Archive for the ‘Brain Health’ Category


ripped from sleep’s desert
I punch air and leap
into the days pain
roll from dampened moss
that was our bed,
and the mechanics begin,
the automaton who has
fouled the grave, again,
rises as smoke out of fire
but there are no ashes to clear.
A new dawn, new sheets?
and planted on a towel erect
an overturned soda glass
within the sheets
to assure an arid place
in this mattress creek
for arms of understanding.

 

 

dwk


I visited Joe Seeber’s blog today, out of courtesy, he follows me apparently.
It is a classic, the comment I left got so long it turned into this blog,
so his techniques must work I suppose, except I have never seen or read them and here is the reason why…

”Manifest my own reality…………..”?

“I mostly read personal development books as l am on a strict regimen of always improving myself as a person and offering as much value to the world."
I hope Joe’s self-esteem and confidence gains some ground because anyone pretentious enough to offer to guide others without knowing the way, grasping at other’s maps and trying to live the american dream of making money out of everything is not the dream of the majority.
Joe says don’t worry about others, do it your way. "Does your blog make the cut?" He presents himself as Judge, jury and hangman? Who put you in those positions over my little blog that does not have many visitors, but therefore, does keep the nest buzzing and here and there some honey for WordPress. Even I paid them to take the ads off one blog because the ads were so poor.
What about action Joe? -Why not take your improvement skills and GO and sort out the world’s eating problems, help starving people get hold of the tons of food dumped every night by supermarkets in the developed world. (That is reality not a left wing complaint). Help the obese lose weight and save them from diabetes. Make training videos of how to handle money better instead of blogs and throw your laptop away for real freedom. (Yes I did!)
and thankyou again for helping me to write my blog, which I only write when something pours out, rather like retching and probably of the same consistency.

http://www.joeseeber.com/how-to-get-more-traffic/

p.s. I just enjoy reading your blogs, not all as some dive into detail or cannot get across what they want to say despite magnificent language.

 

dwk


I watched something that has supported me like a scaffold rig for about 20 years, die last night. The confidence to pursue, the guts to fight seeping away from a group of extra ordinary people who forgot how to do what they do. A space was left between their ears, memory deflated of something they had done thousands of times for most of their lives. Fantastic physical specimens paid a lot of money to entertain us in a sport that is very tribal despite their bank balances they simply ceased to do what has entertained millions and give courage through joy, pride and self-confidence through example.
I know they will come again and again but this team one wears the colours of, particularly on match day, are my family, my people, with my commitment which is a great therapy.
Even for the fullest in fitness, they present an opportunity to unwind, to scream and shout at a stadium or even in your shell. Mentally urging them on and on one is raising oneself out of gloom and of course winning is achieved for us all. Resulting in a better frame of mind on a Monday morning a happier outlook without the need for sunlight. I  need the tribe (a psychologist suggested that the other team in most sports is NOT the enemy in a symbolic battle, the opposition players are not to be considered other than obstacles in the way. The enemy is the net to be hit, the line to be crossed, the basket to be filled. that is the winning of any symbolic struggle on a sports field). I think he is right. Some people just don’t get it but have never been to a live game and felt the enthusiasm among so many and it is interesting how they find their self-confidence from other things. If someone hates sport I guarantee they are hooked on something else and can talk for hours of it!
Last night was sad you see, because I fall over a lot, do strange things etc. and so am isolated but I find self-assurance in what my team does. So when it fails it hurts, when starts to fall to pieces so do I.
I await a new era acknowledging that big time sport worldwide only exists because of the money to be taken from its spectators through tickets or TV, but the reason they spend is more than a little entertainment.


the edge of the bed

where hearts bled

help proffered, even comfort given

but the stain remains.

where vanity released,

partners pleased

and even time given

but the shame remains.

where time slows

and frames per second bend and bow

relief from weights given

but the life span remains.

where sunlight stripes

where smiles touch

looks and contact given

but the pain is sustained

 

and hours passed, time taken

on the edge of the bed

where this was written.

