Although modern cameras can, with skill and good conditions, produce photographs nearly indistinguishable from the original scene, this fidelity relies on the limitations of human vision. According to the trichromatic theory, humans perceive light as a mixture of three colors, which can be recorded and represented by cameras, displays, and color printing; a spectrometer, however, can detect a clear distance between the three colors present in a photograph and the wide range of spectra in the original scene. By contrast, one of the earliest color photography methods, Lippmann plates, captured not just true color, but true spectra.

A Lippmann plate, as [Jon Hilty] details, starts with a layer of photographic gel containing extremely fine silver halide crystals over the back of a glass plate. This layer is placed on top of a mirror, traditionally a mercury bath, and put in the camera. When light passes through the emulsion and reflects off the mirror, it interferes with incoming light to create a standing wave. The portions of the emulsion at the wave’s antinodes absorb the most energy, converting local silver halide crystals into reflective silver. The spacing of the silver particles depends on the incoming light’s wavelength, and is fixed in place during the development process.

This creates a matrix of vertically-stacked diffraction gratings, each diffracting back the original wavelength when illuminated with white light. Unlike normal diffraction gratings, the wavelength of diffracted light doesn’t depend strongly on the viewing angle; since the interference structure here is vertically-arranged, it refracts a narrow range of wavelengths across all possible viewing angles. The viewing angles, however, are limited; unlike with dye-based photographs, you can only view the colors nearly straight-on. This, along with the necessity for long exposures, the chance of producing washed-out colors, and the impossibility of creating reprints, kept Lippmann plates from ever really catching on. The basic concept lives on in holograms, which encode spatial information in a similar kind of photographically-formed diffraction pattern.

For a more conventional method of color photography, we’ve also seen a recreation of the autochrome method. Alternatively, check out this homemade silver halide photography emulsion.

Thanks to [Stephen Walters] for the tip!

Ultrasonic levitation is by now a familiar trick: one or more ultrasonic transducers create a standing wave, and small objects can be held in the nodes of this standing wave. With a sufficiently large array of transducers, it’s even possible to control the movement of the object. This isn’t the only form of ultrasonic levitation, however, as [Steve Mould] demonstrated with his ultrasonic air hockey table.

This less familiar form of levitation was discovered by [Bob Collins] while working on torpedo guidance systems: when he tried to place a glass lens on an ultrasonic transducer it immediately slid off. He found during further experimentation that an ultrasonic transducer would levitate over any sufficiently flat and smooth surface. It works by trapping a very thin layer of air between the transducer and the smooth surface. When the transducer moves sharply toward the surface, it compresses a layer of air in between, and forces some air out, and the reverse happens while pulling back. However, during the downstroke, the gap through which air can escape is narrower than during the upstroke, and there is more surface-induced drag, meaning that the inflow and outflow of air through a narrow gap isn’t completely equal. At a certain distance, inflow and outflow balance, and the transducer floats on a thin layer of air.

In [Steve]’s air hockey arena, the floor oscillates and the pucks levitate over this. Driving it using just one transducer didn’t work, since the floor formed standing waves, and the pucks would get stuck on node lines. Instead, he used two transducers, one at each end of the arena, and drove them out of phase with each other. This created a standing wave and minimized dead spots.

The arena was a bit small (having to be played using toothpicks), but it seemed to work well. If you prefer your air hockey a bit more human-scaled, we’ve seen a table build before. We’ve also seen ultrasonic levitation before, ranging from simple electronics kits to the driving force behind a full volumetric display or photography station.

If you take a video of a spinning wheel, you’ll probably notice that the spokes appear to turn more slowly than the wheel is actually rotating, and sometimes in the wrong direction. This is caused by a near match in the frame rate of the camera and the rate of rotation of the wheel – each time the camera captures a frame, the wheel has rotated a spoke into nearly the same position as in the last frame. If you time the exposures carefully, as [Excessive Overkill] did in his latest video, this effect can seemingly freeze moving objects, such as a fan or saw blade.

