ACT English test 1

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

The Hidden Life of the Honeybee

Most people think of bees primarily as honey producers, but in truth, the hive operates as one of nature’s most sophisticated systems of communication. Inside a colony, tens of thousands of bees coordinate flight, defense, and food collection through a series of coded movements known as the (9) “waggle dance.”

When a forager finds nectar, she returns to the hive and performs a rhythmic pattern of vibrations that indicate direction and distance from the sun. These dances (10) allows other bees to locate the same flowers quickly, often within minutes.

Scientists once thought bees followed simple instinct, but research now shows that (11) their behavior demonstrates a form of symbolic language.

In one experiment, researchers shifted artificial feeding stations by small degrees. The bees adjusted their dances accordingly, suggesting that they (12) possess spatial memory and adaptation.

Modern threats, however, endanger this delicate network. Pesticides interfere with bees’ ability to navigate; climate change alters flower cycles. If these pressures continue, pollination—the process that sustains over a third of global food crops—could collapse.

Fortunately, conservationists are testing solutions: pesticide-free zones, rooftop gardens, and genetic diversity programs to strengthen colonies. While the challenges remain serious, the story of the honeybee reminds us that even the smallest creatures (13) contributes mightily to human survival.

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

Reviving Desert Architecture

When architect Layla Rahman began her first project in Egypt’s Western Desert, she was told that (1) building with mud bricks was outdated. Instead, contractors encouraged the use of concrete—strong, modern, and uniform. Yet as temperatures soared and construction costs rose, Rahman realized that (2) the older methods had something to teach.

Traditional Nubian builders, for example, designed homes with high domed ceilings and narrow windows that (3) reduces heat. The walls, made from sun-dried mud bricks, were thick enough to keep the interiors cool during the day and warm at night. Modern materials, by contrast, (4) traps heat and required costly air-conditioning.

So Rahman began experimenting with local clay, recycled sand, and palm fibers. Her goal was to (5) combined traditional designs with sustainable engineering. Over time, her desert houses attracted attention from eco-tourists and environmental researchers.

Critics initially dismissed the structures as primitive, but when the energy bills came in, they were (6) astonish. The mud-brick houses consumed nearly 60 percent less energy than the concrete ones.

Today, Rahman works with universities to document and adapt (7) ancient techniques, updating them for modern safety standards. Her buildings stand as quiet reminders that innovation sometimes begins by looking backward.

The Volunteer Violinist

When Daniel first brought his violin to the community hospital, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He had played for audiences before—recitals, weddings, even competitions—but never for patients recovering from surgery. The volunteer coordinator asked him to perform (15) gentle melodies to help calming them.

As he began to play, he noticed a woman near the window stirring. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, she seemed unsure where she was. Then she smiled faintly. The music, Daniel realized, was (16) connecting in a way words could not.

Over the next weeks, he returned often, choosing slow waltzes and lullabies. Sometimes nurses paused to listen; sometimes family members requested songs. The hospital halls, once sterile and echoing, filled with soft resonance.

The experience changed him. “I used to think music was about performance,” Daniel said, “but now I see it as (17) communication—one that doesn’t need applause.”

His story spread, inspiring other musicians to volunteer in medical centers. Some researchers even began measuring recovery times, noting that patients exposed to live music showed lower heart rates and stress levels.

The violin, it seemed, had become more than an instrument; it was (18) a remedy of silence.

The Volunteer Violinist

When Daniel first brought his violin to the community hospital, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He had played for audiences before—recitals, weddings, even competitions—but never for patients recovering from surgery. The volunteer coordinator asked him to perform (15) gentle melodies to help calming them.

As he began to play, he noticed a woman near the window stirring. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, she seemed unsure where she was. Then she smiled faintly. The music, Daniel realized, was (16) connecting in a way words could not.

Over the next weeks, he returned often, choosing slow waltzes and lullabies. Sometimes nurses paused to listen; sometimes family members requested songs. The hospital halls, once sterile and echoing, filled with soft resonance.

The experience changed him. “I used to think music was about performance,” Daniel said, “but now I see it as (17) communication—one that doesn’t need applause.”

His story spread, inspiring other musicians to volunteer in medical centers. Some researchers even began measuring recovery times, noting that patients exposed to live music showed lower heart rates and stress levels.