©dwk


. . . . how self-confidence, however rigorous, strong or embedded can be shredded by anxiety. I got MY letter today and read every word as it was not only an explanation of future matters but also a first point of contact. No one wrote or phone or emailed me to say this was coming and that I should prepare myself for a repetition of my humiliation by the ignorant to determine if I should be aided by Her Majesty’s Government. Appealing was an indignity, finally winning at Tribunal with specialists supporting me. The Department of Health & Security’s representative obviously having had the necessary papers thrown to him minutes before he sat down in front of a lawyer as chairman and a local Councillor and Trade Union representative. That told the whole story. When Neurologists and witnesses of my condition put ink on paper they cannot be mistrusted or brought into question by the DHS. I was made a lifetime decision. Because it took so long it cost HMG thousands of pounds in back payments with which I could repay my debts to good friends.

Already I hear the whisperings “but that’s my tax money”, well who helped pay for your grandfathers pension or hospitalisation? For your children’s education etc. etc. I did. After 2 World Wars after which the returning soldier or anyone who had a role in winning, were promised freedom, liberty and equality especially in medical and social matters, this Prime Minister has finally discarded some of the final threads of what his colleagues would call the “nanny state” in private of course. Soldiers literally, return from modern day battle with disabilities and are ignored, thrown aside. Sailors and Airmen after serving their country for many years are made redundant and then the government place an advertisement on the television for the Royal Marines??

Equality, – if you have enough money with which to try and destroy the world’s financial markets and oh by the way, make generous contributions to the Conservative or Republican party, which can now only be seen as corruption. Two to three years later how many financiers have been prosecuted, how many Executives have taken responsibility and how much non-paid tax has been gathered. I recently read that unpaid tax amounted to ten times the amount that could be possibly gathered from benefit fraud.

The very tone of MY letter is of constricted black and white alternatives, “You will” “It is important” the whole tone is that of you shall! or starve. Employment and Support Allowance (note the words of actual definition ‘Incapacity’ “Illness”, “Disability” and “Severe Disablement” have vanished from titles and text) and ‘lifetime decisions’ of the DHS Tribunal completely disappeared, no acknowledgement, nothing, no mention of appeal. The whole point of tribunal arrangements was to avoid the courts which were clogged up enough no doubt. This Prime Minister has played an ace card, it is not a court who made such decisions therefore, they count for nothing. So yet again I have to show that I do not have a wheelchair but still a big problem, however embarrassing, however hard I might try to pursue one day at time in some lucid form, I am required to…. well let me quote it:

“Customers will be considered and assessed for Employment and Support Allowance between 2010 and 2014”. I wonder what I am buying?

“We will send you a questionnaire” “We use the information to decide if you need to attend a Work Capability Assessment”, “A health care professional (a contractor has been employed to find and employ them) will assess you and advise Jobcentre Plus how your illness or disability affects you in your everyday life” This professional in most cases will be a doctor without a job, not a specialist Professor in Neurology and Neurosurgery whose clinic I have attended every 3 months for a very long time. They will, probably, not know the extent or possibility of harm complex partial seizures have and will do. Side effects of drugs or of the damage done by full seizure when I was younger.

“You may be required to attend a work-focused health-related assessment and work focused interviews” – oh boy, the bureaucrat is back in the saddle, despite amassing a bill at lunchtime (a recent scandal) larger than genuine benefit fraudsters create in one year. Yes, I believe that people out there are pretending because of sheer laziness or are just corrupt. Landlords claiming for dead tenants, people fully recovered but still claiming assistance. But I don’t believe that those who chase the sick have the clarity of thought that work should be created for the able-bodied and the cheater routed out in all places first. This week I heard British companies were advertising in foreign countries in the native language of those countries?.

