Microscopic Eye Slides Throughout the Years (2022).
Histologically prepared ocular tissue sections (1.5–3.0 µm thick) from humans, other mammals, and fish mounted on glass slides and affixed to canvas; a range of fixatives (including aldehyde, oxidizing, compound, coagulant, and alcoholic types) and stains (e.g., hematoxylin and eosin, Masson’s trichrome) employed across specimens. Slides span antique/historic preparations to contemporary medical and research materials. The outer border is composed of antique microscope slides of non-ocular tissues. UV- and moisture-protective coatings applied to slide surfaces, with additional protection provided by UV-filtering glazing. Dimensions: 22.5” × 28.75” (57.15 cm × 73.03 cm). Collection of the artist.

I have spent much of my scientific life studying the structure and function of DNA, not as an abstract symbol, but as a molecule within cells and tissues. DNA is often described as code, inheritance, or identity, and all of those descriptions are true. But to me, DNA has always also been material. It bends, coils, stains, degrades, survives, and occupies space. It can be extracted, purified, preserved, visualized, and sometimes recovered. It is not only a language of life, but also a substance. My bioart began from that recognition.

I worked as a molecular biologist and anatomist, studying the organization of DNA in normal and diseased tissues. I was interested in how DNA exists in biological material, not only in test tubes, but in cells, organs, and histological tissue sections. My research examined DNA conformations, including Watson-Crick DNA, alternative structures such as Z-DNA, and multistranded forms such as quadruplex DNA, in tissues such as the ocular lens. That work shaped how I came to see biological matter. When I looked at a tissue section, I did not see only cells, but preserved structure, molecular history, and biological time held in place.

Eventually, I began to ask whether biological material itself could become art, not as illustration or metaphor, but as the substance of the artwork. That question led me to create what I now call Biological DNA Art, i.e., Anatomical/Molecular Biology Art, a distinct form of bioart. I incorporate preserved ocular tissues and their purified DNA directly into acrylic media on canvas. The eye is not painted only as a symbol of vision; the eye itself, or material derived from ocular tissue dissections, becomes part of the work. DNA is not simply represented by a double helix, but is physically embedded in the artwork. The finished pieces are both visual compositions and biological objects.

My training taught me to respect biological material. Tissue cannot simply be placed on a canvas and expected to remain stable, and DNA cannot be treated like ordinary pigment. To use biological material, I had to bring together the methods of biology, histology, anatomy, and conservation. The artwork had to be beautiful, but it also had to be prepared with care.  The eye became central to this work because it stands at the meeting point of science, and perception. Biologically, it is an organ of complexity, composed of transparent tissues, pigmented layers, the neural retina, vascular structures, muscles, and an optic nerve. Culturally, the eye has long carried symbolic power, witnessing, knowledge, beauty, vulnerability, and identity. When a viewer looks at my works made from ocular tissues, the encounter becomes reciprocal: the viewer looks at the eye, but the eye also seems to look back.

DNA adds another layer. If the eye represents seeing, DNA represents continuity. It carries the molecular record of function, shaped through evolution. Every eye, whether from a mammal, fish, amphibian, bird, or human donor specimen, reflects that evolutionary history and the principles of comparative anatomy. By placing tissues and DNA together in a single artwork, I seek to connect the biology of vision with the molecular foundation of life.

In my studio, distinct from my biology laboratory, I begin with preserved biological specimens, primarily non-human eyes from different species. These specimens are obtained from biological supply sources, teaching materials, pathology archives, tissue banks, and surplus research contexts. No animals are sacrificed for the purpose of creating the art; I work with material that already exists within scientific and educational systems. In one work, I also included a de-identified human donor eye for comparative anatomical reference.

