Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

A Conversation with … Terryl Whitlatch, Illustrator of Things Real and Fantastic

2020; Lippincott Williams & Wilkins; Volume: 478; Issue: 11 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1097/corr.0000000000001256

1528-1132

Seth S. Leopold,

Medical and Biological Sciences

Orthopaedic surgery is a form of “practical anatomy.” We use our deep knowledge of the human form—normal and pathologic—to decrease pain, restore function, repair injury, and improve health. I had always considered myself the recipient of a gift when I think about where I first learned anatomy; the people who donated their bodies made it possible for me to learn. And as much as I was smitten by Frank H. Netter’s beautiful anatomy atlases [5, 6] and others like them [1, 8, 9], it wasn’t until I saw the work of contemporary artist Terryl Whitlatch, a supremely talented illustrator who creates fantastical creatures, that I realized that I really was the beneficiary of two gifts, not just one. The larger gift certainly came from the cadaver donors. But a second (and still-important) gift was the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of the medical illustrator. For every hour I spent in the anatomy lab, I spent many more looking at human-drawn illustrations of human bodies. Although Ms. Whitlatch doesn’t illustrate anatomy textbooks, she sure knows her anatomy, both human and animal. And if you’ve gone to the movies in the last couple of decades, you’ve probably seen her work. Ms. Whitlatch has worked with Pixar, LucasArts, Industrial Light & Magic, and Walt Disney Feature Animation (among many others); she’s also created museum and zoo exhibitions, and written numerous books. Her personified (anthropomorphic, really) critters derive from photorealistic anatomic studies and drawings she’s made of animals. Even a moment’s inspection of any of her imaginary creatures reveals a remarkable combination of real anatomy and a kind of secret sauce that she has called “forced anthropomorphism” [7]. What can a surgeon learn from an illustrator of imaginary creatures? Two words: Close observation. It’s possible to be a master surgeon and not be able to draw (ask me how I know), and certainly most illustrators are not surgeons. But to be an artist or a clinician, one needs good vision, and by this I don’t mean eyesight. Artists in general (and illustrators in particular) need not just to be able to look, but also to see, both thoughtfully and critically. The same applies to good surgeons. The skill of close observation has been extensively explored in CORR® in our Art in Science column [3, 4]. Ms. Whitlatch once said, “If you want to draw Fred Flintstone, you need to be familiar with the human form and figure, and to have taken [studied] a lot of life drawing” [2]. But it’s obvious that it takes more than life drawing to create the kinds of characters she’s created; it takes patient vision and deep insight into what makes people human in order to deliver her brand of forced anthropomorphism. The skills that Terryl Whitlatch brings to her task as an illustrator of beasts, both real (Fig. 1) and imagined (Fig. 2), is one that is critically relevant to clinicians in general and surgeons in particular. Please join me in the interview that follows with Ms. Whitlatch, a masterful and imaginary visual artist.Terryl WhitlatchFig. 1: The Pinacosaurus was a genus of ornithopod-armored dinosaurs closely related to Ankylosaurus, which existed during the latter part of the Cretaceous Period, about 80 million years ago. Credit: Terryl Whitlatch, Science of Creature Design, Design Studio Press. A color image accompanies the online version of this article.Seth S. Leopold MD:I sense that close observation is a big part of your work. A colleague of mine when talking about missed diagnoses sometimes says, “I think this [the diagnosis in question] has seen us before, but we haven’t seen it.” Here at CORR, we’ve used an art column to help surgeons learn to see differently [3, 4]). What do you believe surgeons can do to refine their skills of close observation, and in the process, become better clinicians? Ms. Terryl Whitlatch: When I look at something, in particular an animal or a person, I immediately take in the entire form, but then, just as immediately, I focus in on just what is it that makes the animal special unto itself, both on a general species level, and then, more subtly, on an individual level. For example, I look at a Grevy’s zebra, which is an African wild horse. As I observe it, my mind compares it with all other equines that I have encountered—how is this zebra species similar and different from, say, a Clydesdale? An Arabian? A Thoroughbred? How is it similar to and different from other species of zebra, like the mountain zebra and the plains