Essay #17

Abstract

I remember watching Mr. Peabody & Sherman on my sixth birthday. Sherman, a boy, and Mr. Peabody, his genius dog, travel to 16th-century Florence. There, they seek out Leonardo da Vinci to help them fix their time machine. Six-year-old me furrowed her brows, staring at the screen quizzically. How would the painter of the Mona Lisa be able to fix a machine? 

Introduction

For most of my life, my classmates have tried to convince me that art and science were on opposite sides of the color wheel, two subjects as different as purple and yellow. They explained that art is stylistic, subjective, and lawless, but science is structured, objective, and methodical. Why am I trying to mix these colors? My fifth-grade math teacher scolded me to stop doodling on my homework and focus on square roots. When I answered “an artist” confidently to the question, “What would you like to be when you grow up?” people criticized my response. By eighth grade, I believed focusing on chemistry could prove more useful. I couldn’t wash the paint and pastel off my hands, but perhaps I could wear gloves.

Experimentation

High school brought new friends, new freedoms, and a new outlook on my dilemma when I started taking biology. When it was time to start the fetal pig dissection, classmates ran out in disgust, some tearing up and others turning green. Kids in my class called the fetal pig “Miss Piggy” and “Bacon Bits.” However, I sat in awe examining the pig’s heart, using my scalpel to expose the anterior vena cava and the surrounding veins and arteries. 

With my eyes focused and my hand held steady, I was surprised to find myself in a familiar headspace. Each snip of the surgical scissors felt like the blot of a brush; each scrape of the scalpel felt like carving clay. I cleaned each vein and artery until they were gleaming and backed away to admire my canvas. As my biology teacher walked over, I felt like an excited child, eager to show my mother a glittery crayon drawing. 

Analysis 

Later that night, I pondered if I was some sort of Hannibal Lecter for enjoying the dissection, but I knew I had no sinister intentions. That year, I excelled in biology. I even drew a diagram of the heart on the board and helped my teacher explain circulation to my classmates. 

I thought back to how similar dissecting the pig felt to sculpting a piece of clay. I had seen the art in biology, even traced it. Whether it was photosynthesis, the Krebs cycle, or the heart’s atria, there was composition, a collage of patterns, a rhythm of movement.

Conclusion

At that moment, I couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Peabody and Sherman. I had an answer to how da Vinci created the ornithopter, the Vitruvian Man, and the Mona Lisa. Together, science and art allow for a deeper form of expression and understanding of the world around us. I find comfort in da Vinci’s path. I do not have to pick between a paintbrush or an Erlenmeyer flask. I don’t need to pursue art or science; I can pursue art and science.