The human form in sculpture: a timeless fascination
Eldon Fayers, Eldon Fayers, Assistant Principal — Teaching and Learning, Hampton Court House School
The human form in sculpture: a timeless fascination
Eldon Fayers, Deputy Head Academic, Hampton Court House School The ages-old wonder of the human form.
The human form in literature
Rebecca Hobbs, English and Latin teacher, St Andrew’s College, Cambridge Representations of the human form, from Old English to Walt Whitman.
Christina Boyle, Music Tutor, Hampstead Fine Arts College
Christopher Woodward, Head, Bassett House School The effect of music on the human body, our memory and our senses.
Connie Cooper-Berkhout, Marketing and Events Co-ordinator, Dukes Education
Suzanne Holtom, Fine Art Tutor, Hampstead Fine Arts College The
Simon Pedley, Head of Academia, The Medic Portal
The relationship between what it means to be human and our place in the natural world. The
Wit and wisdom from the world’s greatest thinkers from our colleagues at Dukes Education.
Tim Fish Editor’s letter
Tim Fish, Editor-in-chief of Insight, is CEO, Dukes Education, UK, and founder of Earlscliffe, a co-ed, international boarding school for students aged 15-19, in Folkestone, Kent.
Welcome to ‘Insight’ No.17 and its articles on the theme of ‘the human form’.
Last month, as a family, we were lucky enough to visit London’s Royal Albert Hall to watch Canada’s Cirque du Soleil once more, this time the reprise of their 2005 show ‘Corteo’, the slightly mawkish tale of an Italian clown. Cirque du Soleil comes to town each year with its unique offer of acrobatics, juggling, contortionism, trapeze and comedy, wrapped in swathes of innovative design, transformational lighting and evocative live music. The human form is the sun around which the acts perform.
However, watching this latest show got me thinking if I had become a little spoiled by having seen the company on a number of occasions? More generally, had film, TV, electronic games and our 24/7 access to all these
media, lessened the impact of seeing what the human body can achieve? By the end of the show, of course, I was as much an admirer as I was a decade ago. What Cirque du Soleil does is to take on the impossible through accepting and conquering an unthought of level of both creative and physical risk, often simultaneously. The show’s designers and its daring performers inhabit a different world of limitations and possibilities to ours: the human form as we know it, has normal limitations. The human form of a Cirque du Soleil performer has been redrawn not only to disregard but expand and reconfigure those very limitations.
The human body or form, can also tell a story in a way that an author cannot. The creative risk taken by the body is supported by its intrinsic authenticity, energy and agency on stage. My daughter completed an Extended Project Qualification (EPQ) at a
Bringing Insight to a coffee table near you...
well-known school a few years ago. Her theme was based on the journey of an African child migrant to southern Europe. Her academic tutor (with a PhD) had never supervised a ‘performance EPQ’ before, which is what she chose to do — tell the story through contemporary dance, supported by academic research. The tutor was sceptical about the project’s ability to deliver a rigorous examination of child migration and my daughter became increasingly exasperated, believing a grade unbecoming was heading her way in August. However, come final performance time, the original choreography, powerful staging, the simple props of red ribbon and rope, and the mix of creative and physical risk on show, resulted in a visibly-moved tutor declaring ‘Now — I understand it’, and… an A* grade…
Tim Fish Editor-in-chief
‘To put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing’
Galway Kinnell
The human form in sculpture: a timeless fascination
Eldon Fayers, Assistant Principal — Teaching and Learning, Hampton Court House School, discusses the ages-old wonder of the human form
From the first handprint smeared on a cave wall to Barbara Hepworth’s graceful bronze, wood and stone forms and the visceral displays of Gunther von Hagens’ BodyWorlds, humans have always been fascinated with depicting themselves. Across millennia, across cultures, and across every medium from clay to bronze
to plastination, the human form has remained a constant and compelling subject in art. We have an enduring impulse to depict ourselves, and children are instinctively drawn to creating the human form in art. But why? And what happens when a child instinctively rolls a piece of clay into a ‘person’ for the first time?
The ancient impulse: sculpting ourselves into being
The drive to depict ourselves in physical form is deeply embedded in our history. Prehistoric carvings like the Venus of Willendorf (c. 28,000 BCE) and the Lion Man of HohlensteinStadel (c. 40,000 BCE) are some of humanity’s earliest surviving sculptures. These figurines are far more than simple representations — they carried symbolic, cultural, and likely spiritual meanings, much of which we can only guess at. They were tools for connection, storytelling, and understanding the world.
The British Museum’s Ice Age Art: Arrival of the Modern Mind exhibition (2013) showcased remarkable pieces such as the Swimming Reindeer and the Lion Man. These objects, crafted tens of thousands of years ago, are evidence of our early ancestors’ desire to represent themselves and the world around them. The Lion Man, for example, merges human and animal features, demonstrating not only an artistic impulse but also a complex symbolic understanding of identity and spirituality.
Much like these early sculptures, children today intuitively shape crude human forms when given clay or Play-Doh. Educational psychologists such as Viktor Lowenfeld, author of Creative and Mental Growth (1947), noted that the creation of human figures often emerges in early developmental stages of art, showing how fundamental this impulse is.
The child’s eye: replicating ourselves from the start
‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up’ Pablo Picasso
From the moment a child picks up a crayon or rolls a ball of clay, they begin to explore the human figure. Heads with stick limbs (‘tadpole figures’) are common in early drawings, reflecting both a child’s limited motor control and their focus on the most recognisable human features — the face, the hands, the legs.
Psychologists and educationalists like Jean Piaget and Rudolf Arnheim have shown how drawing and sculpting human forms help children make sense of themselves and their relationships with others. Through these simple shapes, children express emotions, tell stories, and even process complex experiences.
In classrooms, educators often notice how children return again and again to creating human figures. This impulse isn’t just about copying what they see; it’s about understanding who they are and how they relate to others. Sculpting a ‘family’ out of clay, for example, is not just play — it’s an act of emotional storytelling.
Research highlighted in Young in Art (2019) emphasises that children engage in artmaking as a multi-sensory experience. For them, creating human figures is not only a representation of the external world but also an exploration of their inner emotional
landscapes. Open-ended art activities, where children are free to explore without rigid outcomes, foster creativity, critical thinking, and problem-solving skills.
Like Galway Kinnell’s poetic reflection on the renewal and transformation inherent in artistic expression, children’s sculptures bloom with self-blessing. Each piece, imperfect and raw, carries a trace of their evolving identity and a sense of inner discovery.
Elliot W. Eisner, in his book The Arts and the Creation of Mind (2002), emphasises that artistic representation — whether through drawing or sculpting the human figure — goes beyond skill development. It fosters emotional intelligence, nurtures imagination, and offers children a powerful means of expressing their understanding of the world. For Eisner, the value lies not in the final product but in the process of creation, where children explore, experiment, and reflect.
