An artist who can’t recognize faces paints portraits. To
most, this would seem ridiculous, perhaps impossible. To Chuck Close, the
artist, it is natural.
“I don’t care about landscapes or apples. I care about
people. I have no memory of faces in three dimensions,” said Close, who has prosopagnosia,
or “face blindness.” At times, Close couldn’t recognize the woman he had lived
with for years. But once he paints someone, he can remember their face well
enough to identify them in real life. And that is why he does it.
If you missed the International Neuroethics Society (INS) meeting in New Orleans last month, you can catch up on all the discussions by watching the recently posted videos of the panels.
Nearly
three years ago, one of the most-storied neuroscience patients passed away.
Known in the literature at Patient HM, Henry Molaison had proved willing, time
and again, to sit through the tests of researchers seeking to know why he could
not form lasting memories. Every moment, every person he met, seemed new to
him, every time. He even agreed, over and over, to donate his brain, so the
probing could continue even into his body itself. His data was a catalyst for
current theories of memory formation, and his willingness to participate has
been a catalyst for even more. [See also our story, “Famous Patient Continues Contribution to the
Science of Memory”]
At the recent SfN meeting, Jacopo Annese of UCSD
showed the range of views he and colleagues have obtained as part of the Brain
Observatory Project.
What's the best argument for scientists responsibly communicating their
findings to patients?
"We
are all patients, sooner or later," said doctor and researcher Edward Wild.
And we will all want to know the latest on whatever disease we have.
For
example, Wild said, when he meets with his patients who have Huntington's
disease, first they talk about their illness, and then they want to know about
the latest research—and why no one tells them about it. Their family members,
worried that they, too, may develop Huntington's, read "overblown 'cure'
research in news stories" and panic.
You board the plane and look for space to stow your bag and then you notice them: the long black tubes with the carrying strap, like a sheath for arrows. Did you board the wrong flight? Is the plane headed to some remote location for a hunting trip? Wait, you’ve seen them before; the tubes contain posters, information displays for some of the 27,512 Neuroscience 2012 participants heading to New Orleans for the annual conference.
As the plane lands, you notice the person next to you reaching for one of the tubes. “Are you presenting?” you ask. She says yes, and you just have to ask the title of her poster. She inhales deeply and rattles off a 38-word, 144-syllable title before finally exhaling. She’s not done. “In infants,” she adds, which is, coincidentally, the only phrase in the entire title that you understood.
