Morphogenesis

Martín Amézaga Bernardo Pollak 2015

For thousands of years we have been fascinated with the form-generating processes of biology. However, the biological study of form, morphology, was only formally described around 200 years ago by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe1. And yet classical morphology tends to fall short of understanding morphogenesis. Composed of the study of forms at discrete times, it fails to provide temporal depth to the process — focusing on shape, rather than its creation. This was not necessarily down to Goethe, who regularly contemplated the creation of his morphologies. Inspired by the eventual unfolding of shapes and form in plants, Goethe wrote2, “At first I will tend to think in terms of steps, yet nature leaves no gaps, and thus, in the end, I will have to see this progression of uninterrupted activity as a whole.” Here, the shape and form of a plant at any given moment was understood to be a snapshot of a continuous process. For Goethe, one would need to place oneself within the organism truly to view its self-creation, not simply collect observations from discrete moments of our choice. This concept of time and progression remains essential to understanding morphogenesis.

As a plant developmental biologist, I spend quite a lot of time thinking about two things: trying to devise ways to trick nature into revealing its secrets so that I might one day understand morphogenesis, and how one can communicate the beauty of this process to others. We should not, after all, be content to live in ivory towers, but instead strive to communicate our motivation, passion and discoveries to others. In 2014 the University of Cambridge began Cambridge Shorts (https://www.cam.ac.uk/public-engagement/cambridge-shorts), an endeavour to bring researchers and film makers together, towards furthering science communication. The latest class of Cambridge Shorts films debuted at this year's Cambridge Science Festival, where the programme included Morphogenesis by Bernardo Pollak (a PhD candidate in plant sciences, University of Cambridge), and film-maker Martín Amézaga. They set out to “relate the idea of aesthetic value attributed to works of art and forms we find in nature”3, an unequivocally admirable goal.

“Nature leaves no gaps”2, an excerpt from Goethe, is displayed in the first frame of Morphogenesis. We then see various plants in pots or cut in vases, displayed one at a time, with sounds of natural habitats overlaid. The viewer is presented with these beautiful forms in isolation but reminded of their origin through sound. The focus tends to flowers, that part of plant form that humans automatically categorize as aesthetic. The viewer is then presented with their first, and only, glimpse of morphogenesis in the growth of a young Marchantia plant from the vegetative propagule known as a gemma (pictured). Time-lapse photography allows us to extrapolate from individual moments to Goethe's “uninterrupted activity as a whole”. Sadly, this is the only time we see true morphogenesis in the film.

B. POLLAK

The next striking moment of the film occurs when a statue is presented, Laocoön and His Sons. This contrast between man-made and natural form clearly highlights for the viewer the fact that both beauties are breath taking, that both have aesthetic value. However, it is unclear why Laocoön has been chosen here: of course it is a widely admired work of art; but one is hard pressed to find any deeper meaning in its inclusion in a film about morphogenesis.

Laocoön was a mythological figure who attempted to warn Troy about the Trojan Horse, and was punished by the gods who sent serpents to devour him and his sons. There is agony in this sculpture — power and strength fall futile before fate. This agony is perhaps the source of its principal beauty, but how it relates to morphogenesis remains unclear. While the choice may have been limited due to budget, a more thoughtful choice might have been made. For example, still in the classical vein, Bernini's Apollo and Daphne. Pursued by Apollo, under the influence of Cupid's arrow, Daphne sends a final prayer for salvation. In answer, she is transformed into a dryad “her hair became as moving leaves, her arms were changed to flowing branches, and her active feet as clinging roots were fastened to the ground— her face hidden with encircling leaves”4. Here we have a true example of morphogenesis (in the form of metamorphosis) in the growth of a woman into a tree.

The film nonetheless attempts to compare Laocoön and His Sons to the form of plants. The similarity between Laocoön's man-made form and that of plants is underscored by the use of striking visual imagery: the surfaces of both are abstracted to simple meshes, perhaps a gesture towards reducing them to their most basic form. But again, we have a comparison of shape but not the process of its creation. There are beautiful, if oddly inserted, time-lapse images of growing bacterial films; since morphogenesis is usually attributed to a single multi-cellular organism, the inclusion of bacterial films is a little controversial. Images of flowers opening, while stunning, also do not capture morphogenesis as the body pictured is already formed. The film ends by rewinding itself: the flowers close, the Marchantia plantlet folds back to a gemma, and we return to the still forms of pot plants and cut flowers. If the viewer stretches themself, they might see the entire film as the morphogenesis of an idea that unfolds and then refolds.

In the end, I was left feeling that I had seen some stunning images but was missing a true feel of morphogenesis, that literal creation of shape. The film has artistic merit, but lacks a foundation in its nominal subject. The comparison of biological and man-made sculpture is well conceived, but we remain puzzled by the use of Laocoön and His Sons, a sculpture treated as if it has no meaning of its own. It is not easy to walk the line between art and science, to impart a faithful scientific message while still providing interesting artistic stimulation; this film ultimately wavers between having scientific and artistic value, never fully achieving either. What then would be a model of an artistic endeavour that faithfully captures the scientific spirit? One obvious example returns us a final time to Goethe and his Metamorphosis of Plants5:

Artless the shape that first bursts into light—

The plant-child, like unto the human kind—

Sends forth its rising shoot that gathers limb

To limb, itself repeating, recreating,

In infinite variety; 'tis plain

To see, each leaf elaborates the last—

Serrated margins, scalloped fingers, spikes

That rested, webbed, within the nether organ—

At length attaining preordained fulfillment.

Oft the beholder marvels at the wealth

Of shape and structure shown in succulent surface—

The infinite freedom of the growing leaf.

Morphogenesis a film by Martín Amézaga and Bernardo Pollak for Cambridge Shorts. https://www.cam.ac.uk/morphogenesis (2015).