David Ogilvy’s 1982 Memo “How to Write” Offers 10 Pieces of Timeless Advice

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Nobody ever went broke writ­ing a read­able guide to writ­ing in Eng­lish, espe­cial­ly those that rise to the ranks of stan­dard rec­om­men­da­tions along­side Strunk and White’s The Ele­ments of Style and William Zinsser’s On Writ­ing WellBoth of those books endorse and exem­pli­fy the virtue of brevi­ty, but even such short vol­umes take a great deal longer to read and inter­nal­ize than this emi­nent­ly to-the-point Eng­lish style guide by the “Pope of Mod­ern Adver­tis­ing,” (and, for his part, a fan of Roman and Raphael­son’s Writ­ing That Works) David Ogilvy, orig­i­nal­ly com­posed in the form of an inter­nal memo.

Ogilvy sent it out on Sep­tem­ber 7th, 1982, direct­ing it to every­one employed at Ogilvy & Math­er, the respect­ed ad agency he’d found­ed more than thir­ty years before. “The memo was enti­tled ‘How to Write,’ ” says Lists of Note, “and con­sist­ed of the fol­low­ing list of advice:”

1. Read the Roman-Raphael­son book on writ­ing. Read it three times.

2. Write the way you talk. Nat­u­ral­ly.

3. Use short words, short sen­tences and short para­graphs.

4. Nev­er use jar­gon words like recon­cep­tu­al­ize, demas­si­fi­ca­tion, atti­tu­di­nal­ly, judg­men­tal­ly. They are hall­marks of a pre­ten­tious ass.

5. Nev­er write more than two pages on any sub­ject.

6. Check your quo­ta­tions.

7. Nev­er send a let­ter or a memo on the day you write it. Read it aloud the next morning—and then edit it.

8. If it is some­thing impor­tant, get a col­league to improve it.

9. Before you send your let­ter or your memo, make sure it is crys­tal clear what you want the recip­i­ent to do.

10. If you want ACTION, don’t write. Go and tell the guy what you want.

And since we all send out more writ­ten com­mu­ni­ca­tion today than we would have in 1982, the points on this list have only grown more advis­able with time. “The bet­ter you write, the high­er you go in Ogilvy & Math­er,” Ogilvy adds. “Peo­ple who think well, write well.” Amid all this prac­ti­cal advice, we’d do well not to for­get that essen­tial con­nec­tion between word and thought. I like to quote a favorite Twit­ter apho­rist of mine — and, per Ogilvy’s warn­ing, I’ve checked my quo­ta­tion first — on the sub­ject: “Peo­ple say they can’t draw when they mean they can’t see, and that they can’t write when they mean they can’t think.”

For more on the meth­ods of Ogilvy the self-described “lousy copy­writer” (but “good edi­tor”), see also Lists of Note’s sis­ter site Let­ters of Note, which has a 1955 let­ter where­in he lays out his work habits. A seem­ing­ly effec­tive one involves “half a bot­tle of rum and a Han­del ora­to­rio on the gramo­phone.” Your mileage may vary.

via Lists of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writ­ers

Ray Brad­bury Offers 12 Essen­tial Writ­ing Tips and Explains Why Lit­er­a­ture Saves Civ­i­liza­tion

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Writ­ing Tips by Hen­ry Miller, Elmore Leonard, Mar­garet Atwood, Neil Gaiman & George Orwell

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The First Photograph Ever Taken (1826)

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In his­to­ries of ear­ly pho­tog­ra­phy, Louis Daguerre faith­ful­ly appears as one of the fathers of the medi­um. His patent­ed process, the daguerreo­type, in wide use for near­ly twen­ty years in the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry, pro­duced so many of the images we asso­ciate with the peri­od, includ­ing famous pho­tographs of Abra­ham Lin­coln, Edgar Allan Poe, Emi­ly Dick­in­son, and John Brown. But had things gone dif­fer­ent­ly, we might know bet­ter the hard­er-to-pro­nounce name of his one­time part­ner Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, who pro­duced the first known pho­to­graph ever, tak­en in 1826.

