Keeping it Personal as Radical Defiance
On notions of externalized (self)care, and the erasure of taboo through scientific de-personalization
Taboo is not simply generated by a collective decision that something is a sacred mystery and/or forbidden; it arises from a cultural situation that presents a community with a phenomenon that must be managed through ritual acts in order to mitigate any possible (intentional or unwitting) spiritual or physical harm, imagined or otherwise. It is a form of risk management. When applied to laboratory practices, taboo reaches tendrils of ritualized control through a hazy cultural past into modern industrialized modes of operating.
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This past Saturday night, appearing in my comfy floral bathrobe and hair still feral from a day at a sand-blown beach, I settled in to a delightful Zoom conversation and podcast interview with London-based multidisciplinary artist and biodesigner, Kit Ondaatje Rolls.1 Kit is materializing a new book (and audio) project entitled, Creatures & Cultures; Playful Pollination across the Arts & Sciences. As she explained, “The book is a creative anthology exploring the current holistic expansion of the arts and sciences—delving into previously neglected worlds of indigenous knowledge systems, consciousness, dreams, sleep, mycology, nutrition, healing, etc. Interweaving art and play, spirituality and science, Creatures & Cultures celebrates the cross-pollination of ideas and perspectives across typically isolated disciplines and asks how we might better re-orient ourselves in relation to our ‘selves’ and the wider world.” She’s asked me to contribute to the section, DOWN: Revolting Revolutions and so we spent some quality time together discussing it—me, with a hot mug of decaf in hand, laced with reishi mushroom powder and she, from her current artist residency in Brazil. DOWN: Revolting Revolutions will be the section that explores, “themes of potentiality, circularity, and the bizarre relationship between fear and fascination.”
I want to revisit some of the ideas that Kit and I mulled over with regards to my work and the forthcoming book. I share these mental snippets as a preview of the sorts of conversation that will feature in the podcast interview Kit will produce as part of Creatures & Cultures. I was struck by the fact that a number of her questions strongly resonated with my recent conversation with Clarissa Chevalier (see previous post). This resonance indicated to me that core themes that emerge from my work are part of a growing, feisty zeitgeist—one that swirls fervently in the circles that I travel within and have worked to foster for over a decade. Kit is a member of the Bioart Coven, a new network of TechnoFeminist2 witches that I founded in 2019 as part of my PhD work.3 We spoke a bit about this vital community, but here I want to instead focus on one or two main ideas that Kit teased out from our relaxed evening (for her, morning) chat: practices of care in the lab, and the scientific erasure of the power of taboo.
I will begin with taboo.
Taboo provides cultural structure to ambiguities of power, much like other practices of magic—it may represent and address power for and/or power against, or just simply inherent and unfettered power. For example, the phenomenological power of a contested bodily process such as menstruation has long been embroiled in taboo.4 Taboo is not simply generated by a collective decision that something is a sacred mystery and/or forbidden; it arises from a cultural situation that presents a community with a phenomenon that must be managed through ritual acts in order to mitigate any possible (intentional or unwitting) spiritual or physical harm, imagined or otherwise. It is a form of risk management. When applied to laboratory practices, taboo reaches tendrils of ritualized control through a hazy cultural past into modern industrialized modes of operating. Let me explain further, with regards to my work with my own body materials, particularly menstrual fluid and its components.
How can a naturally occurring body material be taboo, or overlaid with possible spiritual (or psychological) repercussions? In working with concepts of taboo, I have typically engaged with notions of the ‘abject.’5 Abject materials are those removed from the self and then psychologically othered—not only self as body, but self as subject, steeped in symbolism and functioning through symbolic interpretation of the outer and inner worlds (as in, the psyche). The abjection of self can occur through physiological processes, such as those which we produce and evacuate as metabolic byproducts: shit, snot, blood, sweat, shed or shorn hair, fingernail clippings, etc.—materials deemed ‘waste’ in our inclination to assign them meaning. They are ‘stuff’ that we are compelled to get away from, no longer identify with and/or carefully control. They trigger the ‘ick factor.’6 Abject materiality slides (oozes?) into the realm of magic; materia magica includes discarded body materials that are believed, and now scientifically understood to retain a link to their originator. In the case of this so-called ‘sympathetic magic,’ the link is metaphysical. In the case of biology, it is genomic (including microbial genomes). Either way, allowing someone else access to and control of the externalized (non)self is potentially dangerous, in that it may still be manipulated to ill effect towards its originator. With sympathetic magic, this might mean spiritual or energetic illness, but with genomic material, it could mean (falsely) incriminating evidence. Both are ultimately socially determined. Thus, rituals of material management (risk management) are required—through containment and/or disposal strategies. These strategies don’t simply include conventional rituals such as burial, incineration, chemical dissolution, etc. but also methods of depersonalization.
