Specialism (2): Field Trip to Gordon Pathology Museum, London
The first field trip of (Specialism) Museum & Knowledge was to the Gordon Pathology Museum in London. It was during the first week of the module, when we focused on how medical histories and disciplines like pathology, anatomy, and surgical achievements formed a unique section in museum practices. This post first recounts the best part of the lectures, and will go on to the discoveries throughout the field trip.
In the lectures we discussed how Henry Wellcome started collecting, using the huge amount of money he made by manufacturing and selling drugs. I had a little bit of understanding about the legendary figure when I was working on the assignment for the tea caddy spoon, but truly, after some more detailed readings, I was fascinated by his obsession and vision. He, as a manic perfectionist, wanted to build a museum of all museums, probably was vying with General Pitt Rivers at that time. He hired multiple agents to scout for literally everything, mostly ethnographic and anthropological objects. What struck me the most incredible was that for several times, he would simply buy the entire collection of museum that had gone broke, considering this the most efficient way without filtering things he wanted. Ironically, Wellcome never realized his dream of building the museum he wanted. It’s not hard to understand why: for perfectionist, nothing is ever perfect.
Another focus was the cabinet of curiosity. I only realize now, as I write these words, that since the beginning of my studies in last September, none of the professors and lectures have addressed to the term “cabinet of curiosity”. This fact makes the discussion on the term look like it’s coming back to the origin, the time to think about what and why we study museums. This was the moment when Henry Wellcome’s mini medical case came to my attention. I realized that most of us had intentionally or unintentionally created a museum. On one side, strictly, only those who had been curated can be called a cabinet of curiosity, or a museum. Yet I disagree with that. My experience in filmmaking and arranging props for films had taught me that any heartless position that we left our stuffs in our lives is not by mistake. The habit and the unconscious decisions made are part of the curatorial result, for which my job was to replicate and represent. On the other side, broadly, anything that has been collected and arranged in a certain way within an enclosed container could be a cabinet of curiosity, which was the earliest prototype of museum. As a matter of fact, the mini medical case that contained dollhouse-scale vile, tablets, and jars, served the function of a personal medical collection. That being a fact, makes many boxes and cases in our banal dailies an object to display and contain.
The Wellcome collection is a reoccurring theme during week 1. Gradually, our attention shifted to how bodies and trauma dedicated to museum knowledge. This is something I had always been highly intrigued ever since I learned the existence of medical museums, and they are indeed the unicorns in knowledge. In retrospect, I begin understanding why museums sometimes make people in awe or (for worse) in fear, because in order to acquire knowledge one had to sacrifice. This is especially spoken in the medical field, where people are segregated unwillingly: the living and the dead, the healthy and the sick, and the well-being and the deformed. The difference of “they” and “us” is pronounced, and many outdated customs, such as slavery and freak show, were brewing. All in our anatomy.
We had read Gemma’s research draft before we went to London. It was clearly an uneasy piece but it painted a picture of what we were going to see in the Gordon Pathology Museum. I wasn’t sure how others felt before, during, and after the visit, and I didn’t know if others found the reading helpful. I, for one, was never bothered. For a long time, I have followed several Instagram accounts owned by medical doctors and pathologists, and on a daily basis, the majority of my feeds are photos of trauma, disease, and surgical diagnosis and prognosis. To say they are bloody is unfair, because I see these photos a way to learn about medical knowledge. There is probably a tiny amount of possibility that I am mongering for the gruesomeness, but I have reflected on the ethical issues of these “learning-purpose” Instagram accounts. Do the patients consent to be filmed? Do they know their photos are being shared, or worse, to generate benefits? Some comments below are not only rude but patronizing, and I wonder if these accounts are click baits in disguise. Sometimes it strikes me surprising that people creatively exploits disease, poverty, and misfortune for power and money, and these border-line accounts are one among many.
The visit was on 3 March. Our coach arrived in London around 11am, which was way behind the schedule of 9 because of the terrible traffic jam. It left us only about an hour to explore the wonderful Wellcome Collection on Euston Road, but fortunately I had been there several times prior to this visit. I was lingering in Medicine Men and totally forgot that there was the amazing library. I have to go back there.
No matter how many times I step into the same museum, it is a different place. I took time to re-read the labels of some of my favorite objects, like the Vanitas and the operating theater model.
We gathered at the entrance and started marching around 1pm. Due to the strike, all metro lines — yes, ALL metro lines — were not running. There were buses, but they were heavily delayed. When the class learned about the news days before, we were devastated because that meant we had to walk, a bit more than three miles. I don’t mind walking, but I don’t like being rushed. The Londoners being forced to walk, drive, ride a bike, or get lost on the pedestrians did not help.
There were some fun moments while we marched. It was fortunately a lovely sunny day (the weather forecast said it was going to rain), and we stopped by at least two markets for food. I forgot where the first one was, but I got an amazing box of curry chicken with rice. The second one was the famous Borough market, which was close to the pathology museum. We had tea break there, preparing ourselves before whatever it was behind the door.
