Big Beautiful Wides


I'll admit, when I first finished Jessica Jones I had no intention of revisiting the show (which I had previously done for the first season of Daredevil). I greatly enjoyed watching Jessica Jones, but I must have had my eyes closed the entire time because the cinematography did not stand out to me at all.

Boy, was I mistaken.

I found a StudioDaily article on Twitter exploring director of photography Manuel Billeter's approach to shooting the series; instantly I was intrigued, doing a complete one-eighty on a potential revisitation. What stood out to me the most was his choice in lenses, using old Panavision PVintage prime lenses from the 1970s. According to the StudioDaily article, Billeter also opted to use only wide angle lenses. This reminded me of Emmanuel Lubezki's approach to shooting The Revenant, which utilized focal lengths between 12mm and 21mm. With all the fancy new glass that's around these days, I always find it interesting when a cinematographer decides to use older lenses. Often times this lends itself to a unique look. Jessica Jones is no exception.


I pull a ton of stills from each episode, but only a few of them ever make it to Twitter. Sometimes it's contingent on my mood, or just some shots I particularly enjoyed. Other times it's because I notice a theme or trend — this is one of those times. Side by side it is easy to notice how similarly each shot is framed. Billeter knows what he's doing here.

By framing Jessica in the doorway, the audience feels like they are privy to something special, perhaps something they should not be seeing. A blatantly obvious example of this is the shot of Jessica on the phone in her bathroom (left); Billeter explicitly violates the character's privacy with his camera placement. This carries some interesting parallels with Jessica's work as a private eye, since she's accustomed to violating people's privacy to make a living. Shots like these push the boundaries and effectively engage the viewer.

Luke Cage's bar is one of my favorite set pieces in this show, rivaled only by Trish Walker's apartment. Imagine my disappointment when it explodes in episode eleven... anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. All of the glassware and dark wood in Luke's bar act as beautiful foreground elements in so many of the shots. It feels incredibly organic. I can only imagine how fun it must have been to frame up some of those. The wide and medium-wide shots, paired with hyper-close foreground elements, quickly became one of my favorite aspects of Billeter's style.

The refusal to reveal Kilgrave's face in the third shot (bottom right) serves an obvious function of preserving the mystery of the villain. It's ominous and I think it was the appropriate choice. The dirty windowpane through which we see his face serves to keep us on the outside, following the trend of the audience looking in on things that perhaps they should not see.

Billeter often uses large amounts of negative space in Jessica Jones. It directs the viewer's eye to a very specific part of the frame, limiting the scope of visual information. The shot of Jessica on the stairs (left) is a great example of this. Half of the shot is nothing but darkness. It feels ominous, almost claustrophobic in a way, as something is blocking a huge portion of the shot. It's an interesting way to approach a wide shot, something that normally reveals a location, by instead purposefully obscuring it. The shot of Trish follows a similar trend, with two blank walls filling two-thirds of the frame. It isolates the audience and forces them to be alone with her character.

The shot through the security mirror (bottom right) struck me as something very clever. Yet again it is a frame within the frame, placing the viewer a step further away from the characters. It reminds us that we are but mere observers of this universe, trying to catch whatever glimpses we can of the story. Extremely creative and a great use of what could have been a boring location.

I do not know how else to say it: I absolutely love this sequence of shots in Trish Walker's apartment. LOVE. It is an awesome set piece and the camera does nothing but justice to that. The symmetry of the wide shot (left), once again looking through a doorway, is beautiful. It makes sense for the character, too. Trish is balanced person, unlike Jessica's binge drinking insomniac ways, and this shot reflects that. The other shots play so well together, I could not pick which one was my favorite (so obviously I had to include all three). The hard profile (bottom right) is particularly striking, while also so similar to the closer doorway shot (top right). Everything about this sequence, from the lighting to the composition, is gorgeous to a fault.

Cell phones have a strong thread running through the entire season, and it's important to note that Trish is on the phone in this scene. Phone conversations carry the risk of being dull, with limited character interaction. Jessica Jones, embracing our twenty-first century culture, certainly has a lot of phone calls. However, these tend to be some of the more visually interesting shots of the show. Billeter goes above and beyond to showcase the beauty hidden within the mundane.