‘The impulse to sculpt, carve, or mould the human form transcends time, culture, and technology’
The unfinished form and the essence of humanity
‘I would like my pictures to look as if a human had passed between them, like a snail, leaving a trail of human presence and memory trace of past events as the snail leaves its slime’ Francis Bacon
The depiction of the human form in art is certainly about creating a residue of ourselves in some way. Something about that external manifestation of something akin to our ‘essence’ allows us to reflect deeply on our sense of self and soul, fragility and strength. Auguste Rodin, one of the most celebrated sculptors of the human form, offers a profound perspective on our instinct to depict ourselves. Works such as The Walking Man and
The Hand of God reveal Rodin’s fascination with unfinished forms. These sculptures, often rough around the edges or missing limbs, seem to emerge organically from their medium, as if frozen in the act of becoming.
Rodin’s unfinished sculptures are not about perfection but about essence. They mirror the instinctive way children approach sculpture — focusing on capturing emotion, movement, and identity rather than flawless representation. Both child and master sculptor seem to share an understanding: the essence of humanity can be found not in anatomical precision but in the raw, emotional energy of form.
In Rodin’s work, as in Bacon’s imagery of leaving a trail of human presence, we see sculpture as a residue of experience — a physical record of energy, motion, and being. Each unfinished surface feels alive with memory, as though it preserves the moment of creation itself.
Conclusion: shaping our world through human form
The impulse to sculpt, carve, or mould the human form transcends time, culture, and technology. From the carved figures of the Ice Age to Rodin’s raw essence of humanity, Barbara Hepworth’s abstract elegance, Gunther von Hagens’ scientific precision (BodyWorlds, 2002), and Marc Quinn’s intimate Self (1991), in which he created a sculpture of his head out of 10 pints of his own blood — these representations tell stories of identity, creativity, and humanity.
At the risk of being aphoristic, in a technological age that will be defined by our relationship with AI, the act of physically shaping a sculpture — whether abstract or
figurative — stands as a distinctly human experience. Unlike algorithms, children’s sculptures are infused with their presence, emotion, and imperfection. Sculpture is not just about replication but about tactile discovery and emotional truth.
Like Bacon’s vision of art as a trail of presence and Kinnell’s reflection on transformation, sculpture is both a residue and a renewal — a physical trace of humanity’s endless desire to see, understand, and recreate itself.
The human form remains our most enduring canvas — a reflection not just of our physical selves, but of our shared humanity, continuously reimagined by every generation that dares to shape it. n
The Walking Man, Auguste Rodin The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
The human form in literature
Rebecca Hobbs, English and Latin teacher, St Andrew’s College, Cambridge, examines the representation of the human form from Old English to Walt Whitman
Where shall we find the human form in the written word? It lies prone, Agatha Christie’s ‘body in the library’ awaiting the cluesolving genius. It forms the ‘newfoundland’ of John Donne’s erotic love poetry as he watches in anticipation his lover undress for bed. It shimmers in Shakespeare’s Dark Lady sonnets as the writer hangs on every aspect of the female form, loving imperfection above all. It grows and shrinks with startling and disturbing results in Jonathan Swift’s and Lewis Carroll’s work or is created from the remains of other bodies, an unholy and unloved figure haunting the outer limits of our world and imagination in Mary Shelley’s gothic masterpiece. Who would have thought
that the human form could possess so much power to stir the minds of writers and poets — this fragile and transient form?
The word ‘body’ itself is substantial and solid. It has its roots in Old English ‘bodig’, which means a ‘trunk of a man or beast’, but the idea of ‘form’ is different and much more elusive. Its origins are murky and seem to be claimed by every language, but perhaps the Latin word ‘forma’ is the closest, suggesting the shape, the figure, the outline, something that has been made in the image of a Golem or Galatea. I am not sure if the word ‘bodig’ excludes women as having bodies or not but, as Margaret Atwood is keen to show in The Handmaid’s Tale and The Edible Woman, a woman’s body and certainly the form she
assumes in literature is often not her own and can be manipulated and reconstructed by more powerful forces beyond herself. Atwood’s brilliant tale of a woman depriving herself of nutrition, as her personal identity in the world is slowly eroded, reminds us that the human form in literature is also something that for a woman may slip out of her control.
Her ability to cling to the form of herself which she has mastery of, taking up space and not being afraid to do so, is a vital lesson for all readers. It reminds us of other female writers such as the Brontes and George Eliot who were forced to conceal themselves behind the male form to succeed. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, written almost 100 years earlier, is a stark reminder that, for some women at least, the struggle for body control continues as a narrative thread picked up by modern writers such as Virginia Woolf in her desperate search for a room of her own and Sylvia Plath, the hero of many young females of today.
The idea that ‘bodig’ may refer to man and beast, and that the two are in some ways interchangeable, is an amusing and grounding concept reminding us, in Hamlet’s words:
‘What
is a man
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed?
A beast, no more’
That we are in fact animals in another form and that our superiority lies, not in the human form itself, but in the mind which moves and galvanizes us. Mary Shelley uses her gothic horror story, Frankenstein, to ask us the same questions. What makes us human beings? Is it the superficial form which we assume or is it more than that? Does the surface really matter, the corporeal shell within which we exist? Is it the experiences of our lives that turn our bodies into ‘real humans’ and the way in which we choose to fill our space in the world?
Life from its inception is a painful and miserable experience for Shelley’s creature and its nihilistic view of society is a harsh reminder to the reader that we should be careful not to judge by appearance, and if
‘What makes us human beings? Is it the superficial form which we assume or is it more than that?’
we see only the beast then it is ourselves that is reflected. In a similar way the character in Carlo Collodi’s famous and well-loved fairy tale Pinocchio learns there is a great deal to be endured, learned and sacrificed before the body can turn from wood into flesh and blood. The precious body which the wooden boy longs to inhabit and holds so superior to his own may not be as valuable as he believes. The idea that the human form may be a changeable surface has been explored in other works such as Kafka’s Metamorphoses, where the human body morphs into an insect and Gregor Samsa finds he has become ‘a monstrous vermin’. This powerful novel explores the attitude of others to this change as well as the main character’s feelings of
alienation as the people he knows and loves ignore and marginalise him. Of course, Ovid is the prime writer on change and the translation of his poem by Ted Hughes is a beautiful work retelling the ancient myths of transformation. In myths, bodies form trees, stars and flowers — the world is explained through the ‘mythos’ or pleasing arrangement of words and the human form becomes an integral part of nature. Through the myths we learn the origins of all things, but we also learn that the human form is very much a part of the world we inhabit — that our atoms merge into the atoms of a tree or a flower and that ‘all flesh is grass’ but not in a negative way. We simply have to accept that we are a part of the grand celestial whole.
‘We simply have to accept that we are a part of the grand celestial whole’
We could not discuss change of form without mentioning the most famous and perhaps the most amusing change of all in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream where the inward foolishness of Bottom is dramatically and visually demonstrated with an ass’s head; his inward form becomes his outward one.