Most cameras only allow relatively coarse, fixed adjustments to frame rate, making it difficult to synchronize the shutter to an object’s motion. To get around this, [Excessive Overkill] used an industrial camera (previously used in this aimbot), which has fine frame rate control and external triggering. He connected the external trigger to a laser sensor, which detects a piece of retroreflective tape every time it passes by (for example, on one blade of a fan). When the laser sensor sends a signal, it also triggers a powerful LED flash. The flash is so powerful that dark materials create a hum when exposed to it, as pulses quickly heat the material, but each pulse is also so brief that the flash board doesn’t require any cooling.

Even to the naked eye, these stroboscopic pulses make rotating objects seem to stand still – an effect which made [Excessive Overkill] extra cautious when working around a lathe. When using a suitably long exposure time to avoid rolling-shutter distortion, the effect worked even using a normal camera without frame-rate matching. [Excessive Overkill] took videos of debris flying away from a seemingly motionless bandsaw, milling machine, chop saw, and jigsaw, though it was harder to freeze the rotation of a weed trimmer and a drone.

We’ve seen this effect used to freeze motion a few times before, both for art and for entertainment. If you’d like to recreate it, check out this high-speed LED flash.

Thanks to [Keith Olson] for the tip!

Rim-driven thrusters turn the normal propeller-motor arrangement inside out; rather than mounting the motor at the center of the propeller, they use a large hollow motor, with the blades attached to the inside of the rotor. They’re mostly used in ship propellers, though there have been some suggestions to use them in electric aircraft. [Integza], always looking for new and unusual ways to create propulsion, took this idea and made it into a jet engine.

Rather than using an electric motor, the fan in this design is propelled by miniature rocket nozzles along the edge. The fan levitates on a layer of high-pressure gas between the fan rim and the housing. To prevent too much pressurized gas from escaping, the fan and housing needed to fit together closely, but with minimal friction. A prototype made out of acrylic and resin and powered by compressed air proved that the idea worked, but [Integza] wanted to make to this a combustion-powered engine.

The full engine would be similar to a rocket engine, with the fan being the nozzle. The combustion chamber was built out of a brass fitting, and it burned propane in compressed air. The fan and housing were CNC-milled out of aluminium and brass, respectively. They worked well when powered with compressed air, but seized up when connected to the combustion chamber — the fan was thermally expanding and jamming in the housing. Progressively rounding down the edges of the fan failed to solve this, and a hole melted in the fan during one test. [Integza] machined a new fan, which he anodized to increase its heat resistance.

To keep it from overheating, he sprayed water into the combustion chamber, creating steam and cooling the exhaust stream to a manageable temperature. The engine did work, though we do wonder whether the fan actually increases its thrust over that of the base rocket engine.

This isn’t the first unconventional jet engine [Integza]’s built, nor the first which tries to amplify the thrust produced by a rocket engine.

Thanks to [Keith Olson] for the tip!

Capacitive displacement sensors span a wide range of resolution, from the touchscreen sensors which can only detect displacement as a binary state, all the way to the sensors in semiconductor fabs which measure down to nanometers. The sensor [Matthias Wandel] built with a Raspberry Pi Pico lands somewhere in the middle, providing both sensitive measurements and an absolute scale.

The idea is that the amount of overlap between two metal plates should be detectable by measuring the capacitance between them. Reaching any kind of usable resolution would require a very precise measure of capacitance, around the picofarad range. [Matthias] realized that the Pico’s GPIO pins have an inherent capacitance, and can have a pull-down resistor set, essentially creating an RC circuit. [Matthias] would set a pin to a high-level output, then switch it to an input. The amount of time the pin takes to switch from high to low indicates the RC constant, which includes the capacitance attached to the pin.