Some­thing of a gen­tle­man inven­tor, Niépce (below) began exper­i­ment­ing with lith­o­g­ra­phy and with that ancient device, the cam­era obscu­ra, in 1816. Even­tu­al­ly, after much tri­al and error, Niépce devel­oped his own pho­to­graph­ic process, which he called “heli­og­ra­phy.” He began by mix­ing chem­i­cals on a flat pewter plate, then plac­ing it inside a cam­era. After expos­ing the plate to light for eight hours, the inven­tor then washed and dried it. What remained was the image we see above, tak­en, as Niépce wrote, from “the room where I work” on his coun­try estate and now housed at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas at Austin’s Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter.

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At the Ran­som Cen­ter web­site, you can see a short video describ­ing Niépce’s house and show­ing how schol­ars recre­at­ed the van­tage point from which he took the pic­ture. Anoth­er video offers insight into the process Niépce invent­ed to cre­ate his “heli­o­graph.” In 1827, Niépce trav­eled to Eng­land to vis­it his broth­er. While there, with the assis­tance of Eng­lish botanist Fran­cis Bauer, he pre­sent­ed a paper on his new inven­tion to the Roy­al Soci­ety. His find­ings were reject­ed, how­ev­er, because he opt­ed not to ful­ly reveal the details, hop­ing to make eco­nom­ic gains with a pro­pri­etary method. Niépce left the pewter image with Bauer and returned to France, where he short­ly after agreed to a ten-year part­ner­ship with Daguerre in 1829.

Sad­ly for Niépce, his heli­o­graph would not pro­duce the finan­cial or tech­no­log­i­cal suc­cess he envi­sioned, and he died just four years lat­er in 1833. Daguerre, of course, went on to devel­op his famous process in 1829 and passed into his­to­ry, but we should remem­ber Niépce’s efforts, and mar­vel at what he was able to achieve on his own with lim­it­ed mate­ri­als and no train­ing or prece­dent. Daguerre may receive much of the cred­it, but it was the “sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly-mind­ed gen­tle­man” Niépce and his heli­og­ra­phy that led—writes the Ran­som Center’s Head of Pho­to­graph­ic Con­ser­va­tion Bar­bara Brown—to “the inven­tion of the new medi­um.”

Niepce Reproduction

Niépce’s pewter plate image was re-dis­cov­ered in 1952 by Hel­mut and Ali­son Gern­sheim, who pub­lished an arti­cle on the find in The Pho­to­graph­ic Jour­nal. There­after, the Gern­sheims had the East­man Kodak Com­pa­ny cre­ate the repro­duc­tion above. This image’s “pointil­lis­tic effect,” writes Brown, “is due to the repro­duc­tion process,” and the image “was touched up with water­col­ors by [Hel­mut] Gern­sheim him­self in order to bring it as close as pos­si­ble to his approx­i­ma­tion of how he felt the orig­i­nal should appear in repro­duc­tion.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See The First “Self­ie” In His­to­ry Tak­en by Robert Cor­nelius, a Philadel­phia Chemist, in 1839

Har­ry Tay­lor Brings 150-Year-Old Craft of Tin­type Pho­tog­ra­phy into the Mod­ern Day

Alfred Stieglitz: The Elo­quent Eye, a Reveal­ing Look at “The Father of Mod­ern Pho­tog­ra­phy”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

What is the Self? Watch Philosophy Animations Narrated by Stephen Fry on Sartre, Descartes & More

If you’ve fol­lowed our recent phi­los­o­phy posts, you’ve heard Gillian Ander­son (The X‑Files) speak on what makes us humanthe ori­gins of the uni­verse, and whether tech­nol­o­gy has changed us, and Har­ry Shear­er speak on ethics — or rather, you’ve heard them nar­rate short edu­ca­tion­al ani­ma­tions from the BBC script­ed by Phi­los­o­phy Bites’ Nigel War­bur­ton. Now anoth­er equal­ly dis­tinc­tive voice has joined the series to explain an equal­ly impor­tant philo­soph­i­cal top­ic. Behold Stephen Fry on the Self.