The violin, it seemed, had become more than an instrument; it was (18) a remedy of silence.

The Volunteer Violinist

When Daniel first brought his violin to the community hospital, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He had played for audiences before—recitals, weddings, even competitions—but never for patients recovering from surgery. The volunteer coordinator asked him to perform (15) gentle melodies to help calming them.

As he began to play, he noticed a woman near the window stirring. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, she seemed unsure where she was. Then she smiled faintly. The music, Daniel realized, was (16) connecting in a way words could not.

Over the next weeks, he returned often, choosing slow waltzes and lullabies. Sometimes nurses paused to listen; sometimes family members requested songs. The hospital halls, once sterile and echoing, filled with soft resonance.

The experience changed him. “I used to think music was about performance,” Daniel said, “but now I see it as (17) communication—one that doesn’t need applause.”

His story spread, inspiring other musicians to volunteer in medical centers. Some researchers even began measuring recovery times, noting that patients exposed to live music showed lower heart rates and stress levels.

The violin, it seemed, had become more than an instrument; it was (18) a remedy of silence.

Preserving the Art of Calligraphy

In an age of touchscreens and emojis, the graceful curves of calligraphy might seem like a fading art. Yet in studios across Asia and the Middle East, young artists are rediscovering the (20) beauty and disciplined patience of the brush.

Master calligrapher Yasmin Al-Hadi compares her practice to meditation. “Each stroke,” she explains, “reflects (21) both concentration, and calm.” Her students spend months learning to hold the brush properly before writing a single letter.

Technology, ironically, has aided this revival: online tutorials allow learners worldwide to watch masters in real time. Meanwhile, digital design programs simulate the flow of ink, enabling artists to blend tradition with innovation.

Still, Al-Hadi insists that real artistry lies in the tactile experience—(22) the resistance of paper against ink. “The computer,” she says, “cannot teach humility.”

By honoring the discipline of the brush, today’s calligraphers show that ancient arts can adapt not by (23) abandoning their essence but by (24) translating it into new forms.

Preserving the Art of Calligraphy

In an age of touchscreens and emojis, the graceful curves of calligraphy might seem like a fading art. Yet in studios across Asia and the Middle East, young artists are rediscovering the (20) beauty and disciplined patience of the brush.

Master calligrapher Yasmin Al-Hadi compares her practice to meditation. “Each stroke,” she explains, “reflects (21) both concentration, and calm.” Her students spend months learning to hold the brush properly before writing a single letter.

Technology, ironically, has aided this revival: online tutorials allow learners worldwide to watch masters in real time. Meanwhile, digital design programs simulate the flow of ink, enabling artists to blend tradition with innovation.

Still, Al-Hadi insists that real artistry lies in the tactile experience—(22) the resistance of paper against ink. “The computer,” she says, “cannot teach humility.”

By honoring the discipline of the brush, today’s calligraphers show that ancient arts can adapt not by (23) abandoning their essence but by (24) translating it into new forms.

Preserving the Art of Calligraphy

In an age of touchscreens and emojis, the graceful curves of calligraphy might seem like a fading art. Yet in studios across Asia and the Middle East, young artists are rediscovering the (20) beauty and disciplined patience of the brush.

Master calligrapher Yasmin Al-Hadi compares her practice to meditation. “Each stroke,” she explains, “reflects (21) both concentration, and calm.” Her students spend months learning to hold the brush properly before writing a single letter.

Technology, ironically, has aided this revival: online tutorials allow learners worldwide to watch masters in real time. Meanwhile, digital design programs simulate the flow of ink, enabling artists to blend tradition with innovation.

Still, Al-Hadi insists that real artistry lies in the tactile experience—(22) the resistance of paper against ink. “The computer,” she says, “cannot teach humility.”

By honoring the discipline of the brush, today’s calligraphers show that ancient arts can adapt not by (23) abandoning their essence but by (24) translating it into new forms.

The Secret World of Deep-Sea Corals

Far below sunlight’s reach, in cold, dark waters, thrives a forest made not of trees but of coral. Unlike their tropical cousins, deep-sea corals grow slowly, forming (25) sprawling, colorful gardens that supports entire ecosystems.