The first two shots from this episode (left and top right) fall neatly into Billeter's already established visual style. The former utilizes hyper-close foreground elements to make a phone call a little more interesting. The latter has foreground obscuration as well, coupled with a partially open doorway to make the viewer really feel like they are spying on the characters.

The third shot (bottom right) is equally characteristic, but it catches my attention more than the first two. I don't know if I've ever seen a conversation framed from the inside of a car before, and if I have then it was nothing special enough for me to remember. The presence of the windshield between the lens and the characters adds an extra level of mystery to this shot. Once again, Billeter has found a unique way to capture a scene by shooting ordinary things in unusual ways.

I think close to forty percent of the stills that I tweeted from Jessica Jones were of phone calls. I usually associate shallow depth of field with telephoto lenses and DSLR videography, so it's refreshing to see it harnessed here with a wide lens (left). Regarding the second shot (right), it feels rather dark and threatening despite having such a bright color palette. Something is awry and the audience knows it — the bus driver is in danger. As I continue to point out, the foreground elements make the viewer feel more intrusive; in this particular shot, it's almost as if we are seeing from Luke's point of view in the back of the bus. He's going to attack the bus driver, the rest of us are stuck along for the ride.

This is the only one to make it to Twitter (top right), but time and time again there were many shots of Jessica and Trish sitting next to each other in near silence. It's a great moment and feels intimate, despite being framed on the wider side. The close up on Trish (left) is once more an effective use of negative space. I won't get into it too much because I don't want to risk becoming too repetitive, but I will say that Billeter has his visual consistency nailed down. There aren't a whole ton of silhouettes in Jessica Jones, so the wide shot of Malcolm (bottom right) stood out to me right away. In my opinion, it's no easy feat to pull off a truly beautiful wide shot, so when you do see one it's impossible to miss.

I'm curious as to how close phone conversations are to outnumbering face-to-face interactions in this show. Billeter pulls out all the stops in these two episodes, using foreground elements (episode eight, left), windows (episode nine, top right), extreme wides (episode nine, left), and some immaculate composition to keep this abundance of phone calls interesting. The shot of Trish on the sidewalk (episode nine, bottom right) is stunning, with her red jacket standing out in the sea of blue. She is a headstrong character and this shot gives her a lot of power.

There are a noticeable amount of instances where cell phones die and/or need to be charged over the course of the season. Somebody wants the audience to remember that cell phones exist and to carefully consider the role that they play in the story, for better or for worse.

Nothing new here. Billeter knows what he wants and he definitely knows how to capture it.

In a series filled with big beautiful wide shots, this episode had a couple close ups that screamed to me for attention. They were not disruptive, but it did feel different to me. I'm not entirely sure why. This episode was directed by ASC cinematographer Uta Briesewitz. I have a theory that she may have brought her own style to the table and influenced Billeter towards these close ups, but I have nothing to found that on besides a hunch. Either way the close ups are still very good, such as the shot of the pill (top right).

The trippy effect that the mirror produces in the flash back shot of Jessica (left) is an awesome use of objects in that space. Another interesting instance is the fire hydrant in the foreground (bottom right), lurking in the dark as Luke's bar burns. This shot is so different from the close up of the pill, more in line with what we are used to seeing from Billeter throughout the course of the show.

Three different ways of filming three different conversations. Do you see some of the differences?

In the first shot (left), Jessica and Luke are boxed together close. The two of them have a special bond (not to mention undeniable chemistry) and this shot is framed in such a way as to push them towards each other. On the other hand, we have the shot of Trish talking to her mother (top right). Trish hates her mother and tries to keep her out of her life. It shows — the kitchen faucet sits smack in the middle between them, serving as a visual barrier. They are literally separated by the anatomy of the shot. In the last one (bottom right), Malcolm and Robyn feel very small as they mourn Ruben's death. They are the peripheral characters of this story, caught in the crossfire between those with superpowers and their conflicts. The little people are unimportant and insignificant to the likes of Kilgrave.

These shots are almost opposites, but they resonate with me for the same reason: distance.

Kilgrave is far away in the wide shot (left), looking down from the balcony. He is a dangerous character and Jessica wants him out of her life once and for all. Luke, on the other hand (right), is safe and we are much closer to him as a result. No longer under the influence of Kilgrave, the audience knows that he's one of the good guys and can be trusted. This shot is yet again a great use of negative space — so much of the frame is just darkness since his torso is obscuring the light.

