Sam Bowser is a scientist who likes to go south, all the way south. When he gets there he dives under the ice of Antarctica to collect samples of mud from the ocean floor. Sam has a thing for a group of unicellular organisms affectionately called forams.
Laura von Rosk is an artist who likes to get outside. She hikes and paddles and asks lots of questions about how things work. Laura paints imaginary landscapes, glowing images of places from fragments of memory, many from the Adirondack Mountains where she lives.
Three years ago the two met while working together on an exhibition that merged art, science, and underwater archeology at the Lake George Arts Project’s Courthouse Gallery, where Laura is the gallery director. Sam is a diehard enthusiast of art/science fusion.
This past winter, Laura spent three months in Antarctica as an assistant on Sam’s research expedition. They have recently returned and The Crux tracked them down with a few questions. (All photos are by Laura von Rosk unless otherwise noted; mouse over photo for legend and attribution).
The Crux: Sam, what are “forams” and what is it that fascinates you about these creatures?
Bowser: Forams (foraminifera) are a diverse and extremely abundant group of protists (single-celled critters with a nucleus). The most familiar ones build hard shells made of mineral particles cemented together by adhesive substances, or by secretion of calcium carbonate. Those that inhabit the world’s oceans play important roles in the marine food web. Those that secrete shells of calcium carbonate help buffer atmospheric levels of carbon dioxide, in a nutshell by turning the gas into rock. So in the context of global climate change, it’s important that we learn everything we can about their basic biology.
The Crux: What is so special about the ones that live on the bottom of an Antarctic bay, under the ice? Can’t you just study the ones in Lake George?
Bowser: The species that live in freshwater are almost unknown, so it’s hard to mount a research program on Lake George forams. We have detected their genetic signature in lakes and ponds, but we haven’t isolated these critters yet. By contrast, the ones living at our study site in Antarctica are huge – some can fit in your palm – and are easy to work on in the lab. For example, I can dissect a nucleus out of one species by hand. Try doing that with Chlamydomonas ;-} [Editor's note: This is not going to happen.]
The Crux: What do you hope to learn? Can you show us some pictures?
Bowser: Early in my career, I studied the cell biology of forams, particularly their motility and cytoskeleton. Needing to grow them in the lab, I also studied their ecology and found that almost all of them are voracious carnivores, eating anything they can grasp with their sticky pseudopods (including juvenile shrimp and brittle stars). Now I’m interested in the early evolution of forams, and would like to learn how they may have changed the landscape over the past 600 million years.
A fascinating piece of this research is the question “why do they build their shells?” The answer seems obvious:protection. But the shell is also a “tool” used by the foram for other purposes, like obtaining food and dispersing gametes.
[Aside from Von Rosk: I love that the answer is not obvious. It reminds me that there been countless unexpected discoveries in science that have changed the world, and perceptions of our place in it.]
We’re also “mining” their genomes for unique proteins we can put to use in medicine and biotechnology. I also have this crazy idea that we can use them to build nanodevices, but I’ll keep that a secret for now.
The Crux: In what ways do you think art is important to science and vice versa?
Bowser: I think the “right brain/left brain” paradigm of creativity is a crock. Maybe that’s because I’m a lefty, so my brain connections are not canonical? Science is art, and art is science, and like the two cerebral hemispheres the two belong together. But being pragmatic scientists must do a better job of communicating their passion for research and their findings to the public. I’ve written essays for popular magazines and given countless talks about our work, but the most powerful approach I’ve come across is to touch the hearts of audiences through art and music. Not my art, and certainly not my music! But by collaborating closely with “real” artists – with no strings attached (pun intended) so we are free to explore ideas heartily, the resulting work often portrays the beauty and mysteries that scientists explore. (As a bonus, I get to work with some brilliant artists!)
For artists, I think that science provides a practical way to ensure that art education budgets aren’t totally destroyed by fiscal zealots. We are in desperate need of nurturing creativity in schools, and by combining art and science curricula we can do both. It’s that simple.