Until recently, scientists believed these reefs were rare. But submarine explorations revealed vast coral “mountains” stretching hundreds of miles. Some colonies are (26) thousands years old.

These fragile ecosystems face threats from deep-sea trawling and mining operations. Because they grow so slowly, damage may take centuries to repair. Scientists urge nations to establish protected zones before it’s too late.

Still, hope remains. In 2023, Norwegian researchers recorded new coral growth in an area once devastated by fishing nets, proving that (27) given a chance, life persist.

The Secret World of Deep-Sea Corals

Far below sunlight’s reach, in cold, dark waters, thrives a forest made not of trees but of coral. Unlike their tropical cousins, deep-sea corals grow slowly, forming (25) sprawling, colorful gardens that supports entire ecosystems.

Until recently, scientists believed these reefs were rare. But submarine explorations revealed vast coral “mountains” stretching hundreds of miles. Some colonies are (26) thousands years old.

These fragile ecosystems face threats from deep-sea trawling and mining operations. Because they grow so slowly, damage may take centuries to repair. Scientists urge nations to establish protected zones before it’s too late.

Still, hope remains. In 2023, Norwegian researchers recorded new coral growth in an area once devastated by fishing nets, proving that (27) given a chance, life persist.

The Language of Street Murals

Urban walls once seen as blank canvases for vandalism are now galleries of public storytelling. Across cities, artists paint large-scale murals that (29) reflect communities histories and dreams.

Unlike graffiti, which often uses text alone, murals combine images and symbolism to communicate complex social messages. A phoenix rising from rubble might represent (30) rebirth, while hands joining may symbolize unity.

City officials, once eager to remove murals, now commission them to revitalize neighborhoods. In one district, crime rates dropped after a collaborative mural project brought residents together.

Still, the movement faces challenges: funding, preservation, and debates over ownership. “Who decides,” one artist asked, “what (31) stays, or gets painted over?”

For many muralists, the answer is simple: art on public walls should belong to the public—open, evolving, and never truly finished.

The Language of Street Murals

Urban walls once seen as blank canvases for vandalism are now galleries of public storytelling. Across cities, artists paint large-scale murals that (29) reflect communities histories and dreams.

Unlike graffiti, which often uses text alone, murals combine images and symbolism to communicate complex social messages. A phoenix rising from rubble might represent (30) rebirth, while hands joining may symbolize unity.

City officials, once eager to remove murals, now commission them to revitalize neighborhoods. In one district, crime rates dropped after a collaborative mural project brought residents together.

Still, the movement faces challenges: funding, preservation, and debates over ownership. “Who decides,” one artist asked, “what (31) stays, or gets painted over?”

For many muralists, the answer is simple: art on public walls should belong to the public—open, evolving, and never truly finished.

The Ocean Farmer

In 2009, Bren Smith, a former commercial fisherman, nearly went bankrupt when severe storms destroyed his oyster beds off the coast of Connecticut. Instead of giving up, he decided to reinvent what he called “ocean farming”: growing seaweed and shellfish together in vertical underwater gardens.

Smith realized that seaweed and shellfish not only survive without fertilizer or fresh water but also (33) cleans the ocean. Seaweed absorbs carbon dioxide and nitrogen; oysters filter pollutants from the water. Together, they create self-sustaining ecosystems that produce food and restore marine habitats.

Many people doubted the idea. Traditional fishermen saw it as unprofitable, and environmentalists worried about industrial expansion. Yet Smith’s pilot farm (34) prove them wrong. Within two years, he harvested enough kelp to supply local restaurants and cosmetics companies.

Today, ocean farming is spreading worldwide. From Indonesia to Norway, communities are learning that the ocean can feed people while repairing itself.

“People talk about sustainability,” Smith said, “but we need to talk about (35) regeneration—the act of [(36)giving back] more than we take.”

The real challenge, he insists, is scaling up responsibly. If managed poorly, even green innovations can create new problems. “The goal,” he adds, “is not just clean oceans, but (36) healthy jobs, and coastal communities.”

The Ocean Farmer

In 2009, Bren Smith, a former commercial fisherman, nearly went bankrupt when severe storms destroyed his oyster beds off the coast of Connecticut. Instead of giving up, he decided to reinvent what he called “ocean farming”: growing seaweed and shellfish together in vertical underwater gardens.