“IF YOU DON’T YOUR BENEFIT MAY BE AFFECTED” (their capitals). “We then decide if you are entitled to Employment and Support Advice”. I now have a new Neurology Consultant who even expresses his concern at my being “unaccompanied” in a letter to my General Practitioner whose clinic I have to chase to get a medical prescription out of each month. This is for medicine I have taken for 25 years. This clinic is now run by a private company overseen by a medical Trust. 7 years ago it was run by a group of doctors and someone would call you, usually staff on doctor’s instructions, you would even know their name and say “you have forgotten your Prescription David, are you OK? Not now! The shifting of budget and medical referral responsibilities to the General Practitioner or the family doctor, a Urology Specialist once explained to me, was to slow down the money coming to medicine in general from central government.

I read and hear of the disabled, attending the above interviews and there is no access for wheel chairs! Mobility in the form of a car removed from a suffer of palsy, her husband worked part-time so they could afford their life and tipped the balance so no more going out. Others now taking their own lives rather than be immobilised or pushed into a lonely poverty, I understand, it is just too much. This letter lying before me now from Glasgow not a local Jobcentre, means I have travelled back in time to the mid 90’s, when self-employed I simply could not get people to pay me and so had nothing to eat or pay the rent and was epileptic too. A lowest point. The attitude then was ‘no wheelchair’ no disability, no assistance, until one asked about Disability Working Allowance and was asked to “wait a minute”.

All this instigated by a man who wheeled out his disabled son to meet the press, is now an overweight Prime Minister, who wants to hurt me for the accumulation of debt by the greedy?

dwk


Sometimes I wonder how much they really know? What is going on inside those tiny heads? You know, those little people who rush around with their skull deep between their shoulders staring at their feet with their thumbs jittering and chattering as if they spent a life picking tea leaves or getting the right bolt in the right hole before the thing, they don’t even know they are manufacturing, has moved down the line.

530Coolpix-00001

They bump into people, lampposts or post boxes, like little automatons, reminding me of a black and white documentary, so must have been a long time ago, of tiny little robots scuttling around so that scientists could convince themselves they were learning, the robots that is, that they were learning by rushing around like tiny spiders and colliding with walls or each other. The occasional object placed in their way to prove a heavily worked mathematical or statistical point. That through the experience of obstacles their tiny brains would learn at least some environmental behaviour.

Since silicone has become so expensive only the super-rich can afford any form of communications device which for years using simple laser surgery, have been placed within the ear, and even that is old fashioned as one company is actually growing comms into the shell of the ear itself. But who would have known that the repetitive behaviour of about ten decades would be so ingrained, the greys even step off walkways or pavements into traffic, are flattened by those lorries that carry about 20 containers, literally flattened, “pancaked” one old fella said. I must ask him what pancakes are? Cakes made in a pan perhaps? Anyhow, little grey people dying or badly injured, ghoulishly scuttling around, probably never even seeing the sky! And those nasty twitching digits. The old man said they all think they are playing a game, well, all I can say is I am glad I wasn’t born in a time when THAT was considered fun!


I am more and more, getting the feeling I should write that down, that’s funny, that sounds right for a wordpress site (I always use a small w as I know of the humility this community of key pounders carries with it as its honour medal). But tangents always interfere and I never get here. The ideas simply disappear. You see the theory that the more one digresses within conversation or even passage of writing the more implanted or embedded, (popular word at the moment with software or apps or applications as I prefer, or even executive applications if you are a stickler and want people to know what you are actually talking about) become one’s dreams, as in deep sleep or even ideas that come to one when there is no envelope around during brief resurface. There in the digressive chat pops up that tiny bit of information that could make you a fortune or some even call them Freudian slips and sliding. That something you thought lost will flourish in the most irrelevant, evolving and constantly changing memory ground.