Each specimen has to be handled as both tissue and future artwork. Some eyes remain intact, while others are dissected to reveal internal anatomy. They may be opened, sectioned, or separated into component parts. The retina, cornea, lens, vitreous humor, ciliary body, optic nerve, extraocular muscles, ocular fat, and pigmented tissues each behave differently as artistic materials. Some are translucent, while others are fibrous, dense, elastic, fragile, or strongly pigmented. Every tissue carries its own visual and biological character.

Preservation is essential. In the laboratory, chemical fixation is used to stabilize tissue structure and reduce degradation, and in my bioart it also becomes part of the artistic method. The choice depends on the type of specimen, its size and the intended work. A whole eye requires different handling than a thin tissue fragment, and a lens requires different consideration than a retina. I balance anatomical preservation with molecular preservation, especially the protection of tissue-bound DNA. This is where scientific training matters. If fixation is too harsh, it may preserve morphology but damage molecular recoverability; if too weak, the tissue can deteriorate. If moisture, ultraviolet light, oxidation, or acidity are not controlled, both tissue and DNA may degrade. The artwork therefore begins long before the first visible composition appears, it begins with biological stabilization.

In some pieces, preserved ocular tissues are converted into tissue-derived paints. This is a central aspect of my work. I am not simply attaching specimens to a canvas, but transforming tissue into a paintable biological medium. Fixed tissues can be washed, sectioned, mechanically dispersed, and blended into acrylic matrices. Retina, retinal pigment epithelium, ora serrata, vitreous humor, cornea, ciliary body, muscle, fat, and lens materials produce different textures and visual effects. Some create delicate, translucent washes, while others form dense, granular layers; some retain dark biological pigment, while others are pale, fibrous, or nearly ghostlike. They contain preserved biological material and, in many cases, tissue-associated DNA. When applied to archival, acid-free canvas, they become a new kind of pictorial substance, part anatomical specimen, part molecular archive, and part visual medium.

Purified DNA is another material I use directly. Much of the DNA in my bioart is obtained from normal adult bovine crystalline lenses, a tissue that is especially meaningful to me because of my scientific research on DNA structure in ocular systems. Notably, cancer does not develop in the crystalline lens, making it a uniquely stable and biologically distinct tissue. Extracting intact, undamaged DNA from such tissue requires careful attention to the biology of the organ, the condition of the specimen, and strict measures to prevent contamination. Once purified, DNA may be nearly invisible in dilute solution, a quality that is conceptually important. DNA is one of the most familiar molecules in the world, yet in this state it does not readily announce itself visually. It must be revealed by staining, concentrating, or drying. I sometimes tint DNA with laboratory dyes or histological stains, such as hematoxylin, or eosin, to enhance its visibility. In other cases, I leave it in its natural state, where, when concentrated, it appears as a white material, allowing its quiet physical presence to carry the meaning.

DNA may be stored in a stabilizing buffered solution, dried, or freeze-dried, depending on its intended artistic use. In its fluid state, it can be dispersed through media, allowing it to be integrated into layered compositions. In a semi-viscous state, it can be blended into acrylic media, whereas in dried form it can be deposited more directly onto prepared canvas surfaces. Each state exhibits distinct visual and textural properties. This variability is one of the most compelling aspects of the process: DNA changes as an artistic material depending on hydration, concentration, staining, and the surrounding polymer matrix.

As an scientist, I also think about verification. Before DNA is incorporated into selected works, its quality can be assessed using molecular methods such as spectrophotometry. I am interested not only in how DNA appears within the work, but also in whether it can persist over time. Some artworks are accompanied by matched test samples, or sacrificial coupons, prepared from the same DNA formulations, acrylic media, and protective coatings. These materials can be sampled later without damaging the finished piece, allowing for future analysis of DNA stability and recoverability. That possibility changes the meaning of the work: it is not only an object to be viewed, but also a long-term preservation experiment.

