1 post tagged “nash hyon”

Chlorine, rubidium, gadolinium, polonium and the four nitrogenous bases possible in DNA are rendered in encaustic by artist Nash Hyon, whose works are inspired by concepts in science and medicine.

#64 in Hyon's "Elements" series depicts the sulci and gyri of the cerebral cortex, ghostlike and silvery-grey. When I saw this work back in 2001 or 2002, I was unaware that the series had been sparked by the artist's husband's death from brain cancer. Nevertheless, I immediately recognized that particular painting as a portrait of grief.

Gadolinium is used as a contrast agent in magnetic resonance imaging. Inside the MRI scanner, the hydrogen nuclei in the body's water molecules are aligned parallel (or antiparallel) to one another at a slight angle to a static magnetic field. Then they are excited by pulses of electromagnetic energy, which kicks some of them up into a non-aligned temporary state. Differences in the average time it takes for the nuclei in different tissues to return to equilibium after being excited enable the resolution of various anatomical structures via MRI.

Chelated to a carrier molecule, gadolinium is injected intravenously. It generates very large lattice fields in its immediate vicinity; hence, in its presence, nearby hydrogen nuclei take more time on average to return to their equilibrium state after being excited. Thus, these regions appear bright white on the resulting image. The contrast agent normally remains within the circulatory system, so blood vessels, highly vascular tissue and areas of blood leakage are clearly rendered. By enabling the detection of abnormal blood flow, gadolinium-enhanced MRIs provide contrast between normal and abnormal tissue in the brain.

The element gadolinium and an image of the human brain can only be linked to one another by pathology - by bad news and worse news, by the frantic pounding racket of the scanner, by the side effects of aches and nausea, burnt and watery hospital coffee under flickering fluorescent lights, and the terrible, terrible, world-shattering uncertainty that is the very worst of all.

It's one of those exclusive clubs to which nobody wants to belong.

One can look for meaning not in individual signs, but instead within the framework of potential meanings that could be applied. To an observer untouched by brain disease, #64 is a striking organic image rendered with great skill. To those less fortunate, #64 hits like a punch to the gut.

Here is an article on Nash Hyon's work from Chronogram Magazine, written in 2002. (But why must we be contiually surprised by the "unexpectedly aesthetic side of science?" Can't we just accept it as given?)