I admire the idea my brain is rushing around storing data during sleep. From filing cabinet to cabinet, rushing around, paper floating everywhere, or even scanning all paper to turn important information into digits so its all accessible on screen. My local doctor’s surgery has achieved this in the last couple of years. Trouble is no one seems to look down there (scrolling) or even read my nuerologist’s recommendations for a change in medication in the process of filing or scanning or whatever device they use. They look like bad photocopies on screen and it aint the screens fault as it glistens in the shabbiness of a practice taken over by a contractor paid by a local health trust. I can’t blame doctors any more, its a company now the lead sawbones has left, not that I ever saw him! Now everything is run by a management and another word firmly rising in conversation, locums. This general medical practice is now led by a lady with nursing experience. Neglect is the word my care-worker friend says is the technical word for the removal of information from that file stacked wall that looked almost reassuring as you walked into the surgery and that mass of information almost welcomed you. Dusty ancient files in those cheap NHS packaging cardboard coloured sleeves that fitted the size of a medical prescription or a once folded letter precisely. That perhaps only my observant UK friends would know of? A whole wall from floor to ceiling 20 feet long! These small file sleeves were an obvious element in the architects design dimensions of this modern functional environment. Reassuring because you knew someone could lay an experienced hand on your file when needed.

Storing while I am snoring, making a storyline from the chunks and fragments to help in the process, a fairytale (whoops, computer doesn’t like fairytale its red underscored it again! Is it banned? or am I being somehow maliciously discriminatory?) or even a nightmare dream to bring all floating flotsam data to rest in the right place or even disposing of it, recycle binning it? Then I wake up, turn off the apnoea therapy device off, jump out of bed, do me stretching, wash (yes we still do that in old England, its underscored again, wait it just corrected and put a capita E on England, and again! I am going to have to have a word with windows 8 – ah no capital W!!! I know wordpress (red underscored) is not so stringent in its correction parameters) and while choosing the day’s clothing, from my vast wardrobe, a million things come flooding through and I run to the nearest pad or keyboard – but it is gone. . . . .

. . . . . . something about digression and being able to convince myself to write some sci-fi, because that would make a great plot and the rest is just a matter of filling out with detail say the “how to” writers. But, can I convince myself to take that time and with my useless grammar hammer it out? Write a book? But it IS gone! Even the joke about reassuring my mother the abbreviated f word was actually the name of the publisher involved in the forthcoming book, sorry, tablet readers, download. Honestly mam, faber & faber (both underscored again ah-ha, this clever device is not aware that the publishing house’s logotype is a simple lower case ff !) But then I am hardly an intelligent machine in a position to criticise as my random access is failing.


In this field of positivity, there is a stone. It cannot be moved by the plough of knowledge, it cannot be moved by the pneumatic drill of progress, and on  it letters have faded to braille or have sharply chiselled serifs. Not Buddha, Jesus or Mohammed’s words, but text only understood by who finds it. The greatest obstacle to this throne stone?

Singularity.

There are many productive meadows, in which to create, re-model, re-design the future, but there are no roads to this fertile grassland and there are no paths on the range , only chest high harvests of realisation. Drifting so far from belief, logic or reason means many miles of life walking and  if we find the field the best one can do is cling to the perimeter fence.

Some do not have fences as natural clustering or gathering together helps in the climbing search. Assists in the struggles with daytime movement and fights off the nightmare with mutual security. Civility is draining away, helping without gain is not fashionable. If you are not in the now you are no one. Rather group in a dark pool of street corner limelight, in the new team, the new faith, the new circle, as natural gregariousness will persist. These will never find the field, their feet never leave, in all its irony, street stone.

Difficult enough to find in a swaying harvest,  one’s  stone has to be uncovered,  is cracked granite, or perhaps  polished marble, but heavily compressed  needs no test and will always be a cornerstone. That is our conscience or the still small voice.

dwk


why are there people out there who simply cannot relate to others? Even with the gift of the internet, where it doe not matter how beautiful or ugly you are and every degree between your physicality, personality, character or ability. You are you.