Perhaps it is only right also to end with the final and unending joy in the human form found in poetry of all times and ages. Poets have the searching eye which examines every part of the human form and love it unconditionally. Poets are always struggling to escape the bounds of the form and merge with the world beyond — Andrew Marvell is a fine example with his Dialogue between the Soul and the Body and other metaphysical poets share the same obsession. Walt Whitman loved to ‘sing the body electric’ but for him the body and the soul are not disconnected but together form a beautiful intermingling continuance.
To read Whitman is to engage with a man who loves every aspect of human bodies, everything is alive and vibrant and violently astounding. He shows us that love of form does not have to be ethereal. Heinrich Heine writing in the 1800’s was very materialistic and surprisingly modern when writing about his love of the body for itself. ‘I love this white and slender body.’ E.E.Cummings ‘I like my body when it is with your body’ is very similar in tone, earthy and realistic, although years apart in time.
They all remind us that though some may make gods of their lovers, it is the true poets who see the imperfect form and love it for itself. This may be a lesson we need to relearn ourselves in the modern world of filters and deepfakes. As Virgil said Nimium Ne Crede Colori. Don’t trust to looks alone! n
Your body holds your History (and your Geography, Science, Music…)
Laine Redpath, mind-body coach specialising in chronic pain and chronic conditions, discusses creating healthy relationships with our bodies
Are you comfortable?
This was my opener to the group of educators who signed up for my talk at the Dukes Education conference in January 2025. I am a mindbody coach who specialises in chronic pain (neck and back pain, fibromyalgia etc) and chronic conditions (anxiety, OCD, fatigue), so, in itself, the question makes sense — but why use it by way of an introduction? Well, because although it’s a simple question, the response is always fascinating and so telling about our relationship to our bodies.
Are you comfortable right now? The first thing I notice when I ask is how often the other person takes no time at all to respond. A quick, yes! Which is the correct and polite response in our society? Sometimes just a shrug which, I suppose, means, ‘I guess so?’. Depending on the age group there will be the individual
in the room who shouts, ‘No!’ (maybe exposing something interesting about the impact of psychological discomfort on physical discomfort).
But the question I was really asking was: do you know if you’re comfortable? Are you aware of how your body feels right now as you sit in a room full of people, on a hard chair facing the front, being asked to sit still, be quiet and listen (we’ll get back to this set-up in a bit)? When you heard the question, did you take any time at all to check in somatically before answering?
What becomes immediately apparent is how many of us are either only dimly aware of what’s going on below our chins or dismiss all communications coming from ‘there’ almost completely. We’re so skilled at it too! Physical urges are powerful and yet we’re able to override them within the space of a moment.
‘But the question I was really asking was: do you know if you’re comfortable?’
Why is that?
Because we’re trained for it. We’re trained for it from the moment we start school. Any institutional setting depends on the homogeneous behaviour of a group. From a young age children are largely motivated by extrinsic rewards: if you do this, we will be pleased with you; if you do that, we will be displeased. Unfortunately, a lot of the things we don’t want children (and young people) to do are the very things that their bodies and nervous systems are sending urgent signals to their brain to do NOW: run around, fidget, move away from a busy environment, go to the toilet, laugh at an adult, fight, flee, laugh and spin around, hide, defend, sleep…
Remember that set-up I mentioned before: sitting in a large group on a hard chair, facing the front, being asked to be still, keep quiet and focus? We’re so good at being in a classroom. In the example of my talk, it’s likely that even those in the group who had a terrible time at school, masking their way through every day as a matter of sheer survival, whose bodies were even now yearning to rather be outside lifting something heavy, or in a quiet place reading the information instead of listening to it in a group — each and every person was more or less able to sit still, be quiet and (at least feign) focus.
Such good adults, such well-repressed bodies, ready for that desk job! That’s not a facetious judgement, that’s all of us processed through
a system that was created to serve a particular kind of socio-economic need.
Fast-forward into adulthood, is it any wonder that of the 33.7 million days of missed work per year, stress, depression and anxiety account for 16.4 million — just under 50% — and musculoskeletal issues for 7.8 million, or 23%?
In my experience working with hundreds of clients who arrive in my practice complaining of back pain, shoulder pain, stress, an inability to relax their bodies, poor sleep, anxiety, it’s an arbitrary line that separates psychological and emotional pain from physical (musculoskeletal) pain. I believe it’s possible to trace a significant proportion of ongoing pain to this ability of ours to sit still, be quiet and ignore our bodies to gain the extrinsic rewards we’re taught to strive for. Some individuals must pay a much higher price than others — when 70% of effort is being used to override the urge to fidget and shout out, that’s a mere 30% left to process what’s being taught. But we don’t grade on the 70%.
It’s common now to hear that ‘sitting is killing us’. But it’s not sitting so much as ‘sitting uncomfortably in habitual hunched-over postures for vast swathes of our days from childhood, doing small repetitive movements in unnatural light for abstract rewards, that form our sense of self-worth… it is this type of uncomfortableness that
is, perhaps not killing us, but definitely causing us considerable amounts of pain — both physical and psychological.
I have had many young adults come in to see me because they feel constantly tired and anxious; sometimes they have unexplained tingling in their extremities; they feel ‘down’. Often, the very first thing I will notice is that they aren’t breathing! Well, they are breathing so shallowly as for their breath to be almost imperceptible. (Perhaps that is how you are breathing right now? Take a moment to check in.) This shallow breathing which indicates a weak diaphragm can be directly attributed to spending too much time sitting in a fixed, hunched posture.
For teenagers especially, after feeling exhausted from sitting at school they may spend the rest of the day sitting or lying at home, with those that need it getting their dopamine or expending their testosterone through gaming. This is not their fault, it’s the reality we’ve all co-created.
The front of our bodies being habitually contracted limits lung capacity and lack of movement means we are not stimulated into breathing fully. Breath rate impacts heart rate which impacts brain waves which dictates body tension… ‘not breathing’ ultimately leads to chronic tension. Chronic tension can take the form of back pain as much as it can the form of anxiety or ‘panic attacks’.
What can we do?
There are simple and not-sosimple interventions worth considering. Being aware, for example, that boys’ testosterone levels increase 7-fold between the ages of 10-15 lets us know right away that to insist they sit still when their very chemistry is demanding that they run, play fight, fidget, build and go for targets — is a cruelty. Standing desks, short, sharp bursts of activity and, perhaps most importantly, the message that what their bodies are telling them to do is natural, powerful and good and can be channelled accordingly — could all make a significant difference to mental and physical health as well as self-esteem. Being aware of the major hormonal changes in girls’ monthly cycles and the impact of each phase on physical and mental strength and capacity — something that can be clearly and precisely followed and understood — can allow for young women from puberty onwards to play to their strengths and, again, to feel empowered by those somatic experiences being taken into consideration in daily life.
Encouraging connection with the body and expression from the body, for example giving more weight to activities like singing and PE and introducing intermittent movement and task-switching are all things that could potentially fit within the education system. Installing a 30-minute-maximum requirement to sit and focus on one task, then providing a 3-5 minute fidgeting,
breathing — or simply standing-up — break, might turn a few lives around.