Canvas preparation also matters. I use acid-free, archival supports whenever possible. The surface must be compatible with both artistic practice and biological preservation. Neutral or mildly alkaline adhesives and acrylic media help immobilize tissues and DNA-containing layers while reducing chemically induced degradation. I prefer acrylic systems over oil-based media because acrylic polymer films generally provide a more favorable environment for biological stability. Oil paints can become more acidic as they age, and acidity is not ideal for DNA preservation. The canvas is therefore not a passive support, but part of the preservation system: receiving the biological material, holding it in place, and helping determine how the work will age and endure over time.

Laboratory dyes also enter the artwork. In histology, stains are used to reveal tissue structure: hematoxylin binds strongly to DNA, while eosin provides contrast for cytoplasm and extracellular components. In my art, these same practices are recontextualized. A stain that once helped identify tissue architecture under the microscope can also become a source of color in a visual composition. This shift from laboratory use to artistic use also reflects a personal influence. My father was a master woodcarver and guilder, and his work shaped how I think about materials, form, and art, and gave me a passion for it.

Gold leaf appears in some works as well. It has a long history in art, religious imagery, icon painting, and preservation, and is also used in scientific contexts, including histology and electron microscopy. In my work, it emphasizes both the preciousness and fragility of biological material. When ocular tissues are gilded, the eye becomes both a specimen and a relic, simultaneously anatomical and ceremonial. It invites the viewer to consider whether biological matter can be treated with the same reverence traditionally given to sacred, historical, or archaeological objects.

Ocular Cornucopia (2002).
Mixed biological media on canvas incorporating preserved ocular tissues and tissue-associated DNA from multiple species embedded within an acrylic composite matrix. Dimensions: 12” × 16” (30.48 cm × 40.64 cm). Collection of the artist.

One of my earlier works, Ocular Cornucopia, brings together preserved eye globes from multiple species. The piece emphasizes differences in size, shape, color, orientation, and anatomical structure, but it also highlights continuity. Each eye belongs to a different organism, yet each participates in the broader evolutionary history of vision. The title suggests abundance, but the abundance is biological, as it reflects the diversity of forms through which vision has evolved.

Be All Eyes (2019).
Pig eyes stained with histological dyes and arranged as a typographic composition on canvas. Dimensions: 10” × 20” (25.4 cm × 50.8 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Be All Eyes, pig eyes are arranged to form a word. From a distance, they read like text. Up close, you see they are not painted letters but actual preserved eyes. The work connects language and anatomy, turning eyes into text while keeping their physical presence.

Eye Globe Tissue Sections (2009).
Histological eye tissue sections mounted on glass slides and arranged on canvas; hematoxylin and eosin staining emphasizes preserved DNA and cellular structure. Dimensions: 20” × 24” (50.8 cm × 60.96 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Eye Globe Tissue Sections, glass slides shift the scale from gross anatomy to microscopy. Histological slides with stained ocular tissue are arranged on canvas, reflecting my long experience with microscopy and tissue staining. To many scientists, a stained slide is simply an analytical tool. To me, it is also a visual field. The colors, structures, and cellular patterns have their own visual presence. In this piece, the microscope slide becomes both a scientific record and an artistic element.

Eye Chromosome (2016).
Cow eyes arranged in a chromosome-like configuration and joined with DNA-infused eye tissue paints. Dimensions: 12” × 24” (30.48 cm × 60.96 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Eye Chromosome, cow eyes are arranged in a chromosome-like form and joined with DNA-infused ocular tissue paints. This work is especially important to me because it brings together anatomy, genetics and DNA. The eyes create the overall chromosomal shape, while tissue-derived and DNA-based materials connect the composition. The result is neither a literal chromosome nor a conventional anatomical diagram, but a hybrid form that exists between cytogenetic symbol, ocular structure, and biological construction.

Golden Eyes (1999).
Cow eyes gilded with 24-karat gold leaf and mounted to project approximately 1 inch from the canvas via the optic nerve, forming a sculptural relief. Dimensions: 11” × 14” (27.94 cm × 35.56 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Golden Eyes, cow eyes are gilded with 24-karat gold leaf and project outward from the surface, creating a shallow relief. This gives the work a clear physical presence. The eyes remain visible as biological material rather than blending into the canvas. The gold changes their appearance, but it does not remove their original structure or identity, which still contains preserved tissue-bound DNA.

