The Art of Seeing

People are surprised when they learn I was an art history major in college. Most folks assume I had majored in biology or chemistry. Their assumption was based on strong odds. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that nearly half of all physicians practicing in this country were biology majors.

I headed off to college clueless about my future. I was hoping to succeed as a walk-on to the football team and beyond that I figured someone or something would guide me toward a career. Had you asked me, “physician” it would have been a definite “Never.”

I flirted with a psychology major, but after a semester I realized that the department was more interested in the behavior of rats rather than humans. I got an “easy A” in the intro to art history and that was the open door I was looking for.

By my senior year I was applying for fellowships to study in faraway places. However, the world situation in 1965 was unsettling for a young man in this country. I had had a strong high school science education and had continued to take a some science courses. Fortunately, I had banked just enough credits so that I could apply to medical school, again without really planning to become a physician.

Even during the sharpest turns in my circuitous path to becoming a small town pediatrician, including a year doing research in exercise physiology in Denmark, I never once regretted my years spent studying art history. I credit them with making me a more sensitive observer.

You can probably understand why I was intrigued by an article I recently read that described a program in which the radiology residents that the Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston take a year-long course in art history using the Art Museum at Harvard University as a resource. Titled “Seeing in Art and Medical Imaging,” the program is now 6 years old. Hyewon Hyun, MD, a radiologist and one of its cofounders, observes that “art is the starting point for in-depth conversations about medicine, humanity, and different ways of seeing the world.”

Radiology and dermatology are obviously the two specialties in which the physician relies most heavily on his or her powers of observation. However, every doctor can benefit from learning to really “see” what they are looking at. Looking and seeing are two very different activities. There is obviously the forest-from the-trees phenomenon. Can the physician in a hurried clinical situation muster up the discipline to shift focus back and forth from the lesion or painful body part to the entire patient and beyond? How is the parent responding to the child’s discomfort? How are they dressed? Does this wider view suggest some additional questions to ask that may help you understand how this patient or family will be able to cope with diagnosis or follow up with your treatment plan?

The art historian sees every object in its historical context. What has come before? How have the societal conditions influenced the artist choice of subject and use of materials? How has his or her emotions at the time of creation influenced his or her style? The astute physician must likewise see the patients and their complaints in the broader context of their emotional health and socioeconomic situation. This requires sensitive listening and careful observation.

One doesn’t have to major in art history or spend years roaming through the sometimes dark and dusty halls of the world’s museums to progress from being one who simply looks to a person who really sees the environment and its inhabitants. It is really a state of mind and a commitment to improvement.

As physicians, we often complain or sometimes brag about how many patients we “see” in a day. I fear that too often we mean “looked at.” How frequently did we make the effort to really see the patient?

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

People are surprised when they learn I was an art history major in college. Most folks assume I had majored in biology or chemistry. Their assumption was based on strong odds. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that nearly half of all physicians practicing in this country were biology majors.

I headed off to college clueless about my future. I was hoping to succeed as a walk-on to the football team and beyond that I figured someone or something would guide me toward a career. Had you asked me, “physician” it would have been a definite “Never.”

I flirted with a psychology major, but after a semester I realized that the department was more interested in the behavior of rats rather than humans. I got an “easy A” in the intro to art history and that was the open door I was looking for.

By my senior year I was applying for fellowships to study in faraway places. However, the world situation in 1965 was unsettling for a young man in this country. I had had a strong high school science education and had continued to take a some science courses. Fortunately, I had banked just enough credits so that I could apply to medical school, again without really planning to become a physician.

Even during the sharpest turns in my circuitous path to becoming a small town pediatrician, including a year doing research in exercise physiology in Denmark, I never once regretted my years spent studying art history. I credit them with making me a more sensitive observer.

You can probably understand why I was intrigued by an article I recently read that described a program in which the radiology residents that the Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston take a year-long course in art history using the Art Museum at Harvard University as a resource. Titled “Seeing in Art and Medical Imaging,” the program is now 6 years old. Hyewon Hyun, MD, a radiologist and one of its cofounders, observes that “art is the starting point for in-depth conversations about medicine, humanity, and different ways of seeing the world.”