My hope is that our children know when they are uncomfortable and have the tools and nervous system flexibility to deal with discomfort without suppressing it, or feel free to make themselves comfortable without fearing retribution. Life is not about being comfortable all the time, I know, in fact, stress and discomfort are important resilience-builders and motivators — but we are faced with an epidemic
of chronic pain and chronic conditions and if we start with our own relationship to our bodies and how healthy that relationship is, we can start to undo some of the damage and create different outcomes for ourselves and our loved ones. n
Laine Redpath is a mind-body coach specialising in chronic pain and chronic conditions.
She is qualified in Pain-ReprocessingTherapy, Gestalt Counselling and a body work therapy called Body Stress Release. She is also a Clinical Somatics Exercise teacher. She is based in Brighton and London. Find her at thegoodbodyspace.com and @thegoodbodyspace on social media channels.
‘Encouraging connection with the body could potentially fit within the education system’
The power of the voice
Christina Boyle, Music Tutor, Hampstead Fine Arts College, reflects on mental health and well-being
Music has long been recognised for its power to uplift, soothe, and inspire. Among all forms of musical expression, singing, particularly in groups, stands out as a particularly effective tool for enhancing mental health. The act of singing engages not only the voice but also the mind and body, creating a holistic experience that can promote emotional and psychological well-being.
Research has consistently shown that singing has a profound impact on mental health. Whether it’s singing solo or in a
group, the act of vocalising helps reduce stress, elevate mood, and improve overall emotional regulation. Singing triggers the release of endorphins, the body’s natural ‘feel-good’ hormones, and reduces cortisol, a hormone associated with stress. A study published in The Journal of Music Therapy (2015) found that group singing significantly lowered participants’ cortisol levels and led to improvements in mood, indicating that singing can provide immediate stress relief and emotional benefits.
In addition to its stress-relieving properties, singing is beneficial for individuals dealing
with anxiety and depression. Singing activates deep breathing, which can induce a state of relaxation by stimulating the ‘rest-anddigest’ nervous system, the part of the body responsible for calming the body after stress. This physiological response can help manage symptoms of anxiety and depression. A study in Frontiers in Psychology (2016) highlighted that individuals who engaged in group singing reported improved emotional regulation, lower levels of anxiety, and increased feelings of well-being.
The social aspect of singing in a group also plays a significant role in improving mental health. Group singing fosters a sense of community and belonging, reducing feelings of loneliness and social isolation. Studies have shown that when people sing together, it creates a shared experience that strengthens social bonds and provides a sense of connection. This is particularly important for mental health, as social isolation is a major risk factor for depression and anxiety.
Singing in a group provides individuals with a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Learning new songs, rehearsing with others, and performing can boost self-esteem and provide a structured activity that promotes both personal and collective achievement. This sense of progress can be especially beneficial for people struggling with low self-worth or mental health challenges. Research published in Psychology of Music (2016) found that choir participants reported improved emotional well-being and stronger social connections compared to non-singers.
Beyond emotional and social benefits, singing also offers cognitive advantages. Engaging in musical activities, such as learning and memorising lyrics, stimulates various areas of the brain, particularly those involved in memory, attention, and motor control. This can help improve cognitive function, especially in older adults. For instance, a study published in Ageing & Mental Health (2014) found that older adults who participated in singing programmes showed enhanced cognitive function, including better verbal memory and attention, compared to those who did not engage in such activities. These findings suggest that singing can provide long-term
Xiwen Feng, International School of Athens, performing at the Dukes Festival of the Arts
‘These findings suggest that singing can provide long-term benefits for cognitive health, especially in ageing populations’
benefits for cognitive health, especially in ageing populations.
The use of singing in music therapy has gained widespread recognition for its benefits in mental health treatment. Music therapy programmes often incorporate singing to help individuals with a variety of conditions, including trauma, anxiety, depression, and cognitive disorders. For example, programmes like ‘Chiltern Music Therapy’ has been used to support individuals with dementia, enhancing memory recall, reducing agitation, and improving emotional well-being. A study published in The Journal of Music Therapy (2014) found that singing-based interventions significantly improved the quality of life for people with dementia, promoting cognitive function and reducing behavioural symptoms.
Singing is a universal language, transcending cultural and linguistic barriers. This makes it an especially powerful tool
for emotional expression and connection.
As Sir Simon Rattle has noted, ‘The power of music, particularly the human voice, is truly transformative. It’s not just about the notes; it’s about the release, the connection, and the shared experience’. When people sing together, they create a shared emotional experience that fosters feelings of unity and belonging, making it a valuable tool for enhancing both individual and collective mental health.
The mental health benefits of singing are clear. From reducing stress and anxiety to improving mood and cognitive function, singing provides a holistic approach to emotional well-being. The act of singing promotes relaxation, enhances social connection, and offers an outlet for emotional expression. Whether in a choir or individually, singing can be a powerful tool for managing mental health and building resilience. n
‘The power of music, particularly the human voice, is truly transformative’
Pupils at The Pointer School and Eaton House The Manor Boys performing at the Dukes Festival of the Arts
Name the unnameable: the effect of music
Christopher Woodward, Head, Bassett House School, considers the effect of music on the human body, our memory and our senses
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?...’ I suspect that, whatever your generation or musical background, your immediate response to reading these opening two questions was, ‘Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality’.
Perhaps those of you who know your 1980s music particularly well may even have heard a melody and rhythm inside your head. Further still, you might have found yourself singing the
B flat with which Freddie Mercury opens Queen’s iconic Bohemian Rhapsody. This epic song lasts nearly six minutes — almost double the length of any track released in the mainstream charts at the time. It is worth noting that it did not fill these minutes by repeating a particular catchy chorus… today’s musicians, take note!
Few could have predicted this song’s lasting cultural impact. It was able to appeal to a wide audience. The listener was taken on a
journey through the genres of ballad, opera and hard rock without jarring moments that need ‘reworking’ (as is said in the industry!).
Before reading further, I encourage you to hold in your mind a particular piece or song that resonates with you. Whether this creates positive, joyful memories, or perhaps reminds you of a more challenging time, keeping this music with you as you read may help to illustrate some of my thoughts written here.
I must also preface the remainder of this piece by stating that this is not an encomium to the Bohemian Rhapsody itself, though interesting that may be to some. Rather, it is a comment that serves to remind us of the effect that music has on our body, our senses, and our memories.
‘Studies showed how listening to classical music can lower blood pressure and reduce stress hormones like cortisol’
So, what is music?
The simplest answer is that music is an organised sequence of sounds. Yet we know it is more than this. We know this because it is a sensory experience: we feel when we listen. Whilst extensively backed up by science, musicians have also turned to philosophers to answer the question.
Nicholas Cook, a leading musicologist, suggests that music ‘is not just an object or a thing, but rather an activity, a cultural practice, and a medium of communication’, emphasising its fluidity.
