The Image without Colour
Y.2.24*: De humani corporis fabrica by Andreas Vesalius, 1568
‘The result was the most accurately detailed and solidly rendered images of the human body ever produced, then and for some time after. These woodcuts greatly advanced the capacity of printed images to provide identical information that could be reviewed simultaneously anywhere, a founding tenet of modern scientific method’ (Rifkin, Ackerman and Folkenberg, 2006, p.16).
This statement, made in reference to Vesalius’ 1543 text, encapsulates the importance of the illustrations in this book. These images played a vital role in the understanding of anatomy, and in doing so highlight the intersection of science and art. Prior to the publishing of this book, anatomical drawings took reference from some human dissections or surgeries, but largely the dissections of non-human animals, and the final illustrations for books were drawn by artists with no first-hand experience of these dissections (Rifkin, Ackerman and Folkenberg, 2006). Because of this, they were often wildly inaccurate. However, with the rise of naturalism in art during the Renaissance, there was an increasing need for accurate anatomical studies for artists. This is part of what motivated Vesalius to produce this work (Rifkin, Ackerman and Folkenberg, 2006).
Andreas Vesalius was a Flemish surgeon working in Italy in the sixteenth century, and sought to educate both his students and the public on human anatomy. It is for his students that he created this textbook, and for the public that he created the six preceding plates, the Tabulae sex (Rifkin, Ackerman and Folkenberg, 2006). Having made preliminary sketches during surgery or during dissections of the criminal dead that were in surplus due to the Reformation, Vesalius then had these refined by the Flemish artist Jan Stefan van Kalkar. This is what helped to make his illustrations so unusually accurate.
Van Kalkar was also working in Titian’s studio at the time, and this influence seeps through into his drawings. The compositions are highly emotive, showing bodies openly mourning their own fate, in line with contemporary discussions about the morality of dissection (Rifkin, Ackerman and Folkenberg, 2006). The use of highly detailed woodcuts allows for a visual complexity different from that provided by colour. The delicate hatching and modelling, and the specificity of the anatomy make for equally beautiful and rich images. Combined with emotive compositions taken from High Renaissance art (particularly Titian‘s), Vesalius’ prints are philosophical treatises arguing for the beauty that can be found even in death.
Z.4.29: Micrographia: or, Some phsyiological descriptions of minute bodies made by magnifying glasses by Robert Hooke, 1667
No illustrated text could better argue for the beauty of monochromatic images than this, Robert Hooke’s Micrographia from 1667. Illustrated with 38 plates, this brilliant text is a collection of Hooke’s observations in the compound microscope that he himself made. Born in Freshwater, he moved to London at the age of 13 following his father’s death and immediately pursued both academics and art, becoming a pupil of the painter Peter Lely. It was in this studio that his artistic skills were formally developed, but Hooke continued to research contemporary artistic practice throughout his life; he owned 90 books on the visual arts by the time of his death and he had a circle of friends in the London publishing houses (Doherty, 2012).
These artistic skills ensured that Hooke had to entrust only the engraving of his book to another person. They also earned him some respect in the Royal Society (Neri, 2008), of which he became
the curator during the production of Micrographia. Micrographia is based on a series of microscopical drawings Sir Christopher Wren made and gifted to King Charles II. Among these were the drawings of a louse, flea, and fly that have now become the most famous illustrations in Hooke’s book. The king was so pleased with the set that he requested another to be made, except he directed this enquiry through the Royal Society, rather than directly to Wren. When Wren, who was Savilian Professor of Astronomy at Oxford at the time, declined the request, the Royal Society were then forced to enlist Hooke to complete it instead.
Luckily, Hooke’s artistic skill, attention to detail, and extensive scientific experience (he had studied at Oxford as well) meant that his book not only fulfilled the king’s request, but went on to become ‘a landmark in the history of scientific illustration’ (Neri, 2008, p.83). In a post-Civil War England, the Royal Society was eager to use print to display their public image as objective, harmless scientists. Hooke therefore employed intricate naturalism, the sterile format of botanical illustrations and the familiar medium of engraving to make the foreign world of microscopy tangible to the public (Neri, 2008). He gives us the impression of clarity and objectivity, when in truth his view through the microscope provided anything but. It is precisely because of his brilliant illustrations that Hooke was able to make this subject public domain.
References:
Rifkin, B.A., Ackerman, M.J. and Folkenberg, J. (2006) Human Anatomy: A Visual History from the Renaissance to the Digital Age; Whitrow, G.J. (1938) ‘Robert Hooke’, Philosophy of Science; Neri, J. (2008) ‘Between Observation and Image: Representations of Insects in Robert Hooke’s “Micrographia”’, Studies in the History of Art; Doherty, M.C. (2012) ‘Discovering the “True Form”: Hooke’s “Micrographia” and the Visual Vocabulary of Engraved Portraits’, Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London.