Machine learning microscope adapts lighting to improve diagnosis

In the initial proof-of-concept study, the microscope simultaneously developed a lighting pattern and classification system that allowed it to quickly identify red blood cells infected by the malaria parasite more accurately than trained physicians and other machine learning approaches.

The results appear online on November 19 in the journal Biomedical Optics Express.

“A standard microscope illuminates a sample with the same amount of light coming from all directions, and that lighting has been optimized for human eyes over hundreds of years,” said Roarke Horstmeyer, assistant professor of biomedical engineering at Duke.

“But computers can see things humans can’t,” Hortmeyer said. “So not only have we redesigned the hardware to provide a diverse range of lighting options, we’ve allowed the microscope to optimize the illumination for itself.”

Rather than diffusing white light from below to evenly illuminate the slide, the engineers developed a bowl-shaped light source with LEDs embedded throughout its surface. This allows samples to be illuminated from different angles up to nearly 90 degrees with different colors, which essentially casts shadows and highlights different features of the sample depending on the pattern of LEDs used.

The researchers then fed the microscope hundreds of samples of malaria-infected red blood cells prepared as thin smears, in which the cell bodies remain whole and are ideally spread out in a single layer on a microscope slide. Using a type of machine learning algorithm called a convolutional neural network, the microscope learned which features of the sample were most important for diagnosing malaria and how best to highlight those features.

The algorithm eventually landed on a ring-shaped LED pattern of different colors coming from relatively high angles. While the resulting images are noisier than a regular microscope image, they highlight the malaria parasite in a bright spot and are correctly classified about 90 percent of the time. Trained physicians and other machine learning algorithms typically perform with about 75 percent accuracy.

“The patterns it’s picking out are ring-like with different colors that are non-uniform and are not necessarily obvious,” said Horstmeyer. “Even though the images are dimmer and noisier than what a clinician would create, the algorithm is saying it’ll live with the noise, it just really wants to get the parasite highlighted to help it make a diagnosis.”

Horstmeyer then sent the LED pattern and sorting algorithm to another collaborator’s lab across the world to see if the results were translatable to different microscope setups. The other laboratory showed similar successes.

“Physicians have to look through a thousand cells to find a single malaria parasite,” said Horstmeyer. “And because they have to zoom in so closely, they can only look at maybe a dozen at a time, and so reading a slide takes about 10 minutes. If they only had to look at a handful of cells that our microscope has already picked out in a matter of seconds, it would greatly speed up the process.”

The researchers also showed that the microscope works well with thick blood smear preparations, in which the red blood cells form a highly non-uniform background and may be broken apart. For this preparation, the machine learning algorithm was successful 99 percent of the time.

According to Horstmeyer, the improved accuracy is expected because the tested thick smears were more heavily stained than the thin smears and exhibited higher contrast. But they also take longer to prepare, and part of the motivation behind the project is to cut down on diagnosis times in low-resource settings where trained physicians are sparse and bottlenecks are the norm.

With this initial success in hand, Horstmeyer is continuing to develop both the microscope and machine learning algorithm.

A group of Duke engineering graduate students has formed a startup company SafineAI to miniaturize the reconfigurable LED microscope concept, which has already earned a $120,000 prize at a local pitch competition.

Meanwhile, Horstmeyer is working with a different machine learning algorithm to create a version of the microscope that can adjust its LED pattern to any specific slide it’s trying to read.

“We’re basically trying to impart some brains into the image acquisition process,” said Horstmeyer. “We want the microscope to use all of its degrees of freedom. So instead of just dumbly taking images, it can play around with the focus and illumination to try to get a better idea of what’s on the slide, just like a human would.”

https://www.sciencedaily.com/rss/all.xml

ART SEEN: Transit and Returns makes discoveries as it travels around the Pacific

Credit to Author: Kevin Griffin| Date: Thu, 21 Nov 2019 19:34:02 +0000

Seeing Transits And Returns is like going on a journey: there’s a sense of discovery at every stop along the way.

The exhibition brings together a diverse group of indigenous artists from around the Pacific, many of whom have never been exhibited at the Vancouver Art Gallery before. Despite being separated by thousands of kilometres from one another, many artists share similar stories and approaches such as rediscovering lost or nearly forgotten art-making methods and techniques. Transits and Returns also shows similarities in the way colonialism has worked and continues to work in English-speaking countries that have come to dominate indigenous territories.

The exhibition has already travelled extensively: previous versions were presented as The Commute at the Institute of Modern Art in Brisbane, Australia in 2018 and as Layover at Artspace Aotearoa in Auckland, New Zealand earlier this year. This iteration is the largest of the three with 21 artists, including several from B.C.

Carol McGregor’s Skin Country (detail above) is one of the works that created a sense of discovery for me. Skin Country is among a group of crafted works that include four of Debra Sparrow’s gorgeous sheep’s wool blankets. They’re made with such luxurious-looking fabric they make you want to reach out and touch them. Placed at the beginning of Transit and Returns, they act as material invitations into the exhibition. McGregor and Sparrow are also artists who have each independently rediscovered and regenerated indigenous art-making practices using fabric.