In thinking about your chosen piece of music, it is likely the case that the notes on the page are one of the last things you may have considered. Instead, it is perhaps the context,
activity or experience that sits alongside these organised sounds which forges your experience.
Head & heart:
College students who listened to Mozart’s Sonata for Two Pianos in D Major (K448) showed improved spatial reasoning skills (Rauscher et al, 1993). While heavily debated at the time (Chabris 1999, Steele et al, 1999), a range of study supported the findings, adding credibility to what we now know as The Mozart Effect (Jenkins, 2001).
But music doesn’t just resonate in the brain — it also affects the heart. Studies showed how listening to classical music can lower blood pressure and reduce stress hormones like cortisol (Thoma et al, 2013, Adiasto et al 2022, Song et al, 2023, Arnold et al, 2024).
It doesn’t end there. The vibrations of sound waves physically interact with our bodies. Vibroacoustic therapy, which uses lowfrequency sound to alleviate pain and tension, is gaining momentum in clinical settings. The late Leonard Bernstein, one of the greatest music educators of the twentieth century, was not exaggerating when he said, ‘Music can name the unnameable and communicate the unknowable’. It can also recalibrate our very physiology.
Music’s home:
If music has a home, it is in memory. Specifically, it happens to be in the
hippocampus and prefrontal cortex, areas of brain associated with memory, and activated by music.
In patients with Alzheimer’s disease or dementia, music has proven to be a remarkable key to locked memories, where individuals had previously been unable to retrieve them (Clark and Warren, 2015). Even more surprisingly perhaps, musical memory remains relatively intact in neurodegenerative disease, making it an increasingly valuable tool in medicine (Jacobsen et al, 2015).
The greatest of art forms?
German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer famously argued that music is the purest form of art — surpassing painting, sculpture, and literature — because it speaks directly to the will, bypassing rational thought. In his seminal work, The World as Will and Representation, he posited that while other arts are mere representations or imitations of the world’s forms, music uniquely embodies the very essence of reality — the ‘Will.’
According to Schopenhauer, engaging with music allows individuals to transcend the mundane struggles of daily life. By immersing oneself in musical experience, a person can momentarily detach from personal desires and the striving characteristic of human existence. He goes on to suggest that music taps into the essence of human existence: it allows us to experience raw emotions without the need for words, active engagement or visual representation.
‘It allows us to experience raw emotions without the need for words, active engagement or visual representation’
Certain composers intuitively understood this. Wagner’s concept of the ‘Gesamtkunstwerk’ (meaning ‘total work of art’) combined music, drama, and visuals to create an immersive experience. Today, this principle extends to live performances, where lighting, stage design, costume, and even scent are all used to amplify the music’s impact. Such sensory layering is why film scores are left in our memory long after the credits roll.
Our daily lives:
This emotional versatility is why music is so integral to our daily lives — it serves as a soundtrack for both our most joyful celebrations and our moments of deepest grief.
For those of us who have been privileged to play music,
we too are able to experience a further dimension and connection with the notes on a page. The thrill of performance — when it goes well — is like nothing else. Ultimately, music’s power lies in its ability to create meaning where words fail. It connect us to ourselves and each other; it transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
In asking you to return to the piece that you have in mind, I hope that you might be able to recognise its extraordinary contrasting qualities — it may remind you of a particular point in time and it is equally timeless. These collections of sounds are etched in our own memory as an indispensable part of the human experience. It is medicine, memory, and meaning. n
Hold creativity in handsyour
Connie Cooper-Berkhout, Marketing and Events Co-ordinator, Dukes Education, explains the impact of creativity on mind and body
Inearly cried when I left my first ceramics class last spring. Not from the frustration brought by multiple moments of clay collapsing under my fingers — a disappointment you must learn to overcome swiftly, but from pure joy: for the first time in my life, I’d reached total mental peace.
I have been an artist all my life; from scribbling on my clothes and furniture with marker pens as a child (sorry Mum), to being obsessed with film photography as
a teenager, to eventually studying Illustration & Animation at Kingston University, where I discovered my discipline: printmaking.
During my third year, I experimented with linocut printing and fell in love. There’s something extremely exciting about working for hours delicately carving into a block, line after line, mark after mark, without truly knowing how the image will turn out, until the ink is rolled on the block and it’s pressed onto the paper,
‘For the first time in my life, I’d reached total mental peace’
finally peeling back slowly to reveal your creation. The idea of not knowing exactly what you’ve created in the moment has followed me throughout my life as an artist; the same concept exists in film photography. You carefully focus the lens, adjust the aperture, press the shutter, finish the film. Next comes the agonising wait for the photos to be developed, desperately hoping the lighting was just right and that none will come out blurry. Receiving the developed photos is always so exciting. Even more exciting is developing yourself, a process that happens in the dark, relying solely on touch, working with chemicals that reveal tiny images as the negatives develop.
I found the same in ceramics. So much time and care is taken to form a lump of clay into a delicate vessel with your hands, only for it to go through multiple transformations, fate entirely resting on how kind the Kiln Gods are feeling that day. Bisque firing shrinks the clay and turns it white, priming the surface ready to be decorated in glaze. When heat meets glaze, chemical reactions mean that those which initially look grey will be fired a brilliant blue, brick reds fired a sea green, salmon pink fired a bright red. Elements within each glaze interact and create new colours, drips and explosions. Silica in the glaze becomes glass-like under the intense heat of the kiln, the powdery surface melting into a smooth gloss. It is nearly impossible
to imagine how your finished piece will look.
There is another common thread which weaves these artforms together: they are all manual. It’s clear I enjoy the process of creating with my hands, and having to wait a little longer for the final piece makes the outcome even more satisfying. Each requires the connection of hands, body and mind. In photography, arms and shoulders must be in a strong position to avoid shaky hands that could cause blur, moving them carefully to find the perfect composition looking through the viewfinder, simultaneously watching the light meter and focus. In some situations, the whole body must be involved; sometimes finding the perfect shot means crouching in a muddy field, climbing up a wall, or lying on some grass. Lino cutting also requires a lot of physicality; pressure, force and delicacy control the carving tool as it cuts into the lino block. A slight change in force means a deeper cut, less pressure can mean a skid of the tool and a cut of the hand, a delicate glide means more detailed marks. A constant adjustment of these three factors is essential when carving. Lino cutting can be physically exhausting work; detailed pieces can take hours, and the repeated movement of carving becomes strenuous, with self-correction needed for posture. It’s very easy to be drawn in with eyes as close to the block as possible, watching over every detail. For years I wondered why I had such backache, until I
‘Mindfulness is key; you must be tuned into your body’
filmed myself carving a piece and it all became clear.