zebra? And then, how is this one particular individual Grevy’s zebra similar and yet different from members of its own species? I look at this from both an anatomical view, and a behavioral or personality point of view. In doing this, I am better able to grasp the essence of the living being, body and soul, and see how very marvelous it is, and better translate this into my artwork. I studied comparative vertebrate anatomy during my Vertebrate Zoology major at University (although I ultimately graduated with a BFA in illustration), and I unconsciously applied the same principles, looking at everything from an artist’s eye (that is, through observation, embracing the big or general picture of animal anatomy, while acknowledging individual idiosyncrasies and variations). I would think that surgeons, in doing the same, would likewise benefit. There is the general—this is a Grevy’s zebra and not a plains zebra—and the very specific—this is a Grevy’s zebra at the San Diego Safari Park, whose name is Zeus, and he has his own particular stripe pattern, is exactly 4 feet 25.7 inches at the shoulder, weighs 754 pounds, has a notch in his left ear, is very inquisitive, and he loves carrots and playing tag with his herd mates. Likewise, through observation, each medical protocol must be tailored to the individual. Every organ within an individual likewise merits this sort of observation, whether the skeleton, or a kidney. Dr. Leopold:With respect to “mythical” creatures (unicorns or dragons), I remember hearing you say something to the effect of that none of them was really “mythical”. I took that to mean that people looked at one thing, but “saw” another. What can surgeons learn from this? Ms. Whitlatch: With mythical creatures (Fig. 3), there is a good deal of reality in them, otherwise, we would not be able to believe in them historically. A unicorn looks as if it could be real. After all, beautiful white Arabian horses exist, and horse-like straight horned oryx antelope exist, and narwhals with their long spiral tooth exist. Given geographical distance and time, and the retelling and retelling of a zoological observation (along with Viking traders passing off narwhal teeth as real unicorn horns), the unicorn as we know it comes into existence. Likewise, with dragons—we’ve got crocodiles, alligators, Komodo monitors, pythons, and the fossils of dinosaurs. All the zoological elements we need to create a believable dragon.Fig. 2: The anthropomorphic Madisonavenuesaurus is based on the Cryolophosaurus, a genus of carnivorous theropod. Credit: Terryl Whitlatch, Science of Creature Design, Design Studio Press.In the case of unicorns, and looking at one thing, and seeing another, it very well could be that ancient travelers in Africa saw a small group of Gemsbok as they trotted along in the distance. These are large desert dwelling antelope that have a good deal of white or light grey on their bodies, and their bodies and tails are very, very horse-like. Their horns are extremely long and straight, and seen in profile, look like a single horn. (The unicorns in the King James Bible may actually be a mistranslation for the Arabian Oryx—closely related to the Gemsbok—which is native to Palestine). Pretend that there are heat waves rising in the desert, obscuring things a bit, throw in a bit of Egyptian/Arabian horse on the trip back north in the telling and voila, we’ve got a troop of unicorns, in the iconic shape and form. We can fix in our minds iconic views when it comes to medical matters—this is the way a heart should be, that is, the iconic view, but miss the actualities of what really is going on. What are the actualities behind the “legend”? Does the iconic really exist, or, are there only general trends among many individual realities? Dr. Leopold:I see that you teach at Schoolism (https://www.schoolism.com). It seems clear enough that internet-based learning can change how we disseminate information about knowledge domains previously thought to be hands-on. How should surgeons think about this? Ms. Whitlatch: The internet is a great tool when it comes to learning—it can be very cost-saving as well—and so much knowledge is available at one’s convenience. However, the internet is also a virtual classroom. Instead of being in a brick and mortar institution, one is in one’s own room (or coffeeshop) in front of one’s own computer. There is the academic learning and theory, but you still need to go out into the world and draw the real animals and people. That is where you learn to observe. In my courses, the students are required to submit two sketchbook pages full of real animals, not mythical ones. It is the real animals who are the best teachers on how to draw them, and there is nothing like a real animal to teach you how to observe. They are constantly getting up and changing their