The Crux: Laura, you’ve recently experienced something that few people ever get to experience. And I am not talking about visiting Antarctica. I am talking about living in close quarters with scientists for three months. What was that like? And what are your thoughts on the foram research?
Von Rosk: Scientists are just like the rest of us. Even though these scientists are passionate about forams (more on that later) they occasionally need a break from their research work.
We went nuts taking photos on our trip the Herbertson Glacier. I love this photo that has us all snapping away – including me, with my shadow.
This trip almost didn’t happen, because of various equipment complications, and the late hour. I am so glad we pushed through that! Irritations about camp life completely vanished during this “family vacation.”
We were surrounded by glaciers: The Ferrar Glacier, Herbertson Glacier, Double Curtain Glacier, and others. The landscape worked its “magic” on us. Our quirky personalities were now really shining through. I warmly remember not only the beauty of the landscape, but how each of us reacted to what was around us, and to each other – revealing the best about ourselves, and our individual passions, as we together, and separately explored the glaciers, pressure ridges, the sun, and the cold.
We got back to camp around 2 am. I remember stopping a few times as we approached camp to take photos. It was still very light at 2 am on that date, but the shadows were different. Camp looked different.
At home in the Jamesway tent we sat talking around the table. We were up late together — this time because we shared our “vacation,” and not because one of us needed to re-fuel the hotsie and generator.
We all came together as a group during the research dives. This is serious business. I had some training in assisting divers, but before this trip, never under such extreme conditions. This is one reason I was hired, and I thought I was ready for it. But being in Antarctica, and knowing the dangers, watching my team-mates go under the ice filled me with fear. It took a couple of weeks to shake off that internal fear. You wait at the dive hole at the end of the scheduled dive time to see bubbles at the “safety stop.” Those moments are clear in my mind. I was completely in the present. When I was tending alone, waiting for them to surface, I thought about things I haven’t thought about in years, or, more often, things I had never thought about. When I was tending with other mates we talked deeply, or we were just completely goofy – which, in a way, is the same. But always in our minds, our mates are below the ice.
Learning about people, and trying to live in harmony is a process – and Team Bravo 043 was fortunate to have 3 months together to figure it out, in an incredibly beautiful, but often intimidating environment. I remember Sam (with years of New Harbor camp experience) saying more than once: “this place can bring the best and/or worst out in a person… watch each other’s backs.”
The Crux: Can you tell us a bit about your experience of the science?
Von Rosk: The visual experience of looking at foraminifera for the first time under a microscope was different, but on the same level as what happened when that C-17 plane landed on the Ross Sea Ice shelf.
Both the landing and the science were like being transported out of my physical body into history. At first I travelled back in recent human history, then at the microscope I was taken much further back in earth’s history. Getting off the plane on October 4, 2011, I was in awe. Here I was, standing in the same place where some of my heroes stood over 100 years ago…. Scott, Amundsen, Shackleton, Mawson and many others.
Above: Midwinter’s Day at Cape Evans, photographed by Ponting, 22 June, 1911. Seated from left, Debenham, Oates, Meares, Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Scott at the head, Wilson, Simpson, Nelson?, Lt. Evans, Day?, and Taylor. Standing at left, Wright and Atkinson; at left, Gran. (More of Scott’s photos are here).
Team Bravo 043 at Explorers Cove, Antarctica, November 27, 2011. Sam Bowser, Hilary Hudson, Danielle Woodward, Andy Gooday, Laura Von Rosk, Cecil Shin.
It was never a space I imagined I would find myself in. There I was on the ice runway, with real and present full sun on my face, the Antarctic wind, and the temperature cold enough that if you stayed still for even a very short time you would start to hurt (freeze).
Seeing and researching forams spiraled me into completely unknown territory. Here are these singled celled organisms, and somewhere in time and space we share an ancestor? It is hard to imagine. We share the same planet, at least I get that. Knowing facts about foraminifera is one thing, but being actively engaged in the research, discoveries, conversations, and opinions of 3 scientists who have studied them for decades is like landing on another planet! I gradually learned some of their alien language, and was able to converse in a limited way, but I only touched the tip of the “iceberg.”