In ceramics, you become connected with the wheel. Sat on a short stool, with feet pressing into the ground, knees are wrapped around the wheel. Back slightly bent over, elbows are anchored into the legs to provide stability for the hands. Here, mindfulness is key; you must be tuned into your body. Bad back posture will lead to pain, leaning to one side will mean a warped vessel, unengaged elbows will mean less control and a wobbly pot. Throwing pottery is a game of tension, your fingertips must tell you if the walls of the pot are too thick or thin, they must find lumps and work them out, they must squeeze to create height in the walls, all with a gentleness so as not to make the clay too thin.
This level of awareness and connection requires concentration. Lack of concentration in photography will create out of focus, badly composed images. In lino cutting, lack of concentration means injuries or carving out wrong sections. And in ceramics, lack of concentration means a collapsed pot. Lino cutting always provides me with a bit of time where my brain is quieter, I give full concentration when the
carving tool meets the block, but I can easily be distracted and pick up my phone. Whilst throwing a pot, you have no choice but to continue with what’s in front of you. Ceramics has been the first opportunity in my life where my brain couldn’t think about anything else but the pot I was throwing — what I imagine meditation feels like.
Research shows that creating art ‘activates the reward system that releases feel-good brain chemicals like dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin that trigger sensations of pleasure and positive emotions’ (Magsamen Your Brain on Art: The Case for Neuroaesthetics). Combine that with working with your hands, which is shown to provide emotional and cognitive benefits ‘including improvements in memory and attention, as well as reductions in anxiety and depression symptoms’ (Heid Working With Your Hands is Good for Your Brain) and you have a recipe for some good feelings. Which would explain my near burst into happy tears after my first ceramics class.
In the ever-increasingly digital world, it’s important to remember what our hands are capable of and use them as the tools they are. n
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The life room
Suzanne Holtom, Fine Art Tutor, Hampstead Fine Arts College, explains the importance of life drawing and our response to it
The human body has proved to be an endlessly fascinating subject in art and the life room gives expression to this. Drawing the human body provides an opportunity to see, think and feel in relation to a direct experience of the world. It allows us to interrogate our own existence unmediated, confronting us with our own physical form and the often complex, emotive response to it.
A long view
Life drawing has a long history in Western art. During the Renaissance, the return to the ideas and models of ancient Greece and Rome gave rise to the primacy of the human figure. The depiction of the nude, in particular became one of the most valued forms in sculpture and painting. This could prove both controversial and provocative as depictions became increasingly lifelike and immediate.
In looking back to classical precedents there was also a new interest in scientific approaches, close observation and specificity, in particular the study of anatomy. Renaissance art also favoured idealised and beautifully-proportioned bodies with systematic training in the artist workshop. Mathematics and geometry are deployed in Leonardo’s Vitruvian man, a nude male with arms and legs apart inscribed inside the architecture of circle and square simultaneously. Durer’s detailed mappings of the human form also sought out perfect ratios and proportions.
Alternatively, in later modernist developments, artists challenged these traditional notions of the ideal and beautiful body through the radical fragmentation of the Cubist figure and the highly charged distortions of the Expressionist body. More recently in art schools, the dominance of Conceptual and Minimal art resulted in life drawing falling out of favour altogether.
Why the return?
To my mind, the life room today occupies a unique position of resistance to representations of the body. We live in a society with a constant flow of visual imagery, and endless repeated screen representations of the human body. People are exposed to more images in a day than someone in the Middle Ages would have seen in their entire lifetime. But these images are not meant to be looked at too closely or with sustained and critical attention. They operate at speed, with continual replacement, instant screen magnification and miniaturisation in spectacular dizzying abundance. The life room offers a radical alternative. When drawing directly from the body, images are unmediated, they are wrought from intense concentration, both hard-won and immediate. The life class provides an opportunity to confront the complexity of the human body through experiential learning — there is nothing between the student, paper and the
Life drawing class at Hampstead Fine Arts College
‘The depiction of the nude in particular became one of the most valued forms in sculpture and painting’
model. Only the possibility of transformation — a bodily form conjured from base materials, burnt wood, pigments and lead.
Through the wholeness of this encounter; through the continued co-ordination of one’s own hand and eye, the repeated acts of looking, making, revising and reworking, students are able to interrogate received ideas, dogmas, paradoxes and to negotiate vulnerabilities. Life drawing presents the increasingly rare opportunity for sustained attention and mutual respect. This, in turn, suggests a shared experience, that images of our bodies can contain the possibility of genuine meaning, difficulty and depth.
Extending the moment
Time can seem suspended when you are looking and making in relation to the human figure. The life room is, without doubt, a construct but this constructed reality can be an intense encounter. Participants rely not only on what is observed but also on a degree of imagination, intuition and the capacity to
invent visual languages. A significant question is often what to edit, what to leave out as much as what to capture.
Overcoming perceptual conundrums
A common life room problem can be seeing and understanding proportion and foreshortening. The challenging task of having to navigate the spatial complexities of your own body in relation to another. Measured drawing is a strategy deployed to assist the working-out of unfathomable angles with the simplicity of a pencil held perpendicular to a straightened arm. This helps us to prioritise what our eyes actually see rather than the misleading short-cuts our brain uses to navigate the world. We arrive at the desired results through trial and error. The patient and determined working-out of strange, seemingly absurd angles through measurement and plumb lines slowly reveals to us how one thing connects with another, how different parts of the body relate.
‘The shaping and pressure of a line on the human form can express strength, vitality or anxiety and uncertainty’
Under the skin
It is important to understand how our bodies are structured to create convincing three-dimensional drawings, to look under the surface of the skin. The muscular and skeletal systems are important to consider when drawing — one pulls us towards stasis, the other towards movement. The famous classical sculpture of Laocoon and his Sons, excavated in Rome in 1506, is a good subject for addressing these issues. It emphasises and exaggerates the muscular power of the embattled male; a twisting, writhing bodily mass of muscle and tension.
Drawing, experience and empathy
Drawing connects us directly through perceived experience, working our way around and through the body in front of us. We can become more aware of how our bodies move through space as particular poses may draw attention to weight, balance and structure. Quick poses force us to be bold, to act decisively in order to focus on what is most essential, whilst other poses may encourage a transcribing of emotional expression or narrative.
Empathy is one of the most important aspects of the life room, and the work of artists can be used as guides. Fiona Banner uses writing to bring the psychology of the life room into focus. To switch from drawing
to words can disrupt the expectations and conventions of the life room, giving voice to the more subjective thought processes unfolding between artist and model.
Looking and power
The life room can be an opportunity to discuss and experiment with attitudes, vulnerabilities and power relations when dealing with the human figure. In contemporary culture there is increasing interest in ideas around the gaze, which is essentially looking and power in subject/ object relations. Experiments with viewpoint, empathy and subjectivity enacted in the life room can enable students to critically question images in our own culture and to try to understand who is looking and why.
Drawing life
When drawing the human body, we are both detached and involved, suspended in an extended moment. The shaping and pressure of a line on the human form can express strength, vitality or anxiety and uncertainty. This extended moment can be one which questions power and viewpoint, or tenderness and vulnerability. Essentially, life drawing presents us with the privilege of allowing us to contemplate the human body of another, without ownership, judgement or indifference. n
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A fitness turnaround: health after 50
Jon Pickles, Director, Business Development, Dukes Education, enthuses about his new passion for fitness
I’ve never been a great one for exercise. I hated most sport at school, although in my teens got reasonable at cricket and cross country running and did a lot of cycling.