Thanks for coming along with me as I explored Jessica Jones. I don't have as grand of a theory or statement to make as I did with Daredevil's first season, but I certainly enjoyed taking a closer look at Manuel Billeter's work. If you have different observations or thoughts, please don't hesitate to share them with me on Twitter or via email! I look forward to hearing what you have to say.

Silhouettes and Symmetry

I've been fairly busy lately and perpetually putting off my second look at the cinematography in Marvel's Daredevil. This past week I've been up in Nome, Alaska covering the Iditarod, but I wanted to write something up before Daredevil's second season was released on Netflix tonight... So I'm currently typing this on my phone during my flight back home. We'll see how that goes.

I focused a lot on the colors in Daredevil in my first post, which I still find very intriguing. However, this time around I wanted to examine broader aspects and techniques used by the very talented Matthew J. Lloyd. Let's get started.


Symmetry and pairs both have a clear presence in this episode. In some cases they are literal opposites, such as the shot of cards representing Daredevil and Fisk (bottom right). However it also can be indicative of allies, as it's used in the shot of Karen and Ben in the car (bottom left). This surfaces again in the shots I pulled from episode ten. I also love the usage of silhouettes in this episode. Matt Murdock's apartment is possibly my favorite set piece in the whole show and they use its lighting brilliantly (top right). The positioning of Matt and Stick is also interesting — Matt sitting lower in the frame while Stick is positioned higher, representative of their roles as learner and master, respectively. The yellow/olive light (Matt's power color) is subdued by the blues in this shot, further illustrating that Matt is not in charge. This lighting contrasts with the all blue (Fisk's power color) silhouette shot in the parking garage (top left), one of Fisk's regular haunts. This comes just after Daredevil has been overpowered by Owlsley and his taser, and the color blue lends itself to this.

In the top right we have a continuation of the theme of pairs with this somewhat-symmetrical shot of Fisk and Vanessa. Matthew J. Lloyd has a knack for wide shots, pulling through time and time again throughout this series. This shot naturally showcases the cooler color palette, as Fisk is in charge of the situation. The shot that really strikes me from this episode, however, is the shot of Karen through the window (bottom right). I'm becoming obsessed with shots like this, where the character is framed by a window or a doorway. Both Daredevil's and Jessica Jones' DPs do these shots quite frequently (I'm currently rewatching JJ for its cinematography and these shots jump out at me quite often). Daredevil and Jessica Jones utilize a lot of sets that encourage this sort of shot, with windows separating two different rooms indoors. It makes us feel like we're privy to something special as we look into the characters' private lives. There's also a great use of horizontal lines with the blinds, bringing in a film noir vibe that Jessica Jones would later capitalize on oh-so-well.

I don't have much to say about the shot of Leland Owlsley that I pulled from this episode. I do really like the lighting, but the color palette strays from my "yellow versus blue" theory (which is fine, I never claimed to be totally right on that).

This episode hits on a few points that I brought up previously. Once again, great use of silhouettes and shadows, as well as symmetry, in Matt's apartment (bottom right). Matt/Daredevil's power color is present, highlighting the edge of his face here. The shot of the trio at the Nelson and Murdock office (left) is another fascinating usage of a frame within a frame. I remember learning about this technique in film history class way back when, as it was used in Citizen Kane. It did not resonate with me then — funny how some things come back to you after they've had some time to process. Many of the shots in the bar (top right) were visually stunning and I remember having a hard time picking which one to tweet. This is a dark time for Matt, Karen, and Foggy as Mrs. Cardenas had just passed, once again aptly illustrated with the strong presence of the color blue here. 

The contrast of these two similar yet different shots is spectacular. A very simplistic yet beautiful usage of wide shots by Matthew J. Lloyd, especially in the shot to the left. I love the vibrant color palette as two major villains, Fisk and Madame Gao, sit together (left). Conversely, the flashback shot of Matt and Foggy (right) is so dark and shadowy, even though it's recalling a happier time in their friendship. Both shots effectively carry on the trends of symmetry and pairs, with two vastly different results. I did not pick any other shots from this episode because these two worked together so perfectly.

