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He saw an Apothecary on a white horse… Thomas Landseer, Etching, 1831. Subject: Obstetrics,Pharmacist, Devil, Snuff, The Lancet.
He saw an Apothecary, on a white horse,
Ride by on his avocations;
And the Devil was tickled for it put him in mind
Of Death in the Revelations.
Click for full size. There’s a notation on the bottom, about this being copied from Durer, cf something something 1525. It’s difficult to make out.
A Study Of Proportions. Anonymous, Pen, Black Ink, and Pencil. Subject: Anatomy, Proportion, Anatomy In Art, Albrecht Durer.
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The true and lively Pourtraicture of Valentine Greatrakes Esq…Anonymous, 1794, Publisher W. Richardson. Subject: Faith Healing, Valentine Greatrakes (1628-83).
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The Evil Spirit Of The White House. James Albert Wales, Lithograph coloured, 1881. Subject: U.S.A. Politics, Infectious Disease, Malaria, Contagion, James Abram Garfield.
A most evocative piece by Rockwell Kent, click for full size.
Nightmare. Rockwell Kent, Lithograph. Subject: Nightmares, Suicide.
Click for full size. As you can see, all effort was put into making Joanna Southcott as awful as possible. Ms. Southcott was a self-styled prophetess, and claimed to be pregnant at 64 years of age, and died shortly afterward. It would seem she was held to be nothing more than a con by the medical establishment, with little consideration that she might actually believe all the nonsense she preached. The depiction of her is certainly nothing at all like her actual appearance (there’s a photo at the link.)
A Medical Inspection. Or Miracles Will Never Cease. Thomas Rowlandson, Etching coloured, 1814. Subject: Obstetrics, Prophesy, Pregnancy, Anecdotes, Religious Mania, Joanna Southcott (1750-1814).
Click for full size. There are five of these, so most below the fold.
Singular Effects Of The Universal Vegetable Pills… Charles Jameson Grant, Lithograph coloured. Subject: Proprietary Medicines, James Morison, Morison’s Pills, Vegetable compounds.
This is the oil which birthed Antimacassars. My great-grandmothers and grandmother had antimacassars on everything. Click for full size!
Macassar Oil, An oily Puff for Soft Heads. Thomas Rowlandson, Etching coloured, 1814. Subject: Macassar Oil, Rowland’s Oil,Alexander Rowland,baldness,hair Tonic, Hair Oil,Proprietary Medicines.
From rq, a most beautiful art work: So out of that comment conversation earlier this morning/today, I made some art that looks completely unrelated but came out of the emotions. Also it is called “Life is Not a Ringing Bell” and I have decided to dedicate it to Rick. Such a beautiful piece, filled with quiet emotion and love. Life is not ringing a bell, but it is having a partner who loves you enough to nag you into doing what you should, and having a friend who can express that so well. Thank you is so very inadequate. Click for full size.
© rq, all rights reserved.
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The Winding Up of the Medical Report of the Walcheren Expedition. Thomas Rowlandson, Etching coloured, 1810. Subject: Lucas Pepys (1742-1830), Robert Jackson (1750-1827), Thomas Keate (1745-1821), Dr. James’ Fever Powder, Chelsea Hospital, Walcheren Campaign, Military Medicine, Medical Boards, Drugs.
The Walcheren Campaign involved little fighting, but heavy losses from the sickness popularly dubbed “Walcheren Fever”. Although more than 4,000 British troops died during the expedition, only 106 died in combat; the survivors withdrew on 9 December. […] Along with the 4,000 men that had died during the campaign, almost 12,000 were still ill by February 1810 and many others remained permanently weakened. Those sent to the Peninsular War to join Wellington’s army caused a permanent doubling of the sick lists there.
As for ‘Look Ass Peeps’ (Lucas Pepys):
In 1794 Pepys was made physician-general to the army, and was president of an army medical board, on which it was his duty to nominate all the army physicians. When so many soldiers fell ill of fever at Walcheren, he was ordered to go there and report. As a consequence the board was abolished; but Pepys was granted a pension.
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A Cure for Lying and a Bad Memory. Thomas Rowlandson, Etching coloured, 1807. Subject: Pharmacy, Medicine.
© C. Ford, all rights reserved.
Okay. I’m going to start with reiterating that what I write here is about my experience with cancer treatment, and my feelings about it, it’s in no way general or applicable for painting with a vague and broad brush.
I am not sorry in the least little bit for not celebrating the first round of chemo being done. I am not sorry for viewing this as a completely non-celebratory event, nor for feeling this way. There was relief, and a fleeting sense of being free. That last one didn’t last long. As usual, the chemo has left me feeling half past dead and seriously dehydrated. So, I’m back again today for IV fluids. I’m only going because Rick refused to let up asking about going in for fluids. These days, he easily recognises the signs of dehydration, so I conceded. Right now, I’d rather deal with being half past dead than going back to 7. (In my hospital, the infusion suite is on the 7th floor.)
It doesn’t feel to me as if I’ve finished; there’s always something dragging you back, and even if I could manage to stay away from 7, appointments and schedules arrive by mail and phone, and of course there’s preparation for the next round of treatment. There’s also the knowledge that you’re going to get completely battered down again, which leaves you with a deep desire to simply stay the fuck away from hospitals altogether.
This all ties back in with the ever relentless positivity business. There’s the bell, which is in infusion/chemo suites all over, you’re supposed to ring it the same number of times as your cycles (in my case, it would be eight), while everyone else in infusion applauds; for me, that’s a hellish notion, and I was more than relieved in managing to slip out quietly. I learned that other infusion/chemo suites have a certificate/diploma thing, which is even worse than the damn bell. Most of us don’t require false encouragement, we all have our own reasons to keep showing up for treatment, even when we are past sick of it, and long to walk away and forget. You experience resignation soon enough in treatment, and simply getting through one phase is just that, nothing more. What most cancer patients are looking toward is the final door, that light at the end of the fuckin’ tunnel, when you get to walk away for real. For other cancer patients, there is no exit door, they’ll be in treatment until they die, and in such cases, it’s really callous and rotten to get all positive and celebratory over a single phase of treatment. Chirpy, trite sentiments do not help in the least, and they give people something empty to say without having to expend any thought on the actual person and their situation. Sometimes, there just isn’t anything to say, and that’s okay. Silences don’t have to be filled every single time, and silence is better than a perky positivity landing in compleat awkwardness.
This is not to say I don’t understand someone having joy over getting through one phase or being happy for me; it’s that I don’t feel that joy myself. I’m still looking at months worth of treatment and pretty much the rest of this year being dominated by cancer. I want my life back, and if I get that, then I’ll celebrate. Quietly.
And now I have to get ready to return to 7.
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Poisoning the Sick at Jaffa. George Cruikshank, Aquatint coloured, 1814. Subject: Napoleon, Jaffa, Poison, Hospitals, Military Hospitals.