When attached to a metal plate, the Pico was sensitive enough to detect the plate’s capacitive coupling to [Matthias]’s hand through a thick wooden floor. To measure capacitance between two metal plates, the Pico measured how well a voltage signal applied to one plate was coupled to the other plate. This was sensitive enough to measure the slight change in the dielectric constant when [Matthias] waved a piece of ABS pipe between the two capacitor plates. Making actual position measurements was tricky, since capacitance changed with both X- and Z-axis shifts in the plates.

Digital calipers use similar capacitive sensors to make their measurements, as [Matthias] knows from his experiments in hacking them. If you’re interested in more details, check out this teardown of some cheap digital calipers.

Thanks to [H Hack] for the tip!

Of all the remote-control vehicles one can build, a submarine is possibly the hardest: if something goes wrong with almost any other vehicle, it’s easy to recover and repair, but a submarine is a very different affair. This nearly lost [James] of [ProjectAir] his latest project, a 2.7-meter long RC submarine, but it survived to make a few test sails.

Before building the full version, [James] made a test prototype. These submarines use large syringes as ballast tanks, pulling water in and out of the submarine body. The plungers are driven by a lead screw, and have a linear potentiometer for feedback. This can be wired in the same way as a servo motor, making it compatible with the RC controller. The controller receives its signal from an antenna in a buoy tethered to the submarine. Since initial tests worked well, [James] moved on to the full-scale model.

This was made out of radially-arranged acrylic tubes, with all but the top tube left open to the water. At the back of the submarine there were servo-actuated fins and a propeller, which would allow it to steer, ascend, and descend underwater. To waterproof the servo motors, [James] sealed them as much as possible, then filled them with oil. The other water-exposed electronics were either potted in epoxy or coated with a waterproofing compound. During testing, the submarine descended without issue, but was reluctant to resurface. Most of the external components had been 3D printed, and water infiltrated the infill below a certain depth. [James], however, managed to recover it before it was permanently lost, and managed to make a few other dives at a very limited depth.

On the other end of the spectrum from an RC submarine, we’ve also seen a rubber band-powered submarine. We’ve also seen a smaller, but more dive-ready RC submarine.

Thanks to [H Hack] for the tip!

There’s a long history of devices originally used for communication being made into computers, with relay switching circuits, vacuum tubes, and transistors being some well-known examples. In a smaller way, pneumatic tubes likewise deserve a place on the list; [soiboi soft], for example, has used pneumatic systems to build actuators, logic systems, and displays, including this latching seven-segment display.

Each segment in the display is made of a cavity behind a silicone sheet; when a vacuum is applied, the front sheet is pulled into the cavity. A vacuum-controlled switch (much like a transistor, as we’ve covered before) connects to the cavity, so that each segment can be latched open or closed. Each segment has two control lines: one to pressurize or depressurize the cavity, and one to control the switch. The overall display has four seven-segment digits, with seven common data lines and four control lines, one for each digit.

The display is built in five layers: the front display membrane, a frame to clamp this in place, the chamber bodies, the membrane which forms the switches, and the control channels. The membranes were cast in silicone using 3D-printed molds, and the other parts were 3D-printed on a glass build plate to get a sufficiently smooth, leak-free surface. As it was, the display used a truly intimidating number of fasteners to ensure airtight connections between the different layers. [soiboi soft] used the display for a clock, so it sits at the front of a 3D-printed enclosure containing an Arduino, a small vacuum pump, and solenoid valves.

This capacity for latching and switching, combined with pneumatic actuators, raises the interesting possibility of purely air-powered robots. It’s even possible to 3D-print pneumatic channels by using a custom nozzle.

Thanks to [Norbert Mezei] for the tip!

Old shop tools have a reputation for resilience and sturdiness, and though some of this is due to survivorship bias, some of it certainly comes down to an abundance of cast iron. The vise which [Marius Hornberger] recently restored is no exception, which made a good stand indispensable; it needed to be mobile for use throughout the shop, yet stay firmly in place under significant force. To do this, he built a stand with a pen-like locking mechanism to deploy and retract some caster wheels.