Not much to say about these two shots. The color palettes are pretty self-explanatory, especially the shot in Matt's apartment (left). Evil has the upper hand, and the colors (or lack thereof) reflect that scenario. The blue and red lighting in the second shot (right) is wonderful. I believe this shot takes place in a bar — many of the bars in Hell's Kitchen seem to feature red light. I'm not sure why, but it works for me. 

The power relationships of the colors get really blurred in this episode. The shots of Ben (bottom right) and Karen (top right) feature intense yellow/olive lighting, but neither of them are in charge. Karen just had a nightmare about Fisk, and Ben has discovered Fisk intruding in his own home. Fisk is temporarily gaining power in this part of the season, so it makes sense to have him infiltrate the safety of our protagonists. The menace of Fisk (left) is spooky. The way that he blends into the shadows really gives him a sense of power, especially coupled with the slightly lower angle on him. 

These two shots were fun to tweet, because director and producer Steven DeKnight responded to me! He said that the two shots happened to be filmed on the same day. I found this incredibly interesting, since they're both consistent in tone and technique. The criss-crossing lines on the windshield (right) and of the fence (left) and somewhat similar to framing within the frame, especially the shot on the left. Both of these shots feature characters moving and shaking behind the scenes, making things happen to interrupt Fisk's plans. The inclusion of both the fence and the windshield, as mentioned in a previous episode, make this seem much more private to the audience. We are catching a secret glimpse into what the characters are doing.

All in all, this was a fun and educational exercise to undertake. I cannot wait to see what trends manifest in Daredevil's second season. Currently I am rewatching Jessica Jones for a similar purpose and tweeting out stills from that, so feel free to follow me on Twitter if that's something that interests you. I've also begun adding all of my stills from each episode to the reference library that I share with my creative partner Devin Cutter. It's a very useful tool for categorizing and sorting through reference stills, and it's exciting to see it grow. Check out his blog post on that here.

Until next time.

EDIT: Thank you to Marc Weilage for pointing out that I should also credit Tony D'Amore and Kevin Krout for their work as colorists on Daredevil, for without them this bold look would not have been possible.

“Neon Olive” is an Awkward Color to Describe


“Yellow is visually powerful. It’s a good choice for a character who is both daring and exuberant. It’s a color that, once seen, tends to stay in your consciousness.” 

–Patti Bellantoni, If It’s Purple, Someone’s Gonna Die: The Power of Color in Visual Storytelling

Ever since I first watched Marvel’s Daredevil, I have been both baffled and intrigued by the show’s lighting and use of color. I would tell friends, “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” strangely attracted to the harsh neon tones and tinges throughout the series. Of course, this was around six months ago, amidst my immediate binging of the series (like any responsible Marvel-loving Netflix user would) upon its release. More recently I have decided to rewatch Daredevil with special attention to its cinematography, tweeting around four stills that stand out to me each episode. I am currently five episodes in — while the lighting and composition are obviously important, the color patterns are truly fascinating to me.

With that, I’ll jump right in.


Episode one starts to lay some groundwork with the color choices. Neon yellow and neon olive, as demonstrated by the still from the boxing gym (bottom right), permeate Daredevil‘s visuals. As I watched, it became more and more apparent that YELLOW gives Matt Murdock and the Daredevil persona POWER. When in this color’s presence, Daredevil and company are secure and in charge of the given situation. This is exemplified in the boxing gym scene as Murdock demonstrates his power and prowess, as well as his ability to harness his rage and use it as a weapon.

However, the cold blues and whites in, say, the accident scene (top left) tell a different story. Blue is everything that is wrong with Hell’s Kitchen. When faced with this visually sterile and chilling palette, the heroes are out of their element. Blue and white lend themselves to the wicked, the criminals, and (wait for it…) The Kingpin.

In episode two, the neon olive/yellow hits you full force. The two stills that I selected of Daredevil (top and bottom right) exemplify this perfectly. In the close-up (top right), the neon light illumiates the edge of his face and neck. Again, as he interrogates a captive Russian gangster, Daredevil is in control. The tables have turned from just earlier, when he was bleeding out in a stranger’s dumpster. Now Daredevil is back in charge. The second image (bottom right), builds upon this concept. As Daredevil stands at the end of a hallway before single-handedly defeating an entire squad of Russian gangsters, the color completely engulfs him.