The Crux: Laura, can you summarize for us what you learned about forams? What they mean to you and what you think of the research that the team is doing?
Von Rosk: I can’t speak as a scientist, but I will say that forams are as beautiful, unique and varied in their form and architecture as mollusks (or mushrooms, wildflowers, birds or humans), yet so little is known about them. Ever ask someone at a dinner party about foraminifera?
Until a couple of years ago I didn’t know much about them – it took me a while before I was sure I was pronouncing the word “foraminifera” correctly. But now, when I hear the word, I see many pictures in my mind. And it is fun to say these words: Astrammina triangularis (sounds so elegant), Notodendrodes antarctikos, (is a fun mouthful), Cibicides refulgens (say it 5 times fast!). When you know its name, and can identify the foram visually – it simply changes networks in your brain. When you attach a name to something you start a process that I imagine is similar to learning a new language.
When you examine something (under a microscope for example) you enter another world. Although I was not seeing life forms in situ under microscope – it is still a new world. It is a new landscape, viewed from above, with a rich variety of worms, snails, tiny urchins, shells, bones and colorful grains of sand (that in themselves may hold clues to a particular core sample).
What is found in a particular sediment sample may hold clues to foram biology, as well as possible changes in the environment in Explorers Cove (and the polar environment), but I leave that work to the scientists. I just say “hey, what’s this?” or “why does this seem different from that?”… then they start conversing like aliens from planet Zoogomina from the 7th Galaxy of the Foramifizonodozoid Universe – but I sense from their body language something is important here.
As a painter I crave that sense of discovery. There can be hours of self-doubt in the studio. But by pursuing and pushing on, something happens every once in a while, and something new and different appears. Searching for forams is almost like doing a painting in reverse.
Picking from the tray is not only a visual pattern seeking exercise – through this delicate work you can sense the structure, substance, bulk, and texture of these creatures. The feel of picking up hard and solid Astrammina rara is quite different then picking the delicate Notodendrodes antarctikos. Sam has referred to Astrammina triangularis as a jeweled pillow – a perfect description! They seem fragile, yet the shell is knit/glued/formed so tightly together. When poked with picking tweezers I can sense a puffy pillow (but not as puffy as tunicates).
Silver saccammina are fragile in a different way – poke too hard and you crack the shell (and leave the silver single celled ball without a home).
They say it was a bad year for Astrammina rara. But one day I counted 60+ from one sample. I found a bunch of gold nuggets!
Notodendrodes antarctikos was not as abundant. Finding them was such a treat! Maybe it’s similar to a birder with a “life list”.
Antarctica and forams are forever linked for me. Observing living creatures that can survive and thrive in Antarctic waters is mind bending (the water temperature is 28oF). In my mind forams are linked to the air I breathe, the ocean, ice, limestone, Weddell seals, pteropods, echinoderms, snails, polychaetes, pycnogonids, ophiuroids, tunicates, Mt Erebus, glaciers, friends, skidoos, scuba divers, helicopters, steak dinners, lemon ginger tea and much more. I am grateful for the many new neuronal pathways that have sprung up as a result of being immersed in this research expedition.
The Crux: Are you going to start painting microscopic life? Glaciers? Dive holes?
Von Rosk: It was thrilling to be part of this project. I look forward to helping the team translate and communicate their findings to the public at large. Living in Antarctica, and viewing life under the microscope is not the day-to-day world I live in – but it gave me something, which I hope will manifest in the work I do. What that looks like or how I do not know. The manifestation of the experience in my art may be subtle beyond clear recognition or definition. But I did paint those three things you mentioned…
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Von Rosk: Did you know that Sam is also a serious science fiction movie nerd? It makes sense. I see the connection – entering the unknown.
Bowser: Sci Fi movies certainly sparked my imagination as a kid. They were also comforting: scientists usually saved the world.