My interest in the design and making of medical equipment, and in particular prosthetic limbs, stems from a deep fascination with hospitals, medicine, illness and disability. I enjoy looking at vintage medical equipment and I prefer to use ‘medical’ themed colours (beige, pink, white, grey, brown) and materials (plastics, leather, metal) in my work. This interest has its roots in my firsthand observations of growing up with a congenitally ill sister. Her constant ill-health, and conversely my relative good-health, seems to have been the seed from which my interests have grown.
Throughout her life, my sister has had to use numerous medical aids and devices to help ease the symptoms of her illness. Often, these objects are functional and ‘ugly’ to behold; their primary concern was with performing a task. For example, breathing apparatus and intravenous drips would be produced in garish NHS colours, weird shapes and in materials that lent the objects little sense of worth or longevity (figs. 1 & 2).
[figures 1 & 2 – nebuliser and long-line IV drip // source – from author’s collection]
Whilst photographing my sister during a recent hospital stay I started to make connections between the medical equipment she used and the work I have been undertaking at the University of Brighton.
A project I completed in the first year of study was based around redesigning a prosthetic for a friend of mine who had lost her finger in a gardening accident. The emphasis was around bringing a sense of whimsy and playfulness to what was essentially a very serious situation and letting the wearer of the prosthesis take control of their identity by providing a set of interchangeable ‘fingerprints’ (figs. 3 & 4).
[figures 3 & 4 – fingerprint prosthetic // source – from author’s collection]
I took my cues from already existing medical equipment, such as the appliances made for a WW1 veteran (fig. 5). These interchangable appliances enabled the amputee to carry out a range of activities, such as drawing, writing, eating an smoking. I thought it would be interesting to try a similar approach for my project, but shift the focus from function to fun.
[figure 5: ‘Appliances Mechanical Substitute for the Arms’ by Mr George Thomson. British, 1919 // source – Wellcome Collection Website www.wellcomecollection.org]
On a very basic level, this was my way of playing with the idea of prosthesis as jewellery. More recently I have begun to wonder why craft and design do not play more of a central role in the process of creating medical equipment and prosthetics.
This blog focusses on a variety of medical aids and devices. Through the analysis of case studies, I am aiming to discover more about why design for disability is often more concerned with, as Graham Pullin puts it, “a human form and capabilities being achieved”1, rather than pushing design considerations such as aesthetics, crafting and materials.
I want to investigate the attitudes that wearers have towards their medical aids, for example: can a medical aid be worn like a piece of body adornment? Is wearing less non-functional medical aid just as valid and important as technical wizardry and life-like re-creation? And what can be done to improve the design and making of modern medical aids?
Hanna Mawbey - Creative Enquiry 