These four videos draw on Socrates’s work on what it means to know one­self (and the lim­its of one’s knowl­edge); Erv­ing Goff­man’s (The Pre­sen­ta­tion of Self in Every­day Life) Shake­speare­an obser­va­tion that we all play roles on this stage of a world; Rene Descartes’ famous dec­la­ra­tion “I think, there­fore I am”; and Jean-Paul Sartre’s con­cept of human exis­tence pre­ced­ing human essence (which, if it sounds a bit fog­gy, the video will clar­i­fy). Whichev­er of these thinkers’ claims sound most plau­si­ble to you, you’ll come out feel­ing a bit sur­er that, what­ev­er con­sti­tutes our selves — if indeed we have them — it isn’t what you might have assumed going in.

If the notions that we know noth­ing, that we have no fixed iden­ti­ties, that we cre­ate our­selves (and/or our selves) by our own actions, and that a trick­ster demon may be con­trol­ling your thoughts even as you read this seem too detached from every­day expe­ri­ence to eas­i­ly grasp, at least we have a sen­si­ble Eng­lish voice like Fry’s to guide us through them. The stereo­types may say that the peo­ple of that prac­ti­cal-mind­ed land don’t go in for this kind of talk. But I pro­pose a refu­ta­tion: specif­i­cal­ly, a refu­ta­tion in the form of a return by Fry to talk about two of his fel­low Britons, David Hume and George Berke­ley. They had a few things to say about the self — to put it mild­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 130 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es: Tools for Think­ing About Life, Death & Every­thing Between

A His­to­ry of Ideas: Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain The­o­ries of Simone de Beau­voir, Edmund Burke & Oth­er Philoso­phers

How Did Every­thing Begin?: Ani­ma­tions on the Ori­gins of the Uni­verse Nar­rat­ed by X‑Files Star Gillian Ander­son

What Makes Us Human?: Chom­sky, Locke & Marx Intro­duced by New Ani­mat­ed Videos from the BBC

Has Tech­nol­o­gy Changed Us?: BBC Ani­ma­tions Answer the Ques­tion with the Help of Mar­shall McLuhan

How Can I Know Right From Wrong? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions on Ethics Nar­rat­ed by Har­ry Shear­er

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­maFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Slavoj Žižek Calls Political Correctness a Form of “Modern Totalitarianism”

Opin­ions on what we gen­er­al­ly mean by the phrase “polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness” vary wide­ly. Does it refer to the ways we try to main­tain basic polite­ness and com­mon decen­cy in what we like to think of as a plu­ral­is­tic, egal­i­tar­i­an soci­ety? Or is it a form of Orwellian, state-spon­sored mind con­trol that squash­es dis­sent and ban­ish­es unpop­u­lar ideas from pub­lic dis­course? On the one hand, sto­ries of unac­cept­ably abu­sive behav­ior in work­places, class­rooms, and gov­ern­ment build­ings abound, seem­ing to require plac­ing rea­son­able lim­its on speech. On the oth­er hand, extreme exam­ples of ram­pant “trig­ger warn­ings” and oth­er such qual­i­fiers—on col­lege lit­er­a­ture syl­labi, for exam­ple—can seem hyper­sen­si­tive, patron­iz­ing, and sil­ly at best.

In the Big Think video above, Marx­ist the­o­rist, cul­tur­al crit­ic, and pro­fes­sion­al provo­ca­teur Slavoj Žižek approach­es the term as a kind of enforced nice­ness that obscures oppres­sive pow­er rela­tion­ships. He begins with an exam­ple, of a so-called “post­mod­ern, non-author­i­tar­i­an father,” who uses a sub­tle form of emo­tion­al coer­cion, play­ing on feel­ings of guilt, to enforce love and respect for a grand­par­ent. This mod­el, says Žižek, is “par­a­dig­mat­ic” of “mod­ern total­i­tar­i­an­ism”:

This is why the for­mu­la of mod­ern total­i­tar­i­an­ism is not “I don’t care what you think, just do it.” This is tra­di­tion­al author­i­tar­i­an­ism. The total­i­tar­i­an for­mu­la is, “I know bet­ter than you what you real­ly want.”

