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Magnificent Magnifications
Microscope jockeys from around the world enter their
masterpieces in an annual art show
It was more than 300 years ago that Antoni van Leeuwenhoek gasped
at the sight of what he called "little animalcules" skittering
through pond water, their motion "so swift, and so various, upwards,
downwards, and round about, that 'twas wonderful to see." The Dutch
haberdasher had crafted some of the first microscopes, never
expecting to spy bacteria, sperm cells, red blood cells and much
more. Looking through his microscopes, some of which magnified the
view 250 times or more, he was the first to observe barbs on a bee's
stinger, mushroom-like fungi sprouting out of infected skin and
bacteria that, he noted, "oft-times spun round like a top." An
invisible, previously unimagined realm teeming with life appeared
suddenly before his eyes, and his discoveries would forever change
the way people viewed the world.
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Inventors since then have improved the microscope in many ways,
using purer glass and also adding mirrors and multiple lenses that
boost the magnifying power of light microscopes up to about 1,500
times. (Electron microscopes, which bounce fast-moving electrons off
specimens, are hundreds of times more powerful.) Two-eyed
stereoscopic viewers pop microscopic beasties into three dimensions.
Chemical fixatives can pin down reproducing cells in flagrante
delicto. Particular angles or wavelengths of light illuminate
features that are washed out by harsh, direct light, much as shadows
cast by the evening sun can give a landscape photograph more depth.
Fluorescent markers, which microscopists can attach to proteins
within a cell, emit a technicolored glow when stimulated by the
appropriate laser light; such "fluorophores" help biologists
understand the role of a marked protein in a cell's motion,
reproduction or death.
Lately, microscopy has been greatly enhanced by digital image
processing. For microscopists as well as ordinary shutterbugs,
digital photographs are quicker and cheaper to create than images
made with film. They can also be easily manipulated on the computer
to accentuate or analyze telling features.
Throughout its history, microscopy has served hard science: it
has identified microbes responsible for diseases, revealed minerals
that tell the story of a rock's geologic history or brought to light
evidence used to convict criminals. But there's more to microscopy
even than that, something subjective. Microscopists have always
delighted in the surprising, amusing and often profoundly beautiful
scenes under their lenses.
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For 30 years, Nikon, the camera and optical equipment company,
has hosted an annual photo contest for microscopists. Many of the
entries are lovely. All are utterly unfamiliar: more eerie, more
puzzling and more dramatic than a Surrealist painting or the
priciest Hollywood special effects. The 2004 Small World Competition
winners will be officially announced this month. The aim, says
Michael W. Davidson, a molecular biophysicist at Florida State
University at Tallahassee and a contest judge, is to reward both
"technical proficiency on the microscope and an eye for art.' Some
of this year's and past years' winning entries appear in these
pages.
The contest judges, including Smithsonian photo editor
Bonnie Stutski, had to choose the winners from among about 1,400
images. Enthusiasts who submit artwork to the contest come from all
walks of life: Alzheimer's researchers, modern-day microbe hunters,
a retired minister and basement tinkerers. A large number of entries
come from graduate students or postdoctoral researchers, scientific
apprentices who don't command their own laboratories yet and are
known for their long, unremunerative hours in the lab. One imagines
them parked at their desks late at night, staring through
microscopes until the slides swirl in their eyes, then photographing
these unique visions. When their photographs look just as beautiful
in the light of the next day, they can take pleasure not just in
their scientific labor but in creating art. |