positions! If students fail to do this, their drawing becomes formulaic and artificial looking, even in their imaginary creatures. It is real animals that give authenticity and believability to imaginary creatures. Not to draw and observe real animals is to cut off the imagination from its life source. Humans are finite, fallible beings, and by definition, so are our intellectual capacities and imaginations. Nature, on the other hand, is virtually inexhaustible when it comes to sheer variety—it is the artist’s and scientist’s treasure box.Fig. 3: The Pan Satyr was inspired by a minor character from Peter S. Beagle’s story, The Last Unicorn. This particular design involves the blending of chimpanzee and ibex DNA to achieve a nonchimeric creature with biological integrity. Credit: Terryl Whitlatch, Science of Creature Design, Design Studio Press. A color image accompanies the online version of this article.Dr. Leopold:You’ve spoken a lot about process and practice in your work; What can surgeons—who work in high-stakes settings quite different from those of visual artists—nonetheless learn from visual artists in terms of process? Ms. Whitlatch: In a high-stakes situation, the ability to put what is seen and happening into context is all important; in our training, we understand the general—what a healthy heart or kidney or pancreas should look like and operate—we understand the general by examining or observing many such organs according to our specialty. The same can be said for procedures. But, at the same time, we’ve noted the deviations from the standard, and take all those situations into consideration. Because, that is what we are dealing with here, and, in every situation, whether high stakes or not. If we are a veterinary surgeon, we must follow the protocol for doing colic surgery on equines, but then, must allow that our patient is a Grevy’s zebra, and take that into context, and further, that this is Zeus, a particular individual, and take that into context again, and then we discover that there is a deviation on his intestine, and contextualize that yet again. This allows us to grasp everything at once, instantaneously marrying the general and the many individual variations in our observational experiences, and allows us to stay calm and innovate or improvise as necessary during high-stakes situations. The same thing takes place artistically. Observation, from the big picture to the individual quirks and details, takes place in order to efficiently create something that is authentic, functional, and especially useful with a deadline looming over the horizon (deadlines being the artist’s high-stakes situation). Dr. Leopold:For the artists among us (and even those who only dream of being able to sketch), you’ve used the term “forced anthropomorphism” to create humanoid creatures that have expressive character. Tell me more about this and can you walk me through an example (visually)? Ms. Whitlatch: Forced anthropomorphism is the endowment of a nonhuman object, usually an animal (although it can be objects, like teacups, apples, or even rocks and subatomic particles) with human characteristics, abilities, and personalities. One of my favorite productions that I worked on was Disney’s Brother Bear. Real bears, for example, have very small eyes. However, in order to convey human expressions and emotions, the bears in this production have quite large eyes, complete with eyebrows! Real bears have no eyebrows, at least not in the human sense. Indeed, if you look at any living mammal, including your dog or cat, you’ll see they don't have eyebrows. Brother Bear is a very naturalistic production, however, compared to Looney Toons (Bugs Bunny) or even the most famous Disney character, Mickey Mouse. Both Bugs and Mickey are about as anthropomorphically forced as possible without breaking the animal and creating an animal-human chimera. No real rabbit or real mouse comes remotely looking like those very stylized characters. Yet, we accept them, and they are wonderful, enduring characters; the universe they live in is entirely their own, safely inside our heads. You can see the disconnect, however, in the real world, when small children at times shy away from their costumed avatars in theme parks. My Madisonavenuesaurus (Fig. 2) was the affectionate result of watching the brilliant television series Mad Men, which totally enthralled me, as I grew up during the early 1960s. I wondered what the characters would look like if dinosaurs had auditioned for the parts, and I pictured the cryolophosaurus (cold crest lizard in Latin), because the main character, advertising executive Don Draper, was a suave, cool guy, fond of martini lunches. So, I’ve illustrated him relaxing in his office, dreaming of his next ad campaign, and contemplating the consequences of too much wine, women, and song.