Radiology and dermatology are obviously the two specialties in which the physician relies most heavily on his or her powers of observation. However, every doctor can benefit from learning to really “see” what they are looking at. Looking and seeing are two very different activities. There is obviously the forest-from the-trees phenomenon. Can the physician in a hurried clinical situation muster up the discipline to shift focus back and forth from the lesion or painful body part to the entire patient and beyond? How is the parent responding to the child’s discomfort? How are they dressed? Does this wider view suggest some additional questions to ask that may help you understand how this patient or family will be able to cope with diagnosis or follow up with your treatment plan?

The art historian sees every object in its historical context. What has come before? How have the societal conditions influenced the artist choice of subject and use of materials? How has his or her emotions at the time of creation influenced his or her style? The astute physician must likewise see the patients and their complaints in the broader context of their emotional health and socioeconomic situation. This requires sensitive listening and careful observation.

One doesn’t have to major in art history or spend years roaming through the sometimes dark and dusty halls of the world’s museums to progress from being one who simply looks to a person who really sees the environment and its inhabitants. It is really a state of mind and a commitment to improvement.

As physicians, we often complain or sometimes brag about how many patients we “see” in a day. I fear that too often we mean “looked at.” How frequently did we make the effort to really see the patient?

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

People are surprised when they learn I was an art history major in college. Most folks assume I had majored in biology or chemistry. Their assumption was based on strong odds. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that nearly half of all physicians practicing in this country were biology majors.

I headed off to college clueless about my future. I was hoping to succeed as a walk-on to the football team and beyond that I figured someone or something would guide me toward a career. Had you asked me, “physician” it would have been a definite “Never.”

I flirted with a psychology major, but after a semester I realized that the department was more interested in the behavior of rats rather than humans. I got an “easy A” in the intro to art history and that was the open door I was looking for.

By my senior year I was applying for fellowships to study in faraway places. However, the world situation in 1965 was unsettling for a young man in this country. I had had a strong high school science education and had continued to take a some science courses. Fortunately, I had banked just enough credits so that I could apply to medical school, again without really planning to become a physician.

Even during the sharpest turns in my circuitous path to becoming a small town pediatrician, including a year doing research in exercise physiology in Denmark, I never once regretted my years spent studying art history. I credit them with making me a more sensitive observer.

You can probably understand why I was intrigued by an article I recently read that described a program in which the radiology residents that the Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston take a year-long course in art history using the Art Museum at Harvard University as a resource. Titled “Seeing in Art and Medical Imaging,” the program is now 6 years old. Hyewon Hyun, MD, a radiologist and one of its cofounders, observes that “art is the starting point for in-depth conversations about medicine, humanity, and different ways of seeing the world.”

Radiology and dermatology are obviously the two specialties in which the physician relies most heavily on his or her powers of observation. However, every doctor can benefit from learning to really “see” what they are looking at. Looking and seeing are two very different activities. There is obviously the forest-from the-trees phenomenon. Can the physician in a hurried clinical situation muster up the discipline to shift focus back and forth from the lesion or painful body part to the entire patient and beyond? How is the parent responding to the child’s discomfort? How are they dressed? Does this wider view suggest some additional questions to ask that may help you understand how this patient or family will be able to cope with diagnosis or follow up with your treatment plan?

The art historian sees every object in its historical context. What has come before? How have the societal conditions influenced the artist choice of subject and use of materials? How has his or her emotions at the time of creation influenced his or her style? The astute physician must likewise see the patients and their complaints in the broader context of their emotional health and socioeconomic situation. This requires sensitive listening and careful observation.

One doesn’t have to major in art history or spend years roaming through the sometimes dark and dusty halls of the world’s museums to progress from being one who simply looks to a person who really sees the environment and its inhabitants. It is really a state of mind and a commitment to improvement.

As physicians, we often complain or sometimes brag about how many patients we “see” in a day. I fear that too often we mean “looked at.” How frequently did we make the effort to really see the patient?

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.