was freaked out when I found myself humming "Don't Fear the Reaper" as I splished and splashed the colourful liquid onto the yarn. He sidled out to leave me to my dyeing. I reflected that it's not often you can freak out a voodoo priest.

Well, I wrapped the stuff up in clingfilm and nuked it, and I have to say that the smell didn't improve at all, but the dye really stuck. It stuck so well in fact that there were white areas where no dye penetrated at all, and the liquid that ran out into the bottom of the dish was clear. Clean up was easy too (although I did have to make sure that I got rid of all traces of the Kool-Aid laced wineglasses, lest my housemate think I was trying to poison him).

And here she is. Not bad for a first attempt, but I think I'll overdye it with some Tamarindo/Grape flavour or something to mute it down a bit since it is quite loud. I thought it was going to be quite seaweedy but Yemaya has said she doesn't want it - maybe I should take that as a sign. I'm not quite ready to drink the Kool-Aid.

 

He said, she said

It has been an interesting week by all accounts. The arrival of a new bloke in the office has set a cat among the pigeons. Not many men would be brave enough to announce to a room full of women that they are white, middle class, male and proud. Or then again perhaps they would?

Talking to this guy, and listening to him speak (there is a fundamental difference in the way a woman gets ICT to fix her PC than the way a man approaches this largely masculine enclave) has made me revisit the stuff I did on linguistics while I was studying for my MSc.

The bottom line is that English is a man’s language. This is a structuralist idea – that we use language to codify thought to express ourselves and make ourselves understood to one another. Essentially: I think something, open my mouth and say it, and you hear it and understand. Very direct, very masculine.

But this presupposes that I have a word to express my thought. What if I think something that I don’t have a word for? How do I explain myself to you? This turns the structuralist argument on its head, because I am constrained in what I say by the words I have to say it. The words are changing the way I think.

Words are powerful things.

This is expressed beautifully in a book called the Native Tongue by Suzette Haden Elgin. Suzette has created a language called Ladaan, that is specifically designed for women to express the thoughts not yet codified in any language. Having a way to express their perceptions allows them to communicate fully with each other and makes them powerful.

I am totally in love with this interplay between words and thought, because with the right words, anything is possible. You can create. You can change who you are. If that is not a spell, then I don’t know what is.

Where I'm coming from

I thought now might be a good time to introduce myself, and to tell you a little bit about where I’m coming from. I’ve always been curious about the world – I was one of those annoying "why" children – beloved of teachers and hated by just about everybody else, mainly because I forced people to have to think. So naturally I became a scientist.

Until four years ago I was a lab rat. White coat, clipboard, the works. Even when I was working as a scientific editor, I was still toeing the party line. It wasn’t until I signed up to an MSc in Science Communication (to preach the good word to the masses) that I had the shock of my life. I had the rug ripped violently from under my feet and I landed on my arse. The offending party was the Philosophy of Science, which at its core seemed to be saying that “Uh well we know that the foundations of science work – we’ve put man on the moon didn’tchoo know – but, ah well, the foundations are built on kinda shaky ground”. Huh?

While nobody can argue that science doesn’t do its bit for humankind, its claim to intellectual hegemony was on the ropes. In essence, I had stumbled on the arguments for the grounds of validity of scientific reasoning and my inner “why” child was going nuts. I could go on about this – it was enough to give me sleepless nights for months – but the point is that once science was denied dominion over theoretical knowledge, all it was left with was logic and reasoning and, well, you can apply that to anything.

So today, I have come to terms with this revelation. I have a little more respect for the Renaissance men (and women - they just had quieter voices) of history and I have broadened my own horizons accordingly. Science still plays its part in my life, but now I make it work for a living and it is the science of the everyday. My science lives in the soap pot, the dye vat and the pestle and mortar and it rubs along quite comfortably with the other Arts I cultivate.