Why is this a competition to attract, (wait I have to go stir the porridge), attract with either, words, images or even music? To have a ‘better’ web site, the most visited?

I would rather, when finished admiring a song, (and maybe sharing) new Navy deck photos, and your words pressed to the screen, go and see what cakes are baking in the north of England or what someone has been doing with their daughter home from abroad or how a graduate psychologist feels or what stories she has after driving a tourist trolley all day? Because its real.

The snipers, the gossipers , the chatterers, if you want your inability to appreciate reality, keep it. If it keeps your mind flicking like an animation book, fine, but don’t involve the sane.

dwk

No 3rd verse

Posted: April 13, 2012 in Brain Health, Health and wellness, Poems
Tags: , ,

The diagnosis may be for long life
or to be on a shorter tether
and the dynamic of such restraint
are circles decreasing in diameter
less range, each turn
more decrepitude each cycle.
But,
the prognosis surmises lesser strife
you could have hit me with a feather
in fact, a portrait of oil paint
raising hope for ever after.
More an image of pink pattern
less the reality of life’s pickle.
And,
A third verse? No,
misuse of sayings, simile or metaphor
should end, caught in tangled tackle.

dwk

 


…..one of the most important tools of visualisation is drawing.

I am not concerned that nurseries are not introducing children to hand and finger manipulation to express themselves, or the knowledge and understanding of colours and the tactile media they are presented with. Most importantly, of course, their hand/mind co-ordination, necessary for the lightest or  firmest of grip to touch, hold and lift anything for the next potential sixty plus years. Rather the drawing skills among ten year olds onward are vanishing, technical drawings by hand almost unheard of. Even drawing to domestic screens with stylus is rare.

I am worried that the ability to imagine a three dimensional object stereoscopically in one’s minds eye then rotate it, take it to pieces, modulate it and even mutate it to a functional object mentally, is lost to most. Now the ‘creative’ child or teenager is becoming dependant on the machine visualising for them. The best ideas really were scribbled on napkins or envelopes. I am writing this now, on paper before transferring it through the keyboard, even that is rapidly being pursued by the audio command and dictation software writer.

At 11 years old, I started several years of technical drawing (T.D.) and art classes beside the basics. Performing tasks which are now instant at the touch of a key or stylus or more difficultly by a computer mouse. I was lucky desk top publishing software was on the market when I graduated as a Graphic Designer, so witnessed the process of change from both sides, the old and the new. The ability to visualise three dimensionally is a skill used by all, most importantly when driving, thinking about the length of your vehicle within a tight space particularly. I am most worried that the ability to draw and express oneself, even if it is only to stave off boredom, will be lost. I am assured, for instance, that cartoons and comics will never vanish, but already the uniformity of computer line drawing, filling in and the grading of colour and texture because of the way pixels interlace is producing a similarity that defeats individual talent and identity.

Getting hands on the control interface and the 2D screen is leaving pencils and pens redundant when not only the ability but the pleasure to realise a potential idea and note it for further use or even rush it to the drawing board or screen is being sapped away by the latter. I have a good mind to photograph this page for my blog!

I am stuck with the habit of writing in capital letters, because it is fast for me. It happened because I was taught and advised to write all printer’s instructions this way so there were no disputable misunderstandings. So that if 10,000 copies were printed in the wrong colour after client’s proofed work, a printer could forget about invoicing me. I have read recently of illegible handwriting by those leaving school with only keyboard skills.

This pen is slipping and sliding a little on this glossy paper because I am recycling an old book as a memo pad. It was a book design mock-up, which had to be a centimetre thick. Can you imagine a text instruction from a mobile phone to a professional printer defining the weight and texture of the paper to be used let alone the colour mark-ups, resulting in every poster in a country announcing the name of a famous company, misspelt and logotype in the wrong colour? That is the other potential of drawing or writing in these penstrokes (the spellcheck can’t find penstrokes incidentally)! My scrawl gives up its mistakes faster than something that is not in a database and therefore paradoxically hiding, beautifully displayed in a uniform tidy typeface but wrong. My hand writing is a form of drawing remember, and its personalised, unique.