McGregor’s work is a shawl made from possum skins. The side of the shawl facing outward is covered with numerous botanical illustrations of the kind made by early European explorers when they were classifying new fauna. The shawl has a squiggly line from a darkened corner in the top right down through the middle that resembles a meandering river through a landscape. I knew the shawl was from Australia and imagined the image was similar to the dreamtime paintings I’ve seen in other galleries. In this case, the squiggle is a map of the Maiwar (Brisbane) River and the drawings, a record of the area’s indigenous plants and foods told by elders to McGregor who is of Wathaurung and Scottish descent.

Since the shawl isn’t displayed flush against the wall, I peeked behind. When I did, I felt like I’d discovered another world: this one was of the grey fur of the scores of possum skins that comprise the cloak. On the ‘front’ side with the map and illustrations, the sewn lines between the pelts resembling a wonky grid of the landscape; on the ‘back’, the fur would have been worn closer to the body and suggests the inner world of intimacy and warmth.

In the next exhibition room, the space is dominated by a big red neon work high up on the wall by Marianne Nicolson of Dzawada’enuxw and Scottish heritage. In Kwakwala, the language of the Kwakwaka’wakw, the neon reads: Wa’lasan xwalsa kan ne’nakwe. In English, the translation is Oh, How I Long for Home. The bright red light bounced off the floor’s smooth surface like neon reflecting off wet pavement. It made me think of someone from Alert Bay or Kingcome Inlet looking out a hotel window on a bleak winter day and thinking they’d rather be back home.

When Harry Met Sally. I mean, when my Mom met my Dad. I mean, when my Ancestors met my Ancestors. I mean, when a Lace Front met Smoked Skin by Natalie Ball (detail.) Photo: Kevin Griffin PNG

In the same exhibition area is a work by Bracken Hanuse Corlett of Wuikinuxv and Klahoose descent. It’s called Qvatix (detail of image below) which means dance blanket. The front of the work is a button blanket with abalone and mussel shells that catch the light from Nicolson’s nearby neon work. The blanket depicts the Hanuse family crest figure Kvulus the transformer who is shown as a Thunderbird clutching a sisiutl, a double headed sea serpent.

To fully experience Qvatix, you have to walk around the button blanket and discover its other side. The back of the button blanket is a screen for a more contemporary version of Kvulus. He’s shown as an animated figure changing from human to thunderbird.

Across the rotunda are several works with an edge to them.

One that I kept coming back to several times is by Natalie Ball, of Modoc and Klamath First Nations in the U.S. Her sculptural work on the wall resembles a screaming moccasin. It has a long title that reads like a collision of different cultures and times: When Harry Met Sally. I mean, when my Mom met my Dad. I mean, when my Ancestors met my Ancestors. I mean, when a Lace Front met Smoked Skin (detail of image above).

The work’s central feature is a moccasin deformed into a permanent rictus of pain: the mouth has a handful of shell bead teeth impaled with metal pins. It’s surrounded by a black wig whose curls tumble down the wall in a way that’s carefree and playful and in complete opposition to the deformed moccasin. On the plinth below is the other moccasin, half-wrapped in a standard white athletic tube sock but stuffed so that it looks like an amputated limb. If the work represents the contemporary indigenous body, then it’s a one that’s not only disconnected from its own physical being but also from its own history as well.

On the wall nearby is a work by Christopher Ando of Alutiiq, Hungarian and Norwegian descent. It’s comprised of 36 works that take apart and recombine paper versions of Norman Rockwell images, the all-American artist often who often created instant nostalgic images of so-called traditional family values. Ando has taken the originals, dissected them, and then put them back together in a grid-like pattern. According to the didactic panel, the rearrangement recalls the allotments of land in the U.S. Alaska Native Claim Settlement Act of 1971 which extinguished aboriginal title in the state and replaced it with for profit corporations.

The work on the lower left, for example, is Ando’s version of Rockwell’s Home for Thanksgiving which was on the front of the Saturday Evening Post in Nov. 24, 1945. The original shows mom and her soldier son sitting on chairs peeling potatoes, a pumpkin in the left foreground. Ando’s rational allotment is a jumble of unrelated squares that includes bits of mom, her son, and the pumpkin. The artist is doing what America has done to the Alutiiq: mixing up identity so much that the original is almost unrecognizable.

Transits and Returns is curated by Tarah Hogue, the VAG’s senior curatorial fellow, indigenous art, with Sarah Biscarra Dilley, Freja Carmichael, Léuli Eshraghi and Lana Lopesi.

Qvutix showing akoya, abalone, and mussel shell buttons, wool, digital animation is by Bracken Hanuse Corlett (detail). Photo: Louis Lim Louis Lim / PNG

Transits and Returns continues at the Vancouver Art Gallery to Feb. 23, 2020.

twitter.com/kevincgriffin

https://vancouversun.com/feed/