“In this sense,” says Žižek, “I am hor­ri­fied by this new cul­ture of experts.” In his typ­i­cal­ly ani­mat­ed style, he leaps from case to case—the ban­ning of pub­lic e‑cigarette smok­ing, for example—to show how con­cerns about pub­lic health or racism give way to mean­ing­less, cul­tur­al­ly stul­ti­fy­ing mor­al­iz­ing. His point that polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness can be a humor­less “self-dis­ci­pline” is per­sua­sive. Whether his exam­ples of “pro­gres­sive racism”—or the social release valve of obscene or racist jokes—translate to an Amer­i­can con­text is debat­able. (Trig­ger warn­ing: Žižek drops a cou­ple n‑words).

Does the uncouth Žižek get a pass because he dis­avows per­son­al prej­u­dice, even as he makes light of it? Is there real­ly a “great art” to the racist joke that can bring peo­ple clos­er togeth­er? Do we need a “tiny exchange of friend­ly obscen­i­ties” to estab­lish “real con­tact” with oth­er peo­ple? I for one wouldn’t want to live in a soci­ety with­out obscene humor and hon­est, open con­ver­sa­tion. But whether all forms of polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness— what­ev­er it is—are “mod­ern total­i­tar­i­an­ism,” I leave to you to decide. It does seem to me that if we can’t have polit­i­cal debates with­out fear and shame then we real­ly have lost some mea­sure of free­dom; but if we’re unable to debate with good will and sen­si­tiv­i­ty, then we’ve lost some impor­tant mea­sure of our human­i­ty.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Slavoj Žižek: What Full­fils You Cre­ative­ly Isn’t What Makes You Hap­py

Slavoj Žižek on the Feel-Good Ide­ol­o­gy of Star­bucks

Slavoj Žižek’s Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy Decodes The Dark Knight and They Live

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Quentin Tarantino Supercuts Explore the Director’s Stylized Use of Sound, Close Ups & Cars in His Films

It’s not sur­pris­ing per­haps that we are in a film nerd super­cut gold­en age. After all, all film stu­dents have access to video edit­ing soft­ware, almost all movies are avail­able dig­i­tal­ly, and web­sites, like this one, are per­pet­u­al­ly hun­gry for new con­tent. Great super­cuts reveal some­thing new or unno­ticed about a great direc­tor, like how Yasu­jiro Ozu uses hall­ways or Kubrick favors one-point per­spec­tive. Edi­tor Jacob T. Swin­ney, who won the inter­net last month with his video “First and Final Frames,” just released the third out of a promised four-part super­cut on Quentin Taran­ti­no.

The direc­tor of Pulp Fic­tion and Death Proof is, of course, known for his dia­logue – razor-sharp, obscen­i­ty-laden repar­tee crammed with ref­er­ences to pop cul­ture or obscure movies. What is a Taran­ti­no movie with­out a rant about the true mean­ing of “Like a Vir­gin,” say, or a lengthy dis­course on the dif­fer­ence between McDonald’s menus in Amer­i­can and in Europe? Swin­ney strips away all that dia­logue to explore some of the recur­ring visu­al and audi­al motifs that lard Tarantino’s films. What you real­ize after watch­ing these is just how styl­ized his movies are. Taran­ti­no loves expres­sion­is­tic sound effects, flashy insert shots, gen­er­al­ly aping the look and feel of his cin­e­mat­ic heroes like Ser­gio Leone or King Hu. You can watch the first film above and the next two below.

The first film called “Hear­ing Taran­ti­no” is about all the pun­gent, styl­ized sounds the QT has used. As you can imag­ine, there are lots of gur­gling of blood and clank­ing of swords. What you might not have noticed is how many car­toony whoosh­es and zings he has fold­ed into the sound mix.

The sec­ond vid, “Tarantino’s Extreme Close Ups,” shows lots of eyes bear­ing expres­sions some­where along the ter­ri­fied-pissed off spec­trum.