Eyes Wide Open (2012).
Yellowfin tuna eyes, with flattened extraocular muscles arranged radially to emphasize comparative ocular morphology. Dimensions: 16” × 20” (40.64 cm × 50.8 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Eyes Wide Open, yellowfin tuna eyes and extraocular muscles are arranged radially. The tuna eyes are notably large, an adaptation for vision in aquatic environments. By extending the muscles outward, I emphasize both movement and anatomical function. The work presents vision as a dynamic system rather than a static form, showing how the eye connects to muscle, motion, environment, and survival.

Eye on Chemistry (2024).
Abstract composition incorporating histological stains, laboratory reagents, purified DNA, and ocular tissue-derived paints, with an embedded tuna cornea. Dimensions: 18” × 24” (45.72 cm × 60.96 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Eye on Chemistry, the work moves toward abstraction. It incorporates histological stains, biological and chemical laboratory reagents, purified DNA, ocular tissue-derived paints, and an embedded tuna cornea. This piece reflects the chemical foundation of my process. Molecular biology is not separate from chemistry: tissue fixation and staining, DNA extraction, polymer embedding, and conservation coatings are all chemical processes. In this work, the chemistry of the laboratory becomes part of the visual language of the canvas.

Bulbus Oculi (2024).
Lateral representation of the human eye using layered pigments derived from ocular tissues and infused with DNA-based materials. Dimensions: 18” × 24” (45.72 cm × 60.96 cm). Collection of the artist.

In Bulbus Oculi, the human eye globe is reconstructed using layered pigments made from ocular tissues and DNA-based materials. The title refers to the anatomical term for the eyeball. The tissue-based pigments used to create the image are derived from different regions of the eye, including the retina, cornea, and related ocular structures. This connection between subject and material is central to the work. The material does not merely represent the eye; it is part of it.

DNA, Cleansed (2025).
Purified lens DNA applied directly to canvas to form the word “DNA.” Dimensions: 16” × 20” (40.64 cm × 50.8 cm). Collection of the artist.

In DNA, Cleansed, the approach is simple and direct. Purified, unstained, intact lens DNA is applied to the specially prepared canvas to form the word “DNA.” The piece asks a basic question: what happens when the name of the molecule is made from the molecule itself? The word becomes material, and the material becomes the word. It is both language and substance at the same time.

A Smattering of Eye Tissue (2001).
Paired compositions using tissue-derived paints from vitreous-retinal and ora serrata regions, highlighting distinct material textures. Dimensions: 18” × 28” (45.72 cm × 71.12 cm). Collection of the artist.

In A Smattering of Eye Tissue, tissue-derived biological paints from the vitreous humor, retina and ora serrata regions of cow eyes are used. The work shows how different ocular tissues behave on the canvas. Some spread more easily, while others break apart. Some stain the surface more strongly, while others remain fibrous or granular. To me, these differences are not imperfections; they reflect the biological character of the material.

Biological DNA Art adds another layer to bioart: the preservation of tissue and DNA within the artwork itself. No animals are sacrificed for the purpose of creating the art, and only a single deidentified human eye has been used. Ultraviolet radiation can damage DNA, moisture can accelerate degradation, and heat can increase instability. Acidity can affect the polymer matrix and the biological components, while oxygen and pollutants can contribute to the deterioration of tissue and DNA. For these reasons, a major challenge in this work is the long-term preservation of tissue-bound DNA. Museums, galleries, and collectors are already familiar with concerns such as light exposure, humidity, temperature, varnish, substrate stability, and conservation framing, and I therefore use layered protective strategies. Completed works may include conservation-grade coatings, UV-absorbing varnishes, reverse sealing, edge isolation, and protective framing systems, and when needed, UV-filtering glazing and humidity-buffering materials. These measures are not afterthoughts; they are part of how the work is made.