Gyms (until now) never appealed to me at all. For exercise I did a fair amount of cycling to work, a bit of cricket, annual hillwalking and skiing holidays, but not a lot else. As a career accountant and finance director I’ve spent a lot of time
sitting down at a desk tutting and frowning at numbers, and not much time moving about.
I also love my food and drink: beer, wine, curry, steak, cooked breakfasts, anything with cheese anywhere near it. When I was young, I had the benefit of a metabolism that kept me skinny as a rake, but that doesn’t last forever. In my late 20’s there was a perfect point for about six months when I was happy with what I saw in the mirror — but then came my mother-in-law’s
ridiculously good cooking and that put paid to that.
Throughout my 30’s and 40’s I felt OK, and by the time I reached 52 last year, I didn’t feel completely unfit. However, I had a fully-fledged ‘Dad belly’ and my dear daughter described my face as ‘puffy’. Alongside this I had a sore back, ridiculously tight hamstrings, and a dodgy knee.
My cholesterol test results were described in hushed tones by the doctor as ‘spectacular’. My BMI had edged into the ‘overweight’ zone (I’m 5’ 8” and was around 76kg). I struggled at times to keep pace with my sons on walking or skiing trips. When my daughter persuaded me to come on a short run round the common, I came back looking like a ripe beetroot. I’d even started to make those involuntary puffing and groaning noises when getting up or sitting down (that Billy Connolly once described as a symptom of old age).
I began to think — ‘if I’m like this at 50, what on earth am I going to be like at 70?’
Before joining my gym, I started doing Yoga, which was really helpful (and I still do it, with a wonderful teacher) but it wasn’t really enough.
I had heard about CrossFit through a couple of work colleagues but I never in a million years thought it would be for me. In fact, one of my colleagues looked at me as though I had completely lost my marbles. ‘CrossFit? Jon? You’ll die!’
However, I had a chance early last year when I took a sabbatical from work. I couldn’t take off and travel
the world and leave my family behind, and there was only so much DIY that could be done — so what better to do than try to get ‘properly’ fit?
Not having ever graced a gym before, I wanted somewhere where I didn’t have to work out what to do by myself. I also knew that the real struggle would be not starting at a gym but maintaining it, so I wanted somewhere with a community I could become part of that would incentivise me to keep coming back. So, I had a session with one of the trainers, signed up and hit it hard… and I found exactly what I was hoping for. I didn’t have to worry about what to do; the members and the coaches made me feel welcome; and I didn’t feel out of place. Yes, there were some scarily strong and fit people in class, but I took the teacher’s advice ‘don’t worry about the crazy people’) and at most classes there was plenty of diversity in terms of age and level of fitness. For those 3-4 months I averaged 4-5 sessions per week, including one week where I came in every day, leading the teacher to advise me to build in some rest!
I also didn’t need to attend one of the gym’s nutrition classes to know that covering every other meal with half a kilo of grated cheese was probably no longer a good idea. So, I started to eat more slowly (taking my wife’s advice, finally, after 20 years of marriage), watch what I ate, and get on the scales every day.
‘I also knew that the real struggle would be not starting at a gym but maintaining it’
The first few weeks went by in a blur. I’d come home exhilarated but exhausted, and sleep on the couch.
The next few months got interesting — I’d learned to track my scores on the app, and was hitting personal bests on a regular basis, even though I could still only do and lift a tiny fraction of what the ‘crazy people’ were doing. The weight was going down, the ‘Dad belly’ was shrinking. I’d managed things I never thought I could do (such as rope climbs). I astonished my daughter by doing a handstand in the living room. My wife started to take notice of how I looked again, it felt brilliant.
Fast forward to now, and I’m excited about CrossFit as ever, but there are two big challenges. Firstly, new gains are harder than those initial gains — so I have to manage my expectations and realise that there will be bad days when I feel I have gone backwards, and days where I feel that some movements or exercises will always be beyond me. I have to remember it is a long-term goal and think about what I might be able to do in a few years, rather than next week.
I also have to remember that I still have a 52-year-old body that has spent most of its life not going to the gym, so I need to listen carefully to
my body to avoid going too far and ending up with an injury.
And secondly, I’m back at work, which means scheduling in time at the gym is significantly harder to do.
Physically, I’m so much better. My weight has dropped by 10kg, my BMI is well inside the healthy zone. My waist measurement has decreased so much that I’ve had to buy new belts and trousers. My cholesterol is still high (maybe I need the nutrition classes after all), but it’s dropped significantly. I feel much happier in my body than I have for a while.
There are still aches and pains (in fact there are probably more aches and pains than when I started) but they are mainly ‘good’ aches and pains — that is, the ones that generally ease up when you start moving, not the ones that make you stop.
Scheduling time for the gym around work and family commitments is hard so I try
to take the opportunity to book-in for a session at any time I can. Of course, there are times when I just feel tired, and it helps to remind myself how energised I now feel after CrossFit, however exhausted I might have felt before.
People at work and in my personal life have noticed the change, which is great. My knees still hurt after a day in the hills, but they take 24 hours rather than seven days to recover. Like everyone else who does CrossFit I can now bore anyone within a short radius by droning on about EMOMs, AMRAPs and power cleans at parties. It’s given me new friends, and new challenges — I still hope that one day I can get to do at least some of what the ‘crazy people’ can do; in the meantime I’m getting fitter and stronger rather than older and stiffer. And my wife is very, very, happy. Happy wife, happy life! n
Getting under the skin
Simon Pedley, Head of Academia, The Medic Portal, examines the relationship between our scientific understanding of what it means to be human and our place in the natural world and wider society
The human form has captivated scientists, artists, philosophers, and writers for centuries, serving as a symbol of biological complexity, evolutionary marvel, and the essence of human identity. From the earliest anatomical studies to contemporary genetic research, the exploration of the human body has been central to understanding not only our physical nature but also our place in the natural world and our potential for future advancements.
Scientifically, the study of the human form has advanced
significantly from ancient times to the modern era. Early anatomical knowledge, as seen in the works of ancient Greek physicians like Hippocrates and Galen, laid the groundwork for future discoveries. These early scholars provided rudimentary insights into the structure and function of the human body, often based on animal dissections and limited human observation. However, it was during the Renaissance that a more systematic and empirical approach to anatomy began to flourish. Leonardo da Vinci and
‘Leonardo da Vinci and Andreas Vesalius were pivotal figures in the scientific study of human anatomy’
Andreas Vesalius were pivotal figures in the scientific study of human anatomy during the Renaissance. Da Vinci’s detailed anatomical drawings, revealed an unprecedented understanding of muscle structure, organ placement, and bodily proportions. Vesalius, often considered the father of modern anatomy, published De humani corporis fabrica, a groundbreaking work that corrected many of Galen’s inaccuracies and provided detailed descriptions of the human body based on direct observation.