We were told repeatedly that no photos and films were allowed in the pathology museum, which was to respect the deceased.
The issues of displaying human tissues and skeletons are more and more pronounced in museums. I started being aware of them since the module of professional development, in which we talked about ethics. Before that, none of my visits to any Taiwanese museum included similar issues. I think it is because medical museums are a relatively new area in Taiwan, and we don’t have any of them, nor any medical exhibition. The closes ones were the Body Worlds exhibitions in 2004 and 2011 respectively. As I write these words, I found a blog post written by a visitor who went to the 2011 Body World, in which she posted pictures published by the exhibition officials because no photo was allowed. She also noted that she was excited to see the obscure yet amazing human bodies, including some pathological specimens, such as cases of anencephaly and imperforate anus. Noteworthily, the host of the exhibitions was the company of Gunther von Hagens, the author of the lateral slice human tissue, seen in the photo above.
We were allowed to take sketches with pencil on paper in the museum, providing that we don’t do sketches on any human face or genital parts. The pathology museum was a four-storage building, with mezzanines surrounding the impluvium that introduces the majority of light. Specimens in jars are arranged neatly in order on the shelves around the mezzanines, and we could take down whichever jar we wanted, inspecting them on the narrow corridor. On the ground floor there were reading zones, lecture zones, and mostly cans of wax models about dermatology diseases.
Throughout the the three hours, it was hard for me to know how others perceived and reacted to the environment and the content. We were quite separated from one and another, each on their own pace. I stopped and spent time on three specimens.
I also spent time on the ground floor seeing the wax models of skin diseases. A few years ago, I borrowed The Anatomical Venus written by Joanna Ebenstein from my hometown library. It was a rather new topic and to my surprise, there was a Taiwan Mandarin translated version which did a loyal job to the original text. That was my first time to learn about wax, the miraculous material that dedicated much to medical teachings: It’s soft, malleable, and dyeable. Most important of all, the texture and appearance, once set, looks as genuine to skin as possible. Understanding the history of wax in medical field, I found the skin disease models familiar, as I had seen pictures on Instagram and The Sick Rose by Richard Barnett. Yet, those models were also the only a few things that made me uneasy, for reasons I still don’t know. Perhaps it was that on several models, where symptoms ran across the face and caused damage, such as syphilis or smallpox, the model remained calm as usual: Eyes closed, no smile yet no frowning. The medieval expressions towards death and trauma were probably what aroused some kind of feeling in my very little empathy in this case.
In one of the lecture rooms, there was a group of sculptures made by the artist Eleanor Crook. Faces of Conflict is the name of the artworks, displaying the trauma and wound left by warfare on soldiers who posed as marching band player. The sculptures are in life-size, which made them even harder to look at: the scars that tried to close the gaps on the face, the deformity of figures, and the missing limbs. From the uniform I could see that no matter when the wars take place, the collateral damage will always be the same.
Another objects that really drew my attention was two wax props for the TV series The Crown. King George VI, played by Jared Harris, had lung cancer and in the beginning of the show, had to undergo surgery to remove the tumor. It was a very short scene, no more than one minute. The wax props modeled the actor and were done in absolute detail on the surgical opening incision, revealing the organs. I was surprised to learn that the film crew did not consult any staff from the pathology museum when making the props, and somehow after the shooting, these expensive props were left to the museum’s disposal. Had no one pointed the history out for me, I would have missed this weird acquaintance when films props met human anatomy.
My classmates reacted strongly to the visit to the pathology museum. Most of them kept a sharp skepticism towards the curatorial decisions, such as including abortion and suicides under the category of pathology. Another concern was the terminology, such as labeling specimens (and the people who left them) with words like “abnormal”, and “retarded”, which, in an underlying sense, implying that the patients are being dehumanized. Some of us were repelled by a group of young students who “giggled while trying to visit at 5:30pm, only to be told they were too late, and shrugged and then left”, an attitude of ignorance. It had been an uneasy and unsettling experience for a lot of us, and the explanation from the curator didn’t really help answer some concerns.
What disturbs me the most is the fact that I actually find their concerns unreasonable. Indeed, I understand that the curator and the university along haven’t done the most exemplar job regarding human tissues and the ethical issues along, and I certainly agree a lot of descriptions for the specimens are outdated. However, I don’t think it is fair to criticize superficially and solely on the outcome and the appearance of the museum, especially none of us had any background in medical field or history. My concern is that firstly, the advancement for the future of medical museums shouldn’t be renovated solely by museum professionals. Instead, they should be joined by both medical and museological researchers. Secondly, to judge the inappropriateness of terms with the context of modern political correctness is exactly the opposite of political correctness. I don’t agree with some of my peers’ objection on using the word “patient” for the reason of dehumanization. I think it is absurd to avoid certain word for the sake of not being offensive.
The Gordon Pathology Museum is not opening to the public. I feel grateful for the opportunity and I plan to visit more other medical-theme places. Despite my disagreement with other people, I do hope that the museum could update and make better education with what they already have.