And the third piece, “Taran­ti­no: Dri­ving Shots,” shows just how much of his movies take place in cars.

The fourth film has yet to come out, but I hope it’s on Tarantino’s not-at-all creepy obses­sion with women’s feet. You can prob­a­bly fill a cou­ple min­utes just on Uma Thur­man’s alone.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Quentin Taran­ti­no Tells You About The Actors & Direc­tors Who Pro­vid­ed the Inspi­ra­tion for “Reser­voir Dogs”

Watch Free Online My Best Friend’s Birth­day, Quentin Tarantino’s 1987 Debut Film

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

High-Tech Japanese Camera Proves That the Shape of a Wine Glass Affects the Flavor of Wines

Japan­ese sci­en­tists have devel­oped a cam­era that con­firms what we’ve long sensed: “wine glass shape has a very sophis­ti­cat­ed func­tion­al design for tast­ing and enjoy­ing wine.” That’s what Kohji Mit­sub­ayashi, a researcher at the Tokyo Med­ical and Den­tal Uni­ver­si­ty, told Chem­istry World.

It’s a lit­tle com­pli­cat­ed, and I’d encour­age you to read this Chem­istry World arti­cle, but the upshot is this: Mitsubayashi’s team used a spe­cial cam­era to ana­lyze “dif­fer­ent wines, in dif­fer­ent glass­es – includ­ing dif­fer­ent shaped wine glass­es, a mar­ti­ni glass and a straight glass – at dif­fer­ent tem­per­a­tures.” And they found that “dif­fer­ent glass shapes and tem­per­a­tures can bring out com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent bou­quets and fin­ish­es from the same wine.”

In the video above, you can see the new-fan­gled cam­era in action, demon­strat­ing how wines at dif­fer­ent tem­per­a­tures (some­thing that’s affect­ed by the geom­e­try of the glass) release dif­fer­ent vapors. And those trans­late into dif­fer­ent fla­vors. Get more on this at Chem­istry World.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Open a Wine Bot­tle with Your Shoe for the DIY Con­nois­seur

The Physics of Guin­ness Beer Demys­ti­fied

The Physics of Cof­fee Rings Final­ly Explained

Watch a Timelapse Video Showing the Creation of New York City’s Skyline: 1500 to Present

Next month, when you step into one of the “five spe­cial ele­va­tors ser­vic­ing the obser­va­to­ry atop the new 1 World Trade Cen­ter,” you will get a pret­ty great view. Though it’s not the view you might ini­tial­ly imag­ine. The New York Times describes what you’ll see:

From the moment the doors close until they reopen 47 sec­onds lat­er on the 102nd floor, a seem­ing­ly three-dimen­sion­al time-lapse panora­ma will unfold on three walls of the ele­va­tor cabs, as if one were wit­ness­ing 515 years of his­to­ry unfold­ing at the tip of Man­hat­tan Island.

For less than four sec­onds, [the Twin Tow­ers dev­as­tat­ed on 9/11] will loom into view on one wall of the cab. Then, in a quick dis­solve, they will evanesce.

The time­lapse ani­ma­tion, shown in a small­er for­mat above, was designed by the Het­tema Group in Pasade­na, CA, and Blur Stu­dio of Cul­ver City, CA. Hope you enjoy the ear­ly pre­view.

h/t Robin

via NYTimes

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

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200 Ansel Adams Photographs Expose the Rigors of Life in Japanese Internment Camps During WW II

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Images cour­tesy of the Library of Con­gress.