This concern with biological preservation reflects a deeper idea. All art exists within time, and paint fades, canvas weakens, paper yellows, and metals tarnish. Organic material makes this especially visible, as tissue and DNA remind us that matter changes. Preservation does not stop time, but it can slow it, record it, and make it part of the work’s meaning. My bioart exists in a space between permanence and vulnerability. I want the works to endure, but also to acknowledge the fragility of life. DNA can persist under favorable conditions, but it is not indestructible, and tissue can be stabilized but remains biological. In this way, the artwork becomes a balance between decay and preservation.

Double-Stranded Eye DNA (2006).
Fragments of adult cow eyes (Bos taurus) mounted on canvas and integrated with a stylized DNA helix; primary fixation in Davidson–Gagna solution followed by 10% neutral-buffered zinc formalin. Eye-derived tissue paints (retina, ora serrata, vitreous humor, ciliary body) infused with lens-derived DNA used to render the helical structure. Corneal and posterior globe components immobilized across the surface. UV- and moisture-protective varnishes applied with multiple wax coatings; additional archival layers used to compensate for the absence of UV-filtering glazing in the open-front presentation. Dimensions: 10” × 20” (25.4 cm × 50.8 cm). Collection of the artist.

This balance also raises ethical considerations. Working with biological material requires respect, and specimens must be obtained responsibly. In my work, biological material is not used for shock value, but is treated as evidence, structure, and form. It also reflects a broader responsibility to consider how biological material is understood and encountered within both scientific and artistic contexts. I am aware that some viewers may find the use of preserved eyes unsettling, and I understand that reaction. Seeing actual ocular tissue in an artwork can cause discomfort. I do not view that discomfort as negative; it can lead to a more serious encounter, reminding us that we are biological beings with connections to other animals. Our bodies are made of tissues, fluids, cells, and molecules, and science often asks us to look directly at this reality. Art can do the same, but in a different emotional way. For me, the goal is not to shock, but to make visible the connection between life, organic matter, and evolution.

As a scientist, I was trained to separate observation from emotion. As a bioartist, I do not fully accept that separation. A histological tissue section can be data, but it can also be beautiful. A purified DNA preparation can be a molecular sample, but it can also carry meaning. An eye can be an anatomical organ, but it can also represent seeing, memory, knowledge, and the vulnerability of perception. By moving these materials outside the usual setting of the laboratory, the work asks viewers to see them differently. My work exists in that overlap.

I also see this project as part of a broader history of bioart. Artists have used biotechnology, genetics, living organisms, microbial systems, tissue culture, and DNA in many ways. Some have encoded messages into DNA, while others have explored questions of identity, surveillance, mutation, and synthetic biology. My work is related to that history, but it takes a different direction. I am less focused on genetic manipulation and more focused on preservation, materiality, and the physical presence of biological matter in art.

In other words, I am not using DNA only as code; I am using DNA as matter. That distinction is important. In popular culture, DNA is often reduced to genetic information, its base pairs, i.e., A, T, C, and G. It becomes a linear sequence, a database, a forensic marker, or a form of genetic identity. In the laboratory, however, canonical Watson-Crick double-stranded DNA is something that is handled with care. It can be precipitated, stained, fragmented, modified, purified, damaged, and stored. It has physical properties, including viscosity, visibility under certain conditions, and sensitivity to environmental change. By embedding DNA into the artwork, I want viewers to encounter it not only as an idea, but as a physical substance.