Most of the video goes over the construction of the rest of the stand, which is interesting in itself; the stand has an adjustable height, which required [Marius] to construct two interlocking center columns with a threaded adjustment mechanism. The three legs of the stand were welded out of square tubing, and the wheels are mounted on levers attached to the inside of the legs. One of the levers is longer and has a foot pedal that can be pressed down to extend all the casters and lock them in place. A second press on the pedal unlocks the levers, which are pulled up by springs. The locking mechanism is based on a cam that blocks or allows motion depending on its rotation; each press down rotates it a bit. This mechanism, like most parts of the stand, was laser-cut and laser-welded (if you want to skip ahead to its construction, it begins at about 29:00).

Unlike locking caster wheels, this provides significant grip when the wheels are retracted; considering the heft of the vise [Marius] restored, this must be helpful. If you’re more interested in building a vise than a stand, we’ve seen that too.

Thanks to [Keith Olson] for the tip!

The basic principle of radar systems is simple enough: send a radio signal out, and measure the time it takes for a reflection to return. Given the abundant sources of RF signals – television signals, radio stations, cellular carriers, even Wi-Fi – that surround most of us, it’s not even necessary to transmit your own signal. This is the premise of passive radar, which uses passive RF illumination to form an image. The RF signal doesn’t even need to come from a terrestrial source, as [Jean Michel Friedt] demonstrated with a passive radar illuminated by the NISAR radar-imaging satellite (pre-print paper).

NISAR is a synthetic-aperture radar satellite jointly built by NASA and ISRO, and it completes a pass over the world every twelve days. It uses an L-band chirp radar signal, which can be picked up with GNSS antennas. One antenna points up towards the satellite, and has a ground plane blocking the signal from directly reaching the second antenna, which picks up reflections from the landscape under observation. Since the satellite would illuminate the scene for less than a minute, [Jean-Michel] had to predict the moment of peak intensity, and achieved an accuracy of about three seconds.

The signals themselves were recorded with an SDR and a Raspberry Pi. High-end, high-resolution SDRs such as the Ettus B210 gave the best results, but an inexpensive homebuilt MAX2771-based SDR also produced recognizable images. This setup won’t be providing any particularly detailed images, but it did accurately show the contours of the local geography – quite a good result for such a simple setup.

If you’re more interested in tracking aircraft than surveying landscapes, check out this ADS-B-synchronized passive radar system. Although passive radar doesn’t require a transmitter license, that doesn’t mean it’s free from legal issues, as the KrakenSDR team can testify.

Usually, when we see non-planar 3D printers, they’re rather rudimentary prototypes, intended more as development frames than as workhorse machines. [multipoleguy]’s Archer five-axis printer, on the other hand, breaks this trend with automatic four-hotend toolchanging, a CoreXY motion system, and print results as good-looking as any Voron’s.

The print bed rests on three ball joints, two on one side and one in the center of the opposite side. Each joint can be raised and lowered on an independent rail, which allows the bed to be tilted on two axes. The dimensions of the extruders their motion system limit how much the bed can be angled when the extruder is close to the bed, but it can reach sharp angles further out.

The biggest difficulty with non-planar printing is developing a slicer; [multipoleguy] is working on a slicer (MaxiSlicer), but it’s still in development. It looks as though it’s already working rather well, to the point that [multipoleguy] has been optimizing purge settings for tool changes. It seems that when a toolhead is docked, the temperature inside the melt chamber rises above the normal temperature in use, which causes stringing. To compensate for this, the firmware runs a more extensive purge when a hotend’s been sitting for a longer time. The results for themselves: a full three-color double helix, involving 830 tool changes, could be printed with as little as six grams of purge waste.

As three-axis 3D printers become consumer products, hackers have kept looking for further improvements to make, which perhaps explains the number of non-planar printing projects appearing recently, including a few five-axis machines. Alternatively, some have experimented with non-planar print ironing.