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| A Genetics Company Fails, Its Research Too Complex The demise of deCode Genetics was largely the result of learning that researching genes that cause diseases was far more complex than anyone originally thought. feeds.nytimes.com |
Scientist at Work: A. Thomas Mclellan: Addiction on 2 Fronts: Work and Home A. Thomas McLellan, the deputy director of the Office of National Drug Control Policy, has had personal experience with addiction. feeds.nytimes.com |
Geminid meteor shower to peak this weekend LOS ANGELES (AP) -- The year's best meteor shower is coming to North America.... hosted.ap.org |
Observatory: Suppressing Tinnitus With Music Therapy Researchers have developed a novel approach to treat ringing in the ears that accompanies noise-related hearing loss. feeds.nytimes.com |
Penises and caustic soda: the case of the Cambridge antiquities The antiquities gallery at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge reopens to the public on Saturday – with some fascinating storiesIn the Greek and Roman gallery in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge –one of the most important collections of antiquities in the country,which reopens to the public on Saturday after a £950,000 makeover –there is one Greek pot the eye might easily flit past.Unless, that is, you happen to take more than a cursory view at thecentral figure's genital area. In the bowl of this 5th-century Attickylix (drinking cup), is the figure of a man, naked but for a cloak,and holding a lyre and a staff. But something rather peculiar seems tohave happened: there's a noticeably smudged, discoloured patch aroundthe groin area.According to conservator Christina Rozeik, who has been working withthe objects in the refurbished gallery, that penis will be "thesubject of much detective work over the next year".The pot was once owned by the collectors Charles Ricketts and CharlesShannon, whose lives spanned the 1860s to 1930s. The pair met at artschool in London in the 1880s, and they later became friends andsupporters of Oscar Wilde.They amassed a fine collection of antiquities that was laterbequeathed to the Fitzwilliam. According to the museum's keeper ofantiquities, Lucilla Burn, the two "were a pair of aesthetes; and theycollected on aesthetic grounds".The flesh-coloured blotch is actually the trace of a rescue attempt onthe pot by one of the couple. "Genitals restored by Ricketts," statesthe original Fitzwilliam catalogue entry baldly. A century on, therestored patch has discoloured and faded, while the original surfaceof the pot, dating from about 480BC, has survived impeccably.According to Rozeik, who counts the restoration as "quite skilful",the problem is that "we don't know what's underneath". Ricketts – afine painter as well as a set designer and typographer of note – hadmotives for drawing in the figure's genitals that can only beinferred.Nor is it a question of simply removing Ricketts' work and having alook at what lies beneath. "Part of the dilemma is that Ricketts is asignificant artist," she said. "We would have to think very hardbefore removing his work."The question of the blotchy genitals is a very modern conservationdilemma. Should Rickett's restoration be regarded as a valid part ofthe history of the object and left, or should it be removed? As Rozeikasks, "Is there any such thing as authenticity? What's the 'real'object?"The Ricketts-Shannon collection in the Fitzwilliam includes about 100objects. They are mostly Attic vases, though the couple did also own avery sultry head of Antinous, the lover of the Roman emperor Hadrian.He is instantly recognisable, according to Mary Beard, professor ofclassics at Cambridge University, "because he's got that lovelypouting lip". Burn added: "And then there's the downwards gaze andtilted head – very Princess Diana."Not all the pieces are as controversial as the smudged-penis kalyx;but in this new display of the Fitzwilliam's antiquities the curatorsare coming clean about past gaffes made by the institution. It is whatBeard calls "the new transparency".For instance, a miniature bronze statuette of a Roman priest (known asthe "Marlay Genius") isn't much to look at now. But in the mid-20thcentury it was one of the favourite objects of the then keeper ofantiquities, Winifred Lamb.The statuette was packed away with other precious items during the warand hidden in Shropshire. But when it came out of storage in 1947, itwas found to be suffering from "bronze disease" – a condition arisingfrom damp that caused green pustules to burst out on the sculpture'ssurface.The condition could have completely destroyed the object, so advicewas sought from Cambridge's chemistry department. Various solutionswere proposed, and Lamb wrote to the director of the museum: "I'drather see him yellow, purple, any colour, like a Woolworth ornamentthan have him in a galloping consumption."The up-to-the-minute cure for the condition – which would be regardedas rather extreme these days – was to dunk the figure into fearsomesolution including caustic soda for 50 hours. The little priest cameout cured – but also minus much of the exquisite surface detail thathad made him such a favourite of Lamb's.According to Beard: "The story of the object goes right up to now. Itdidn't just miraculously finish at the end of the Roman empire. In thecase of the Marlay Genius, it was like treating a cancer patient. Now,he's lucky to be alive – if pockmarked."ArtArchaeologyMuseumsClassicsCharlotte Higginsguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds guardian.co.uk |