The same is true of normal and diseased tissue. Histology often turns tissue, which contains cells, into thin, stained sections mounted on glass slides for diagnosis or research. These stains can produce striking colors that reveal structure while also creating unexpected visual qualities. My work extends that process into another domain, in which a tissue section can still carry anatomical information, but it can also function as part of a visual composition. In this way, the boundary between slide and artwork becomes less rigid. This is why I think of my Biological DNA Art as operating across multiple scales. At the molecular level, DNA is present; at the microscopic level, cells and tissue structures are preserved. At the macroscopic level, the viewer encounters whole eyes, dissected forms, canvas surfaces, reliefs, typographic arrangements, or abstract compositions. The work asks the viewer to move between these levels.

The works also function as biological time capsules. A time capsule is made for the future, preserving something from one moment so it can be encountered later. This gives the work a bio-preservation dimension as well as an artistic one. If a species represented in the artwork were ever to become extinct, the preserved biological material raises a larger question: could some trace of its genome remain recoverable from the tissue or DNA embedded in the work? I do not present that as a certainty, but as one of the scientific questions the work is designed to hold open. The works are meant to be seen now, but they also point forward. They ask what may remain decades from now: will the DNA persist, will the eye globes remain intact, can DNA be recovered from matched samples, and how will the tissues and acrylic matrices age? These are scientific questions embedded within an artistic practice. This continuing uncertainty does not weaken the work; it strengthens it. Science is not only a set of finished answers, but also a disciplined way of asking questions. My bioart reflects that approach. The works are complete as bioart, but the preservation study continues over time.

There is also a personal dimension. My career has moved through anatomy, histology, molecular biology, teaching, invention, and now art. For a long time, these activities may have seemed separate, but to me they were always connected. Early on, however, I felt that this artistic work was not something I could share, as it might have been seen as outside the expectations of academia and could have affected my path toward tenure and promotion to full professor. Human gross anatomy and comparative anatomy taught me to see form. Histology taught me to see structure within structure. Molecular biology taught me to see the invisible mechanisms beneath visible life. Art gave me a way to bring these ways of seeing together.

I do not view my bioart as a departure from science, but as an extension of it into another language. When I make a work from eyes and DNA, I am still asking scientific questions: what is preserved, what is visible, what is hidden, and how does material change over time? At the same time, I am asking questions that science alone does not usually address. What does it mean to look at the material of vision? What does it mean to turn DNA into a visible surface? To some extent, the work also functions as an ongoing experiment in the molecular preservation of DNA, raising questions similar to those asked when DNA is recovered from ancient materials, such as mummified remains or prehistoric specimens. For me, the answer is yes.

Biological DNA Art is my attempt to bring together laboratory methods and a canvas-based artistic form. In this work, DNA functions as molecule, medium, and record, while the eye is both an organ and a preserved specimen with symbolic meaning. The canvas becomes a place where anatomy, molecular biology, conservation, and visual culture meet. The viewer is not seeing a painting of life, but life’s materials, preserved and brought together in a new form. That is why the title Beauty Is in the Eye That Is Beheld matters to me. Beauty is not only in the eye of the beholder; in this work, it is also in the eye that is beheld, i.e., the preserved eye, the biological eye, the eye that once belonged to a living organism and now exists as part of the artwork. The eye becomes subject and material, something that is seen but also carries the history of seeing.

My hope is that these works encourage viewers to think differently about DNA, tissue, and the human and animal body. Rather than seeing biology only as medical information or scientific data, I want it to be understood as a material presence. The molecules and tissues that make life possible can also become part of visual culture. In this way, the work stands at the boundary between the modern laboratory and the traditional gallery, between specimen and artwork, and between preservation and presentation.

In the end, my bioart is about continuity: the continuity between science and art, between vision and biology, between DNA and identity, and between what we study, what we preserve, and what we choose to make visible. I began as a scientist looking at DNA in tissues, and I remain that scientist. But now I also ask what happens when tissue leaves the microscope, when DNA leaves the test tube, and when both enter the space of art. That is where this work lives.

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All images copyright and courtesy of Claude E. Gagna

Additional works from this series can be viewed at www.claudegagnabioart.com.

Art, Cellular, Creativity, Science