Philosophers such as George Berkeley and David Hume, and early experimental psychologists such as Wilhelm Wundt and William James, understood ideas in general to be mental images, and today it is very widely believed that much imagery functions as mental representations (or mental models), playing an important role in memory and thinking. Some have gone so far as to suggest that images are best understood to be, by definition, a form of inner, mental or neural representation. In the case of hypnagogic and hypnapompic imagery, it is not representational at all. Others reject the view that the image experience may be identical with (or directly caused by) any such representation in the mind or the brain, but do not take account of the non-representational forms of imagery.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mental_image


sniff, jog, run, sprint, race, ….. dig dirt, throw it around, mark virgin walls, desperate for volume, but note how filth slides off that non-stick, anonymous glass. Then claim looking for gold, in the slurry, those tiny glints of truth pushed aside by the odd self-absorbing obsessions of the day. That 5 second blink of headline. ……… I look up from my ranting and there is the face ejected from some ‘house’ the night before, a 5 minute superstar for failing. I don’t want to know, in my mute button hammering desperation, I don’t want to know ! What this is or thinks. But I notice how carefully prepared, made over, made up for the studio oven. This dressed up plain person is the moment. Treated like a globe winning deserving non-success. Shortcomings now grab our sec-span attention? The soon throwaway, vanishing, disappearing to be sucked clean of any possible pixel glitter before deletion. A 2-dimensional nutrient for flabby imaginations, dumbed-down, quiet, controlled.

We can’t wait to smell the next pervasive stain.


The frostbitten, modern, glass trolley sheds like the mist, they get to be noticeable in their ice negligee, sparkling in the sun, while I am crunching across frostarmac, writing headsongs. They are illuminated frozen lanterns, standing isolated, though there are a few cars, those brave enough to come out this early still wearing shorts and flip-flops of course, – its only chilly love, besides I will be in the car!” – and tomorrow they will complain about a cough, which is why I am out so early. My neighbours lungs have to be scraped off the walls each morning so I am shopping for my sick seniors (oh! what a hero, couldn’t you just clutch him to your heart) – (yes please, well, it is cold!)

On return, the weirdest thing; a neighbour I haven’t seen for a long time, sitting in her car, warming it up probably, not going anywhere. Only wearing a T-Shirt, floppy cardigan and trainers, unfreezing her fan-belt. I was actually beginning to worry about her because of the absence of car movement. After decades of listening to complaints about the large tree and our beautiful green forecourt and what it does to the vehicles (there are no greenies here), I don’t drive but understand. A paint removing gum falls from the massive tree onto the cars apparently, plus leaves and the pigeon’s contribution of course in a metropolitan area, – but that wasn’t the weird bit.

I had to ask 3 times! how she was. After a serious hospitalisation and gradual work recovery, I was still worried about my neighbour/friend!! NAH !! after finding a metal rod among the leaves, neighbour is gracefully poised over the windscreen and bonnet, and through the heavy condensation of her breath, is inserting the thick wire into every slot and groove she can find around the windscreen and removes up to a couple of hundred grams of – moss – and is so taken with this I have to virtually demand information of her health! I have never been allowed a car, but another example of how the metal beast transforms the most loving, sincere, honest, respectful etc., into…………….you too huh?