Smith realized that seaweed and shellfish not only survive without fertilizer or fresh water but also (33) cleans the ocean. Seaweed absorbs carbon dioxide and nitrogen; oysters filter pollutants from the water. Together, they create self-sustaining ecosystems that produce food and restore marine habitats.

Many people doubted the idea. Traditional fishermen saw it as unprofitable, and environmentalists worried about industrial expansion. Yet Smith’s pilot farm (34) prove them wrong. Within two years, he harvested enough kelp to supply local restaurants and cosmetics companies.

Today, ocean farming is spreading worldwide. From Indonesia to Norway, communities are learning that the ocean can feed people while repairing itself.

“People talk about sustainability,” Smith said, “but we need to talk about (35) regeneration—the act of [(36)giving back] more than we take.”

The real challenge, he insists, is scaling up responsibly. If managed poorly, even green innovations can create new problems. “The goal,” he adds, “is not just clean oceans, but (36) healthy jobs, and coastal communities.”

The Ocean Farmer

In 2009, Bren Smith, a former commercial fisherman, nearly went bankrupt when severe storms destroyed his oyster beds off the coast of Connecticut. Instead of giving up, he decided to reinvent what he called “ocean farming”: growing seaweed and shellfish together in vertical underwater gardens.

Smith realized that seaweed and shellfish not only survive without fertilizer or fresh water but also (33) cleans the ocean. Seaweed absorbs carbon dioxide and nitrogen; oysters filter pollutants from the water. Together, they create self-sustaining ecosystems that produce food and restore marine habitats.

Many people doubted the idea. Traditional fishermen saw it as unprofitable, and environmentalists worried about industrial expansion. Yet Smith’s pilot farm (34) prove them wrong. Within two years, he harvested enough kelp to supply local restaurants and cosmetics companies.

Today, ocean farming is spreading worldwide. From Indonesia to Norway, communities are learning that the ocean can feed people while repairing itself.

“People talk about sustainability,” Smith said, “but we need to talk about (35) regeneration—the act of [(36)giving back] more than we take.”

The real challenge, he insists, is scaling up responsibly. If managed poorly, even green innovations can create new problems. “The goal,” he adds, “is not just clean oceans, but (36) healthy jobs, and coastal communities.”

The Ocean Farmer

In 2009, Bren Smith, a former commercial fisherman, nearly went bankrupt when severe storms destroyed his oyster beds off the coast of Connecticut. Instead of giving up, he decided to reinvent what he called “ocean farming”: growing seaweed and shellfish together in vertical underwater gardens.

Smith realized that seaweed and shellfish not only survive without fertilizer or fresh water but also (33) cleans the ocean. Seaweed absorbs carbon dioxide and nitrogen; oysters filter pollutants from the water. Together, they create self-sustaining ecosystems that produce food and restore marine habitats.

Many people doubted the idea. Traditional fishermen saw it as unprofitable, and environmentalists worried about industrial expansion. Yet Smith’s pilot farm (34) prove them wrong. Within two years, he harvested enough kelp to supply local restaurants and cosmetics companies.

Today, ocean farming is spreading worldwide. From Indonesia to Norway, communities are learning that the ocean can feed people while repairing itself.

“People talk about sustainability,” Smith said, “but we need to talk about (35) regeneration—the act of [(36)giving back] more than we take.”

The real challenge, he insists, is scaling up responsibly. If managed poorly, even green innovations can create new problems. “The goal,” he adds, “is not just clean oceans, but (36) healthy jobs, and coastal communities.”

The Forgotten Inventor

In 1910, engineer Mary Van Britten was an anomaly in her field: one of the few women designing safety systems in early twentieth-century America. She was best known for developing a prototype of the modern (41) home-security camera, which including a sliding lens and an audio intercom.

Van Britten’s invention emerged from frustration. Living in a neighborhood with frequent break-ins, she wanted a way to see visitors before opening the door. Her design, patented in 1969, combined mirrors and a camera that could transmit images to a small monitor.

Though few companies adopted her model immediately, historians now credit her with influencing later innovations in (42) surveillance technology, and smart-home design.