Actor George Takei was once best known as Star Trek’s Mr. Sulu. He still is, of course, but over the last few years his friend­ly, intel­li­gent, and wicked­ly fun­ny pres­ence on social media has land­ed him a new pop­u­lar role as a social jus­tice advo­cate. Takei’s activist pas­sion is informed not only by his sta­tus as a gay man, but also by his child­hood expe­ri­ences. At the age of 5, Takei was round­ed up with his Amer­i­can-born par­ents and tak­en to a Japan­ese intern­ment camp in Arkansas, where he would live for the next three years. In a recent inter­view with Democ­ra­cy Now, Takei spoke frankly about this his­to­ry:

We’re Amer­i­cans…. We had noth­ing to do with the war. We sim­ply hap­pened to look like the peo­ple that bombed Pearl Har­bor. But with­out charges, with­out tri­al, with­out due process—the fun­da­men­tal pil­lar of our jus­tice system—we were sum­mar­i­ly round­ed up, all Japan­ese Amer­i­cans on the West Coast, where we were pri­mar­i­ly res­i­dent, and sent off to 10 barb wire intern­ment camps—prison camps, real­ly, with sen­try tow­ers, machine guns point­ed at us—in some of the most des­o­late places in this coun­try.

Takei and his fam­i­ly were among over 100,000 Japan­ese-Amer­i­cans— over half of whom were U.S. cit­i­zens—interned in such camps.

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Into one of these camps, Man­za­nar, locat­ed in the foothills of the Sier­ra Nevadas, cel­e­brat­ed pho­tog­ra­ph­er Ansel Adams man­aged to gain entrance through his friend­ship with the war­den. Adams took over 200 pho­tographs of life inside the camp. In 1965, he donat­ed his col­lec­tion to the Library of Con­gress, writ­ing in a let­ter, “The pur­pose of my work was to show how these peo­ple, suf­fer­ing under a great injus­tice, and loss of prop­er­ty, busi­ness and pro­fes­sions, had over­come the sense of defeat and dis­pair [sic] by build­ing for them­selves a vital com­mu­ni­ty in an arid (but mag­nif­i­cent) envi­ron­ment.”

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Adams had anoth­er pur­pose as well—as schol­ar of the peri­od Frank H. Wu describes it—“to doc­u­ment some aspects of the intern­ment camp that the gov­ern­ment didn’t want to have shown.” These include “the barbed wire, and the guard tow­ers, and the armed sol­diers.” Pro­hib­it­ed from doc­u­ment­ing these con­trol mech­a­nisms direct­ly, the pho­tog­ra­ph­er “cap­tured them in the back­ground, in shad­ows,” says Wu: “In some of the pho­tos when you look you can see just faint­ly that he’s tak­ing a pho­to of some­thing, but in front of the pho­to you can see barbed wire, or on the ground you can see the shad­ow of barbed wire. Some of the pho­tos even show the blur­ry out­line of a soldier’s shad­ow.”

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The pho­tographs doc­u­ment the dai­ly activ­i­ties of the internees—their work and leisure rou­tines, and their strug­gles to main­tain some sem­blance of nor­mal­cy while liv­ing in hasti­ly con­struct­ed bar­racks in the harsh­est of con­di­tions.

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Though the land­scape, and its cli­mate, could be des­o­late and unfor­giv­ing, it was also, as Adams couldn’t help but notice, “mag­nif­i­cent.” The col­lec­tion includes sev­er­al wide shots of stretch­es of moun­tain range and sky, often with pris­on­ers star­ing off long­ing­ly into the dis­tance. But the major­i­ty of the pho­tos are of the internees—men, women, and chil­dren, often in close-up por­traits that show them look­ing var­i­ous­ly hope­ful, hap­py, sad­dened, and resigned.

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You can view the entire col­lec­tion at the Library of Con­gress’ online cat­a­log. Adams also pub­lished about 65 of the pho­tographs in a book titled Born Free and Equal: The Sto­ry of Loy­al Japan­ese Amer­i­cans in 1944. The col­lec­tion rep­re­sents an impor­tant part of Adams’ work dur­ing the peri­od. But more impor­tant­ly it rep­re­sents events in U.S. his­to­ry that should nev­er be for­got­ten or denied.

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via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ansel Adams Reveals His Cre­ative Process in 1958 Doc­u­men­tary

Dis­cov­er Ansel Adams’ 226 Pho­tos of U.S. Nation­al Parks (and Anoth­er Side of the Leg­endary Pho­tog­ra­ph­er)

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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