With the move to online classes, the availability of a cool Zoom background has become paramount. This jet engine has become my new go-to.
This is another photograph from a lab in the Charles Harris Group at UC Berkeley. I previously photographed this effusion cell apparatus from an orthogonal orientation, but I also found this shot at its long axis intriguing. The sense of complexity and purpose, but also the sense of aesthetic minimalism, always attracts me to physics apparatuses.
This is the tail-end of the multi-cell system used in my research group to apply monolayers (one molecule thick) to single crystals of silver. It’s a bit amazing how such a wild sentence can become mundane with years of exposure. In any case, I really love the intricacy and attention that has been applied to every bolt and wire; scientific equipment is the ultimate in utilitarian design.
Berkeley’s machine shop really is one of my favorite places–so much so that I keep posting on it. It’s so unlike the world of modern consumer technology, and simultaneously so integral to accomplishing much of my scientific work, that I can’t help but feel an attachment.
Today’s shot features one of the enormous lathes that take up the majority of the space in the shop. Every control is manual, mechanical, and enormously satisfying to actuate. Once it’s up and running, the amount of kinetic energy is pretty intimidating.
UC Berkeley’s student machine shop has a truly fascinating collection of old machines that are still fantastically useful. (I’ve posted on it before.) This particular photograph is of a lathe’s controls–both those for moving the tool bit relative to the metal as well as those for the automatic feeds.
When everything I work with in the laser lab is computer-controlled, it’s refreshing to work with a machine that works entirely from a clever design of gears and cogs. There’s a solidity and strength in a device that is completely independent of interference from microprocessors.
Berkeley has a Student Machine Shop, and my scientific experiments would never get off the group without it. I’ve lost track of the number of times that I’ve needed a part that has never before been made–I can only imagine in my mind what I need. I make some preliminary drawings, and I head up to the shop to machine this fantasy part from aluminum or, more rarely, steel. To see that form from my imagination slowly becoming reality is one of the most exciting experiences I’ve ever had. (It’s probably worth noting that I started as a sculptor before transitioning to photography.)
This particular photograph is of a milling machine, used to make planes, grooves, and holes in metal. In many ways, it’s a lot more flexible than a lathe (the other ubiquitous machine shop tool), but also a bit more threatening looking.