One of the questions that Kit was bold enough to ask me, and which others have likely been curious about but have never asked, was, “What about the smell [of menstrual blood]?” This is the obvious ick trigger, that she pinpointed as possibly partly to account for menstrual taboos. I explained that when I am working with my menstrual fluid, there is no smell. I collect the blood in a sterilized menstrual cup (inserted) for a number of hours, then carefully extract it and pour the contents into sterile 15mL tubes, which are then tightly capped. The tubes are placed in a Ziploc bag inside a plastic food container and kept in my kitchen fridge until the end of my (collection) period. Those tubes, in the bag, inside the container, are then transported to the lab in a styrofoam box full of ice blocks, and only opened in a biosafety cabinet. The biosafety cabinet is a HEPA-filtered hood built (and annually inspected and certified) for Level 2 biocontainment. Why go to all this trouble? Just to avoid smelling possibly putrid blood, that some believe rotten?7
Science deals with abject materials such as ‘waste’ blood through processes of bureaucratic depersonalization (objectification). For example, I am required, according to my institution’s biosafety protocols to triple-contain all ‘biohazardous’ materials, as well as psychologically contain them. The specimen tubes are to be labelled with identifying information (contents and the date of collection) but not personally identifying information—the name of the specimen donor is not to be written on the tube. The outermost container has laboratory information on it, and my name as researcher affiliated with the lab, but nothing to connect me directly to each of my specimens. Likewise, the cells that I explant from the tiny tissue fragments found in the menstrual fluid are cultured and cryopreserved as anonymous material. Tiny 2mL cryovials of millions of cells are each labelled with date, quantity, passage number (the ‘age’ of the cells in vitro), cell type and researcher’s initials. While I am identified as the researcher the cells belong to for the sake of reseach, I am not identified as the source of them. They (I) have become a research commodity, with value according to their maintenance and use.
Cells such as these, sourced directly from a donor, are considered ‘wild type’ cells versus cells that are acquired in a standardized form from a laboratory supply company (which are called ‘cell lines’). My wild type cells are extra taboo, in terms of laboratory handling and transport—they are ‘untested’ so their biohazardousness is based on my personal health record, and what I'm willing to openly detail through a series of template-formatted documents distributed far and wide. For example, have my materials (have I) been exposed to Monkey Pox? HIV? Hepatitis B? Regardless, my cells are subject to greater controls, including the requirement to handle them in separate spaces from standardized cell lines (in different biosafety cabinets, incubators, centrifuges, etc.) so that they don’t contaminate 'purified' cell lines.8 This instituted separation is somewhat similar to the social containment strategy of a menstrual hut, where menstruators are sequestered away from the rest of their social group in order to contain their dangerous/taboo fluids. It is both infrastructural and performative.
I need to clarify that I am not against the taboo treatment of my body materials. On the contrary, I think it is useful when one can negotiate the inherent cultural power of an ambiguous material on their own terms, which is what I push for with my work. I’ve shown how the process of depersonalization is effective in instituting controls over abject materials in laboratory practices. In this way, taboo is coopted by the institution, or its inherent (shared) cultural power erased. It is the sanitization of taboo, where the material is commodified, objectified; this supposedly lends objectivity, except it doesn’t since taboo leaks through the layers. What if we fail to, or refuse to depersonalize the abject materiality of self, if we resist this detached externalization? In my work, my materials are not able to be fully depersonalized, since I am both the researcher directly supplying them and exclusively experimenting with them—I care for them alone. This ambiguity in the blurred relationality between researcher and research material, what can be dissociated from me and what can’t, exposes absurdity in the mechanism of scientific objectification.
Recently, I have been going through early preparations for showing my work in an upcoming exhibition in Germany, at Art Laboratory Berlin.9 Aside from attending the installation and opening reception in-person, so too will my menstrual-derived 'wild type' cells be present, installed as my externalized (non)self. While I fly to Germany with cells incubating away in my uterus as part of my reproductive cycle, my cells in cryovials will need to be shipped separately. They will undergo the scrutiny of commodity import controls, including my Manufacturer's Declaration (yes, I manufactured them in my uterus!), an Import Permit, and a Customs Invoice. These documents become identity certificates for my externalized (non)self, separate from my own identity documents. While I can basically sweep through the airport in Berlin with a swipe of my passport and nothing more, my cells must be brokered through a transport company that will manage the care and control of them, to the tune of thousands of dollars (since dry ice is apparently expensive). So, what of this externalized (non)self in terms of its needs overall? This leads me to the concept of care in laboratory practices.
