How Entomology Made Me A Better Artist
By Zoe Kim
“Kill Jar”. Sharpie on paper.
September 17, 2021
Last week, the cashier at Trader Joe’s asked me what I’d majored in. When I told him I’d studied insects, he smiled with his eyes above his mask.
“That’s so cool,” he commented. I lifted the upper third of my face in polite gratitude. But as I gathered my bags, he added, “I know I shouldn’t say this, but like, I hate bugs!”
“Oh… that’s okay!” I forced a laugh.
“Yeah, I just can’t imagine studying them.” He mimicked a shudder and passed me my receipt.
This past May, I graduated with a B.S. in entomology. With just under thirty undergraduates, we knew too much about each other and too much about how people really, really despise the creatures we find the most fascinating. Besides being subject to more than a few socially awkward encounters, us entomology undergraduate students also found ourselves becoming somewhat of a campus spectacle. Photos of us with our bug nets on campus popped up in the Snapchat stories of other students. Someone in the school paper likened our troupe to “a group of Animal Crossing characters”. At the very least, we were quirky and admirable for “following our passion”.
Entomologists study the most abundant and possibly most misunderstood animals on earth. Insects make up over half of the classified species on earth and form the foundations of entire ecosystems. But, it is safe to say that most people do not appreciate the role they play. So when someone who hates insects meets an entomology major, their sudden loss of basic tact (as displayed by the Trader Joe’s cashier) seems to be stemming from confusion. After all, why would someone study the thing so many people hate most?
The misunderstanding is frustrating. I wanted to be able to explain why insects are not just fascinating subjects, but how their biology is incredible, how their behavior is captivating, and how their anatomy is beautiful. The barriers of fear and disgust, however, proved stronger than I expected. Eventually, I stopped trying to persuade and focused on strengthening appreciation for insects in people who were willing to foster it.
Still, I discovered yet another issue. Many of the papers I read for classes appeared to have taken that conclusion even further, deciding that there was no need for non-entomologists to learn about entomological research. Academics had inadvertently created an exclusive pod, sealed by jargon and technical language. Out of exasperation towards this phenomenon, my role as a science-communications illustrator was born.
I had already been illustrating entomology for non-entomologists without realizing it. A classmate asked me what the difference between a fly and a bee was. I sketched the two side by side. I made them a little cartoonish to ward off the knee-jerk reaction that some have to images of bugs. He viewed my diagram for a moment, noted the differences in the number of wings and the eye sizes between the two organisms, and thanked me. And to my relief, this was all without fear or repulsion. Drawing insects and related concepts encouraged me to accommodate both hesitant and open-minded audiences. Good science illustration allows the viewer to understand the information in front of them well enough that they can draw their own conclusions. If that means that some insect body parts have to be tweaked a bit to appear less outwardly horrifying, I can accept that. Science illustration has challenged me to draw compassionately.
While I’m less inclined to be concerned with an audience’s comfort in my non-scientific art, my encounters with people who hate the insects I study have taught me to take an outside perspective, try my best to understand it, and neutrally respect it. I no longer feel focused on pleasing an audience, or pray that people find my art “enjoyable”. Just as people have varied reactions to insects, people have different reactions to visual representations. Of course, I can continue to dream that someone looking at my art might examine their discomfort, and learn something about themselves in the process.
As it turns out, illustrating anatomically correct insects is an excellent way to evoke an unsettling feeling. Though I’ve since decided to part ways with being a scientist, I think that insects, along with the complicated feelings they can stir up, will continue to make appearances in my work.