At the time, women’s contributions were often minimized. Technical magazines rarely mentioned her, and some colleagues claimed her work was merely an “adaptation” of existing devices. In truth, she anticipated a world where technology and security would merge—a vision that seems remarkably familiar today.

“Every generation,” Van Britten wrote in a rare interview, “must create tools to make life both safer and freer. The danger lies not in invention, but in forgetting who invented.”

The Forgotten Inventor

In 1910, engineer Mary Van Britten was an anomaly in her field: one of the few women designing safety systems in early twentieth-century America. She was best known for developing a prototype of the modern (41) home-security camera, which including a sliding lens and an audio intercom.

Van Britten’s invention emerged from frustration. Living in a neighborhood with frequent break-ins, she wanted a way to see visitors before opening the door. Her design, patented in 1969, combined mirrors and a camera that could transmit images to a small monitor.

Though few companies adopted her model immediately, historians now credit her with influencing later innovations in (42) surveillance technology, and smart-home design.

At the time, women’s contributions were often minimized. Technical magazines rarely mentioned her, and some colleagues claimed her work was merely an “adaptation” of existing devices. In truth, she anticipated a world where technology and security would merge—a vision that seems remarkably familiar today.

“Every generation,” Van Britten wrote in a rare interview, “must create tools to make life both safer and freer. The danger lies not in invention, but in forgetting who invented.”

The Forgotten Inventor

In 1910, engineer Mary Van Britten was an anomaly in her field: one of the few women designing safety systems in early twentieth-century America. She was best known for developing a prototype of the modern (41) home-security camera, which including a sliding lens and an audio intercom.

Van Britten’s invention emerged from frustration. Living in a neighborhood with frequent break-ins, she wanted a way to see visitors before opening the door. Her design, patented in 1969, combined mirrors and a camera that could transmit images to a small monitor.

Though few companies adopted her model immediately, historians now credit her with influencing later innovations in (42) surveillance technology, and smart-home design.

At the time, women’s contributions were often minimized. Technical magazines rarely mentioned her, and some colleagues claimed her work was merely an “adaptation” of existing devices. In truth, she anticipated a world where technology and security would merge—a vision that seems remarkably familiar today.

“Every generation,” Van Britten wrote in a rare interview, “must create tools to make life both safer and freer. The danger lies not in invention, but in forgetting who invented.”

The Forgotten Inventor

In 1910, engineer Mary Van Britten was an anomaly in her field: one of the few women designing safety systems in early twentieth-century America. She was best known for developing a prototype of the modern (41) home-security camera, which including a sliding lens and an audio intercom.

Van Britten’s invention emerged from frustration. Living in a neighborhood with frequent break-ins, she wanted a way to see visitors before opening the door. Her design, patented in 1969, combined mirrors and a camera that could transmit images to a small monitor.

Though few companies adopted her model immediately, historians now credit her with influencing later innovations in (42) surveillance technology, and smart-home design.

At the time, women’s contributions were often minimized. Technical magazines rarely mentioned her, and some colleagues claimed her work was merely an “adaptation” of existing devices. In truth, she anticipated a world where technology and security would merge—a vision that seems remarkably familiar today.

“Every generation,” Van Britten wrote in a rare interview, “must create tools to make life both safer and freer. The danger lies not in invention, but in forgetting who invented.”

The Forgotten Inventor

In 1910, engineer Mary Van Britten was an anomaly in her field: one of the few women designing safety systems in early twentieth-century America. She was best known for developing a prototype of the modern (41) home-security camera, which including a sliding lens and an audio intercom.

Van Britten’s invention emerged from frustration. Living in a neighborhood with frequent break-ins, she wanted a way to see visitors before opening the door. Her design, patented in 1969, combined mirrors and a camera that could transmit images to a small monitor.

Though few companies adopted her model immediately, historians now credit her with influencing later innovations in (42) surveillance technology, and smart-home design.

At the time, women’s contributions were often minimized. Technical magazines rarely mentioned her, and some colleagues claimed her work was merely an “adaptation” of existing devices. In truth, she anticipated a world where technology and security would merge—a vision that seems remarkably familiar today.

“Every generation,” Van Britten wrote in a rare interview, “must create tools to make life both safer and freer. The danger lies not in invention, but in forgetting who invented.”