I have not quite figured out the color red yet — but notice Karen’s face in the bar scene (top left). As Karen confesses her fear of the city to Foggy, cool tones rest on her face. For now, it has taken hold of her.

I have to admit, episode three threw me for a loop. Breaking away from previous trends, a majority of this section was virtually devoid of color. It was mostly white and desaturated, with hints of cooler tones here and there. In addition, a lot of the shots isolated the heroes by framing them in window frames and boxes, sometimes separating multiple characters within one shot. It was not until the episode’s conclusion that I had my realization. One of the first shots of the Kingpin, or Wilson Fiske, (not shown above) places him in the middle of a completely white painting, referred to as “Rabbit in a Snowstorm.” When asked how the painting makes him feel, Fiske replies, “It makes me feel alone.” This was my eureka moment! The entire episode, absent of color and filled with isolating cinematography, was building up towards the introduction of Daredevil’s main villain. As the episode goes on, this feeling creeps up on you, before finally slapping your face the episode’s final scene.

The stills I selected for episode four continue to build upon previously established trends. Yellow and neon olive color schemes follow the protagonists. In Murdock’s apartment (bottom left), the windows are glaring with oversaturated color. This makes sense — the apartment is his safe haven and his home. Similar, albeit more muted, colors make their way into Claire’s apartment (top left) for related reasons.

Episode five — villainy is clearly afoot. Three of the four selected frames feature desaturated and cool color schemes. The Russian gangster’s office (top left) is the most blatant example of the malintent that blue represents. Fiske’s dinner (bottom left) is much more subtle, however, with absence of color indoors as he watches the city burn.

The top right frame, Murdock inside the police station, is possibly the most interesting. While there are some good officers at the station, many of them are corrupt and on Fiske’s payroll. Similarly, while there may be a faint yellow background in this shot, cool blue tones flood the foreground and Murdock’s face. He is in the lion’s den. An interesting note is the purple poster over his shoulder, featuring a clever caption. As Patti Bellantoni writes in her book If It’s Purple, Someone’s Gonna Die: The Power of Color in Visual Storytelling… well, you get the picture. Two of Fiske’s men are about to commit murder in the next room.

In the final selected shot (bottom right), Daredevil is back in business and has the upper hand as he questions one of Fiske’s officers. Neon olive abounds!

Episode six is as far as I have gotten as of now, and it did not disappoint. At the beginning of the episode (the top left frame), Daredevil is in control as usual, having saved his target from execution by a group of corrupt police officers. However, things quickly spiral out of control. Before long, he finds himself cornered in an abandoned building, without much hope of escape. The tables have turned and Fiske takes the upper hand. The top right and bottom right stills, appropriately chilling and blue, demonstrate this shift in power perfectly. For the entirely of Murdock’s struggle, cool tones overwhelm the frame. It is not until the episode’s end (bottom left), when Daredevil makes a lucky escape, that the neon olive pseudo-warmth returns.

I will no doubt continue to explore these color themes as I progress deeper into the series. It has been both fascinating and exciting to see my theories and realizations materialize on screen — I’m definitely learning a lot about color as a storytelling tool through this exercise. I can tell you one thing: Daredevil may be blind, but the people making the show most definitely are not.

EDIT: Thank you to Marc Weilage for pointing out that I should also credit Tony D'Amore and Kevin Krout for their work as colorists on Daredevil, for without them this bold look would not have been possible.

The Uncertain Art


All those young photographers who are at work in the world, determined upon the capture of actuality, do not know that they are agents of Death.

–Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

 I recently came upon the website and proceeded to snoop around the different camera bags with curiosity and jealousy. One of the featured photographers – amongst his assortment of lenses, camera bodies, and accessories – had a small paperback text, Camera Lucida. While not in any position to splurge on a new camera or piece of glass, I figured that I could swing a new [used] paperback book. I enjoyed reading it for the most part, and since have found myself reflecting upon its respective reflections. The following are some rough notes and thoughts from my time spent with the text.

           Camera Lucida is a brief collection of reflections on photography written by Roland Barthes. Barthes, a French philosopher of sorts in the 20th century, took it upon himself to explore elements of photography. By no means a photographer himself, Barthes instead approaches the topic as both subject and observer. He dances around, touching on some interesting points without explicitly committing to many single ideas.

