A Doctor’s Memoir, High School Students’ Paintings, and a Copperplate Picture Book—The Techniques for Preserving Atomic Bomb Experiences Are Quietly Diverging

Eighty years have passed since the atomic bombing. The average age of witnesses has surpassed 87. The endeavor to “preserve memories” has reached a stage where it can no longer rely solely on individual will.

In Hiroshima today, the avenues for entrusting these memories—memoirs, paintings, copperplate prints, and digital formats—are quietly diverging, each beginning to move forward in different ways. The Hiroshima Medical Association has made public the memoirs of families of atomic bomb survivors, students from Motomachi High School are creating paintings while engaging with witnesses, copperplate picture books are being shared through reading sessions, and students from Hiroshima Jogakuin High School are working on digital recordings of testimonies. What emerges when we place these four initiatives side by side is the structure that “what we use to preserve” directly determines “who it reaches.” Behind this structure lies the humble arrangements made by those supporting the recordings.

—

Preserving Through the Words of Doctors—Publication of Memoirs by the Hiroshima Prefectural Medical Association and Hiroshima City Medical Association

The Hiroshima Prefectural Medical Association and Hiroshima City Medical Association are advancing the publication of experience memoirs written by doctors and their families who were affected by the bombing. About 100 individuals participated. The perspective added by the profession of medicine lends a unique precision to these memoirs.

The records of doctors who treated patients while being affected themselves contain both the precise timing of events—”what happened at what time”—and observations of the body—”how the skin changed color and what symptoms appeared days later.” Within the restrained prose, there are moments that cannot be contained—this is the power of the memoir as a medium.

What is noteworthy is that these memoirs include not only “the testimonies of the individuals” but also “the memories of their families.” What the survivors themselves could not—or did not—speak of is recorded by the family members who were nearby. When the subject of memory shifts from the first person to the third person, the contours of the testimony change slightly. Yet within that “slight” shift, the shape of pain that the individual could not articulate sometimes emerges.

The memoirs are bound in paper and physically stored. They are not searchable. The number of readers at one time is limited. However, this “inconvenience” demands time and concentration from the reader. The act of opening a memoir itself becomes a ritual of confronting memory.

—

High School Students Create—The Mechanism of Motomachi High School’s “Atomic Bomb Paintings”

The production of “Atomic Bomb Paintings” by students of Hiroshima City Motomachi High School began in 2007 and has already accumulated 18 years of work. At the 13th Atomic Bomb Exhibition held in Higashi-Hiroshima City, the students’ works were also displayed.

What distinguishes this initiative from mere “high school painting activities” is its production process. Students directly engage with survivors, listen to their testimonies, and repeatedly show drafts while refining a single painting. In other words, this is a process of “listening” before it is about “drawing,” and the completed painting becomes a collaborative work between the witness and the high school student.

Witnesses might say, “This color was darker” or “People didn’t fall like this,” prompting the students to revise their work. Through this exchange, scenes that could not be fully conveyed in words are solidified visually. Here, the medium of painting functions as a tool that complements the limitations of language.

To date, over 180 works have been created. They are housed in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and are exhibited both permanently and through traveling exhibitions domestically and internationally. Even after the students graduate, the paintings continue to exist—this mechanism possesses sustainability that does not depend on individual goodwill, as it continues to reach audiences even after the creators have moved on.

—

Copperplate Prints and Voice—Creating a “Space” with Picture Books

There is also an ongoing initiative to create picture books about atomic bomb experiences using copperplate prints, along with reading sessions. Copperplate printing is a technique that involves engraving lines onto a metal plate with a needle, inking it, and transferring it onto paper. It stands in stark contrast to the smoothness of digital media—each line carries physical resistance, and the printed images retain unique textures and shadows.

This texture resonates with the theme of atomic bomb experiences. Rather than reflecting “as is” like a photograph, memory is solidified as an image that has passed through the hands of the artist and the resistance of the plate. Viewers can sense the presence of the “hand that engraved this” alongside the depicted scene. The materiality of the medium becomes a conduit for conveying the weight of memory.

The reading sessions serve as a mechanism to add “voice” and “space” to these picture books. The act of reading alone differs from the act of listening to someone’s voice; even the same words are received differently. When the original works are displayed at the reading session venue, both visual and auditory senses are engaged simultaneously. The small nested structure of the picture book—prints, words, voice, space—overlaps, increasing the density of experience transmission.

However, reading sessions must be held to reach audiences. Copperplate picture books are not suitable for mass production. This “narrow scope of reach” is both a weakness and a guarantee of the density of experience for those present at the event.

—

Preserving Digitally—Testimony Records from Hiroshima Jogakuin High School

At Hiroshima Jogakuin High School, alumni and current students are collaborating to digitally record the testimonies of atomic bomb survivors. An archive combining video, audio, and text transcends geographical constraints through the internet.

The greatest strength of digitalization is that “the cost of replication and sharing is nearly zero.” There is only one memoir, one original painting, but digital data can be viewed simultaneously around the world. Adding translations lowers language barriers. Students abroad who have never visited Hiroshima can engage with testimonies through their screens—this possibility is fundamentally due to the structural characteristics of digital media.

On the other hand, digital formats carry the drawback of “a lack of tactile experience.” The sensation of scrolling on a screen differs from turning the pages of a memoir, affecting the sense of distance to memory. Additionally, digital archives incur costs for maintenance and operation. Maintaining servers, updating formats, and fixing broken links—”once created, it remains” is not the case; ongoing human effort and budget are necessary to sustain it. This point is often overlooked, but it is the most practical challenge affecting the sustainability of digital preservation.

The fact that high school students are participating in this work holds significance in itself. By listening to testimonies, transcribing them, and organizing them as data, the students themselves become “intermediaries” of memory. Embedded within the technical task of digitalization is the transmission from person to person.

—

A Divergence Map Depicted by Four Media

Memoirs reach “readers.” Paintings reach “viewers.” Copperplate reading sessions reach “those present at the event.” Digital formats reach “searchers.”

The four media are not in competition. Each opens a different entry point. The precision of memoirs, the intuitiveness of paintings, the materiality of copperplate prints, and the expansiveness of digital formats—none is the sole correct answer; the existence of multiple entry points itself increases the probability of memory survival.

What is common to all these media is that there are “arrangers” behind them. Those who collect, organize, and obtain permission for publication of memoirs at the medical association. Teachers who coordinate dialogues between witnesses and students at Motomachi High School. Individuals who secure venues for reading sessions and arrange the transportation of original works. Those who maintain the servers for digital archives and update data formats. The mechanisms for preserving memory are supported not by memory itself, but by the surrounding practicalities.

The 80th anniversary of the bombing marks a turning point where the question of “how to preserve memory” transitions to the question of “how to maintain the mechanisms for preserving memory.” After witnesses are gone, who will manage the memoirs? Can painting production continue without witnesses? Who will bear the operational costs of digital archives?

The choice of media not only determines the recipients but also decides who will take on the responsibility of maintenance. Examining this structure is the first step toward transforming memory from being “preserved” to “continuing to be preserved.”