This work cannot be separated from the broader cultural and religious developments of the time. The de-sacralisation of our understanding of the natural world, earlier beliefs in the intertwining of the mundane and the divine typified in Greek myths and in more animistic Norse cultures, had given way to a clearer separation between the realms of God and men that had developed by the High Middle Ages. This reached its logical end point in the radical egalitarianism of the Reformation. The work of Da Vinci and Vesalius was predicated on an understanding of man as a series of systems to be mapped and studied, and less as an institution of the divine.
The scientific exploration of the human form continued to evolve with the development of new technologies and methodologies. The invention of the microscope in the 17th century by Antonie van Leeuwenhoek and Robert Hooke opened up new
frontiers in understanding the microscopic structures of the human body, leading to the discovery of cells, the fundamental building blocks of life, and laid the foundation for the field of cellular biology.
Our understanding of our place in the natural order was further clarified by the work of Darwin and Wallace on evolution through natural selection. Unlike the work of Da Vinci and Vesalius in previous centuries, this work led rather than mirrored changes in our understanding of the status of man. Although not in a manner in which the authors bore responsibility.
The work of Wallace and Darwin arrived as Europe was undergoing a reaction against the universalising rationality of the Enlightenment. The work of Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, in particular, emphasised the importance of will, and a will to power, that married with an understanding of evolution to produce the theory of eugenics that devastated the early 20th Century. A breakthrough in our scientific understanding of our origins had much broader implications for our understanding of humanity in general.
The mapping of the human genome in the early 21st century represents a monumental leap in our understanding of the human form at a genetic level. The Human Genome Project provided a comprehensive reference for studying genetic diseases, human evolution, and individual
variations, paving the way for personalised medicine.
Advancements in medical imaging technologies have revolutionised our ability to visualise and diagnose conditions within the human body. The development of minimally invasive surgical techniques, such as laparoscopic and robotic surgery, have further improved patient outcomes and recovery times.
Neuroscience has emerged as a critical field in understanding the human form. Research into neural pathways, brain plasticity, and cognitive functions has provided insights into how the brain processes information, controls movement, and influences emotions and decision-making.
Philosophically, the human form has been a subject of contemplation regarding the relationship between the body and the mind. Thinkers like Descartes proposed dualism — however modern neuroscience challenges this view, suggesting a more integrated understanding of consciousness as an emergent property of complex neural networks within the physical brain.
Culturally, the scientific study of the human form has influenced societal perceptions of health, beauty, and physical ideals. The dissemination of scientific knowledge has shaped public understanding of anatomy, physiology, and health.
Movements advocating for body positivity and diversity are informed by scientific insights into genetics,
metabolism, and the natural variation of human bodies.
Bioengineering, regenerative medicine, and nanotechnology are pushing the boundaries of what is possible when repairing, enhancing, and even redesigning the human body.
Bioprinting, where living tissues are printed layer by layer, holds the potential for creating custom organs for transplantation and wearable technology and implantable devices are enhancing human capabilities, monitoring health and providing new ways to interact with the environment.
In literature and art, the human form continues to be a powerful symbol and subject, often intertwined with scientific themes. Writers and artists explore the implications of scientific advancements on identity, ethics, and the human experience. From the exploration of genetic modification in science fiction to the depiction of the body in contemporary visual art, the human form remains a central theme in cultural expression.
The study of the human body reveals not only our physical characteristics but also our biological history, potential for future advancements, and the intricate interplay between our genetic make-up and environment.
As we continue to push the boundaries of scientific knowledge, the human form will remain at the forefront of inquiry, reflecting the ever-evolving nature of humanity itself. n
The last word…
Every week at Dukes, we share a ‘Quote of the Week’ offered up by one of the team. We’ve collected some of our recent favourites.
“A good teacher is like a candle — it consumes itself to light the way for others.”
Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
Thanks to Wayne Marshall, Principal, St Andrew’s College
“A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.”
James Keller
Thanks to Sandra Hall and Hannah Lang, Compliance & HR, Radnor House School
“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
Mahatma Gandhi
Thanks to Stefano Russo, Head of Maths, Heathside School Hampstead
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.”
Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
Thanks to Monica Lee, Primary School Principal, United Lisbon International School
“When you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.”
From the TV show Futurama
Thanks to Kevin Chung, Head of IT, Outer London Schools
“The woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.”
Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) was an American writer, clergyman, educator, and diplomat.
Thanks to Charles Kitchen, Year 5 Class Teacher, Eaton Square Prep
“To teach in a manner that respects and cares for the souls of our students is essential if we are to provide the necessary conditions where learning can most deeply and intimately begin.”
Gloria Jean Watkins (1952-2021), better known by her pen name bell hooks (stylised in lower case), was an American educator, theorist and social critic involved in progressive teaching pedagogy and social justice.
Thanks to Melissa Fernandes, Primary Teacher and IPC Lead, United Lisbon International School
“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.”
Dr Jane Goodall DME, English zoologist, primatologist and anthropologist
Thanks to Alex Lloyd, Science Teacher, Broomwood Prep Boys
“There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.” (Il n’y a qu’un bonheur dans la vie, c’est d’aimer et d’être aimé.)
George Sand, French novelist (1804–76), in her letter to Lina Calamatta on 31st March 1862.
“Last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.”
T.S. Eliot
Thanks to Tim Fish, CEO UK & Ireland
On 4th February, 950 students performed in the iconic Royal Festival Hall as part of the Dukes Festival of Arts. This showcased talent from across the family, to a sellout audience in celebration of Dukes Education’s 10th anniversary.
Scan to watch... highlights of the Dukes Festival of the Arts
The special event was hosted by a friend of Dukes, broadcaster and author, Gyles Brandreth. Guests enjoyed acts and a range of ensembles from chamber choirs, solo instrumentalists, monologues and an orchestra. A massed choir of 750 students performed an Aretha Franklin medley and Musical Medley, accompanied by West End stars as part of their repertoire.
The night hosted the finals of the first Dukes Young Musician of the Year Award. Judges, Managing Director, David Goodhew and Head of Basset House School, Chris Woodward were accompanied by external judges and drew on their musical expertise to crown the winner.
The evening also featured an art exhibition in a further display of artistic talent from across the group.
The Royal Festival Hall is home to London’s Philharmonic Orchestra. Performing on such a stage offered a truly memorable experience to all who took part. Proceeds from the Dukes Festival of Arts will go to the good work of the Dukes Foundation.
Dukes Education is a family of nurseries, schools, and colleges in England, Wales, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, Greece, Czechia, Croatia, Romania and Switzerland. Our schools cater for children from 0-19, serving them from their earliest years at nursery until they leave school to go on to university.
Surrounding our schools, we also have a collection of complementary education offerings — day camps, international summer schools, and university application consultancy services. This way, we create a wraparound experience for every family that joins us.