Perhaps Barthes’ most well known theory of photography revolves around two elements, the “studium” and the “punctum.” The studium, according to Barthes, consists of the face-value contents or meaning of the photograph. This is the base, the foundation. The second piece, or punctum, “will break (or punctuate) the studium” and “rises from the scene, shoots out of it like an arrow, and pierces [him]” (26). While not always an element of surprise, Barthes posits that the punctum enhances the studium and can act as a foil for the original subject matter: “the punctum has, more or less potentially, a power of expansion” (45). However, the punctum cannot be contrived. Barthes observes that if potential punctums fail to jump out at him, it is likely “because the photographer has put them there intentionally” (47). Barthes believes that for maximum effectiveness, a photograph’s punctum must be naturally present within the frame. While offering an opportunity for so much more insight into the photograph, the punctum’s presence can be boiled down to a single sentiment: “it says only that the photographer was there, or else, still more simply, that he could notnot photograph the partial object at the same time as the total object” (47). Barthes insists that a powerful photograph maintains an air of naturalism, yet simultaneously seizes the viewer with the unexpected.

Barthes suggests that an element of surprise or shock within a photograph is not always indicative of a punctum. However, he proceeds to break down five different categories of “surprises” (arguably interchangeable with “punctums”) featured in photography. He regards the skill necessary to capture such surprises, stating, “the photographer, like an acrobat, must defy the laws of probability or even possibility” (33-34). To Barthes, luck is not merely a possible benefactor for good photographers – it is a necessary one. Barthes’ “gamut of surprises,” starts off with “that of the ‘rare’” (32), covering extraordinary or unique subjects and situations, which would otherwise remain unseen by the rest of the world. He writes that “the second surprise is one habitual to painting” (32), which is a cryptic introduction. In a matter of words, Barthes believes that the photographer captures a normally fleeting moment, “apprehended at the point in its course where the normal eye cannot arrest it” (32). “The third surprise is that of prowess,” (33) Barthes continues, a photograph achieved through rehearsed skill and practice in capturing otherwise elusive imagery. Barthes proceeds into the realm of experimental – his “fourth surprise is the one which the photographer looks for from the contortions of technique: superimpressions, anamorphoses, deliberate exploitation of certain defects” (33). Lastly, he concludes with the equally important “trouvaille or lucky find” (33) – fairly self-explanatory. Again, Barthes does not imply that each and every surprise is effectively a punctum. However, there is, at the very least, a definite degree of overlap.

Death is a prominent topic in Barthes’ reflections on photography. From the perspective of a subject, he states, “Ultimately, what I am seeking in the photograph taken of me […] is Death” (15). Later, he reminds the reader that a prominent force in his reflections is the photograph “in relation to what we romantically call love and death” (73). Barthes persists with this notion, writing, “All those young photographers who are at work in the world, determined upon the capture of actuality, do not know that they are agents of Death” (92). He is relentless in the matter, hitting upon it again and again: “Photography is a kind of primitive theater, a kind of Tableau Vivant, a figuration of the motionless and made-up face beneath which we see the dead” (32). It appears that Barthes believes death to be inescapable, walking hand in hand with both photographer and photographed. Barthes even insists that photographs themselves die: “The only way I can transform the Photograph is into refuse: either the drawer or the wastebasket. […] Attacked by light, by humidity, it fades, weakens, vanishes; there is nothing left to do but throw it away” (93). However, Barthes’ fascination with death in regards to photography is premature. With the rapid progression of technology, we can preserve photographs indefinitely, producing limitless copies of both analog and digital photographs alike. In regards to this, I prefer a different sentiment of Barthes, in which he states, “The Photograph does not necessarily say what is no longer, but only and for certain what has been” (85) – a less morbid angle, to say the least.

While Camera Lucida features some interesting musings on the subject of photography, and at their core that is all that they really are – musings, thoughts, theories, reflections. Barthes does not claim to possess some sort of higher understanding of the subject. He self-admittedly presents his thoughts as a layman, a non-photographer immersed in the world of visual imagery. Despite this, he poses some interesting and notable sentiments. As a photographer of sorts, I do not think that one should take this text as the be-all and end-all on the matter. However, it is worth the read and highlighted some things that I had not previously considered in my work.

We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds.

-Franz Kafka

If he wrote it, he could get rid of it. He had gotten rid of many things by writing them.

–Ernest Hemingway