Care (and control) practices in the lab are topics that have been explored before, including by Dr. Ionat Zurr and Oron Catts, as part of their iconic Tissue Culture & Art project.10 This ongoing project has been extensively written about over its 20+ year history, but performance plays a role that fits within what has been coined, 'aesthetics of care.'11 Clarissa had asked me what my care practices might look like in the lab, and how they incorporate witchcraft. This is a whole other aesthetic, which references craft, magic and technical performance. My embodiment and representation of what witchcraft looks like is the demonstration of skilled technique (laboratory craft) whilst utilizing abject materials and magic symbolism (such as sigils on petri dishes, or patches of Black Phillip sewn to the back of my lab coat, etc.).12 The goal is to make high tech practices accessible to an audience that doesn't otherwise have access to them. This includes artists, laypersons and/or women, for whom integrated bodily knowledge (practice) forms the basis of empiricism or somatic wisdom. This may run counter to typical notions of the 'occult,' which means 'hidden' or 'secret.' However, my overt demonstration of the manipulation of life materials and more-than-human agencies is a deliberate return to the origins of what 'witches' actually were, and what they actually did or produced: skilled practices that included reproductive care, medicinal formulations, fermentation practices, community building, etc.
Some of these ideas that I’ve shared will form the basis of the content that will become part of Kit’s forthcoming book, in the chapter, DOWN: Revolting Revolutions. I’d love to hear from you, dear subscriber, about what your thoughts and experiences are regarding performances or aesthetics of care in a lab, bureaucratic disorientation or depersonalization in your own lives, the disembodied ‘self’ or any other related content or resources you’d like to share. Once I am more familiar with the Substack platform, I’ll invite you to live chat with me. In coming posts, I will discuss concepts I’ve previously briefly written about, such as the laboratory doubling of the self and the biotech proxy. My paid subscribers can keep an ear out for an upcoming series of audio clips that I produced as answers to interview questions for another project I was happy to contribute to this week.
See Kit’s work here: https://kitondaatjerolls.com/ and follow her on Insta @kit.kat.fat
You can learn more about TechnoFeminism by reading the book by Judy Wacjman: https://www.wiley.com/en-au/TechnoFeminism-p-9780745630434
You can read more about the Bioart Coven on my website, here: https://www.whitefeatherhunter.ca/bioartcoven
Despite all of our advances in science, menstruation remains shrouded in cultural mystery. Even scientific research, which is relatively sparse, is ambivalent about the real purpose of menstruation, with some scientists claiming it is an evolutionary accident, something I have written about. One open source and easy (brief) read can be found here: https://www.academia.edu/67780725/Chapters_M_is_for_Menstruation_W_is_for_Witchcraft
I would be remiss to deal with body materials and not understand Julia Kristeva’s philosophies of abject materiality, as laid out in her book, The Powers of Horror. You can find a free downloadable PDF of the book here: https://www.thing.net/~rdom/ucsd/Zombies/Powers%20of%20Horror.pdf
If unfamiliar with the term, ‘ick factor,’ this article provides an introduction applicable to popular culture: https://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/25/magazine/the-ick-factor.html
I primarily go to the trouble so that my fluid and cells are not mingled with ambient microbes before I get a chance to work with them. Menstrual fluid itself isn’t rotten. It may become odiferous if pathogenic bacteria are significantly present or allowed to proliferate on ‘hygiene’ products, which they typically aren’t in order to maintain the health of the menstruator. Otherwise, menstrual fluid may acquire an odour as it oxidizes over time and the shed endometrial cells start to die off—this can occur near the end of the cycle. I do not collect my menstrual fluid in the last days of my cycle for these reasons.
This is rather farsical, considering that the most often used cell line, a cervical cancer cell, is suspected of contaminating numerous experiments over many years. Read more about it here: https://www.statnews.com/2016/07/21/studies-wrong-cells/
More information on the upcoming exhibition here: https://artlaboratory-berlin.org/exhibitions/matter-of-flux/
See the project website here: https://tcaproject.net/
For more, see https://www.academia.edu/368115/The_Aesthetics_of_Care
Black Phillip is the black goat form of Satan in the movie, The VVitch, who became a beloved cult figure: https://slate.com/culture/2016/02/goats-and-the-devil-origins-black-phillip-in-the-witch-isnt-alone.html
Super interesting and thought-provoking!