…..reading two separate, unrelated, articles in the weekend newspaper, the Saturday Times, one about a mother who went to a therapist for help with her relationship with her teenage son, the other an edited extract from a book called ‘You and Me: the Neuroscience of identity’ by Baroness Greenfield a Professor of Pharmacology, I noticed an overlapping of information.
The mother points out that her teenage son forgets everything all of the time and is almost told off by a therapist who specialises in family relationships:
“He is a teenager, his brain isn’t wired properly yet”. The therapist explains that at the heart of all parents problems with teenagers is that most don’t really understand the working of the teenage brain. She says there are enormous changes going on in the teenage brain. The brain is essentially becoming unwired, which means their decision-making skills go haywire and adult empathy levels are not there. She also points out that this “un-wiring”, where the brain disconnects from the frontal cortex, means that teenagers are genuinely forgetful and also tend to be more prone to taking risks.
Susan Greenfield writes: There is one alarm bell ringing which suggests that increasing two-dimensional screen existence may be having undesirable effects.
…..This could possibly be that if the young brain is exposed from the outset to a world of fast action-reaction, of instant new screen images flashing up with each press of a key, then such rapid interchange might lead to a shorter attention span….
…..The emphasis in most computer games is on the sensory laden thrill of the moment. An increase in physiological arousal can be linked to excessive release of the brain chemical dopamine. Could the screen experience be tilting the ancient balance in favour of the more infantile, senses-driven brain state. We also know that excessive recklessness is linked to the prefrontal cortex. This part of the brain only becomes mature in late teens or early twenties. When this area is damaged patients take a high degree of risk. We know too that dopamine suppresses the activity of neurons in the prefrontal cortex.
…..it is worrying that in a recent study from China of internet addicts there was a strong degree of correlation between months of addiction and significant atrophy in key parts of the brain. as revealed in scans. If we live perpetually in the present moment, could one stark and extreme possibility be that, in the end, such people may have simply no identity?
I apologise to the authors for the heavy editing but I wanted some of my friends to see this.

 

As I am epileptic and a Graphic Designer and know all about MRI (magnetic resonance imaging)scans, believe me I have traveled 100’s of miles for the privilege to be inside one of these things so that someone could try and determine what was wrong with my grey matter. I had to blog this. I could not justifiably edit article, so here it is in full. The copyright of course belongs only to the Times Newspaper and Angela Palmer, if you can go to her exhibition please do and if not then please visit her website, its worth it, the link is below.
BRIDGING THE GAP BETWEEN ART AND REALITY
Angela Palmer’s first scientific inspiration came from viewing the Nobel prize-winner Dorothy Hodgkin’s model of penicillin at the History of Science Museum, in Oxford. Struck by how such a simple object – made from Perspex – could demonstrate such a complex subject, Palmer vowed to put a similar design principle to work in her art.
She was studying at the Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art in Oxford and soon had the chance to draw the corpses in the dissection rooms. Her interest in human anatomy led her to contact Stephen Golding, the head of radiology at the John Radcliffe Hospital, where she had a series of full-body MRI scans to look deeper at the human body.
Palmer layers images from MRI scans to produce a human “topography” of the body. The resulting ethereal etchings focus on the internal architecture of the body. “When you’re looking at a scan of me,” she says, “you could be looking at anybody and that’s what’s interesting. I didn’t want to distort my MRI portraits in any way. I wanted to be completely true to the scanner.”

head-226x300

 

Palmer, who was an award-winning journalist before she becoming a full-time artist, has a number of projects on the go, including one working with scientists and archaeologists to “uncover” an Egyptian child mummy through CT scans. Palmer, who completes her postgraduate degree at the Royal College of Art this year, says: “It enables us to recreate this child without disturbing him.”
Dr Chris Avery, an academic radiographer at John Radcliffe Hospital, worked with Palmer on the MRI sequences. He says: “This crossover between art and reality bridges the gap between science and art, making it more real to people.” He adds that it’s “rewarding to see your work transformed into another medium. It’s the finest accolade that your work is good enough to form the basis of something else”.
The MRI portraits will be at the Royal College of Medicine, London, from October 2007.
Go to Angela Palmer’s website 
http://angelaspalmer.com/