oh so very brain-dead today. Is it the weather, or the fact that Serge’s jetlag is spreading to me via osmosis? My brain feels numb, and no, I have not used street drugs or consumed alchohol in the last twenty-four hours. Trying to read anything of substance is draining, the words bounce all over the page like Mexican jumping beans. That’s also what my thoughts are doing, and trying to collect them is grating.
I’m trying to blog about my experience at the Bodyworld’s exhibition. It was amazing, fascinating, a definate must-see for those who are not easily queazy at the sight of skinless bodies, bright pink and purple internal organs, and the darkened spots of disease. I must admit I felt a bit woozy at the beginning of the show mostly because I fully understood the plastinated cadavers had been donated by real people.
When I read the write-ups describing the innards of each body, I could almost hear the cracking of the bones while picturing the corpse being ripped open (too many CSI episodes). I forced myself to stare at the man holding his costume of skin in his hand, quivering slightly at the tiny, threadlike hairs that could be seen protruding from it when looking into the light, as if they were standing on end at the thought of looking so alive to the undead.
Oooh, that sounds good and creepy, doesn’t it? Although easily queasy, I love the macabre, gothic and morose; they titillate my senses. The fact that they’re so wrong and forbidden spurs my piquancy. Bodyworlds is controversial to those who think the dead should not be on display, questioning human rights, dignity and the will of God. However, according to philosopher Franz Josef Wetz, “The breaking of taboos sometimes is the price demanded by creativity.”
As I progressed through the exhibition, my queaziness evaporated under the heat of the spot lights. I was fascinated by the meticulous efforts of German anatomist, Gunther von Hagen. Although deeply scientific, this show definitely portrayed artistic qualities.
The juxtaposed couple’s embrace, frozen in time – their spines pulled out like wishbones, cradling their brains, strands of muscle tissue fanned out to the side, exposing their jigsaw intricacies. (I couldn’t find a picture of that anywhere to show you, but it was stunning).
Von Hagens also demonstrated a good sense of humour.
The star-warrior below is wearing horizontal stripes of white flesh contrasted by gaps of red muscle, tendons, veins and bones, ogling crookedly like a zombie with one protuberant eye open, the other puffed and closed.
There was also the poker table, each player caught with a pensive game face, praying we couldn’t read their thoughts through their opened skulls.
The next piece was called, “The Teacher”, desperately trying to teach a valuable lesson on life after death, his eyes bulged out in permanent anxiety, but he went unheard, his toothy grin taking away any credibility.
The gymnast struck a backward-arch pose on a beam, one leg levitated, her breasts boldy thrusted skywards, her face glaring back upside-down at the onlookers, sporting a bright, blond, fake mop of hair. This was the only piece with a wig; all the other models had a strip of real hair right down the middle of their scalps, like mohawks.
More facial expressions are captured successfully without any wrinkles or lines, such as The Thinker, with just the blood
vessels exposed, mouth downwards. I think he’s sad ‘cuz he lost his skin and knows everyone is creeped out.
I saw the photo below in the online gallery, and they didn’t have it in the Vancouver Exhibit. A man on a horse, both species plastinated.
I was hoping this next pic would encourage Serge to quit smoking, as they had “Quitting Pledge” cards and a see-through plastic bin for the born-again ex-smokers to drop their full packs into. I asked Serge if he now wanted to quit, and he said belligerently, “Nope!”
He ran off to look at the blood vessel family, unknowingly towards his mortal future. Ah well, all I can do is try with more subliminal messaging like this ….
The most fascinating display was the ghostly image of all the nerves attached to spinal cord and the brain, all presented on a glass plate. It really made me realize how fragile and sensitive we are, and just how painstaking the process is of actually picking out someone’s nerves and gingerly sticking them together onto a hard surface.
The last part of the exhibit was ironically where life begins, the embryonic and fetal stages of human life. It was very humbling, yet slightly creepy to see these teeny babies-that-could-have-been with scrunched-up eyes, curled up in position that was supposed to preserve their lives. They were the only ones with skin in tact, for obvious reasons. I heard that at other exhibitions, there was a pregnant woman with fetus inside her, but she wasn’t included at the Vancouver display. It was probably too controversial for this town to handle. We kind of zipped through this part, cringing at reality’s barefaced scowl.
The misguided William Tell archer, his “apple” on his head, bode us farewell.
blaak sheep 