Imaginascience
March 22, 2006
I'd like to briefly tell you here about my encounter with a personified Lanturlu.
Guillaume Fabre in the kitchen of my house in Pertuis
Guillaume Fabre, that's the real-life name of this engineer, decided one fine day at the end of 2004 to share with internet enthusiasts his passion for all scientific curiosities that could illustrate scientific principles. He then set out on a quest to discover around the world the most playful, educational, and surprising objects: among them are scientific toys, gadgets, educational materials, and decorative items. Some of his products are exclusive to France.
Gyroscopic Saucer
He recently came from Toulouse to demonstrate some of his discoveries to me: some of them appear quite innocent and ordinary at first glance (I'm thinking of his singing rod or his resonant bowl—truly astonishing!) but when handled skillfully, they fully reveal their resonant potential.
The mysterious "Chinese resonant bowl," very impressive
Among his selection, of course, are all kinds of tops (such as the fascinating Lévitron) and gyroscopes—small and large ones operated by a crank and a gear reduction system.
Below is what happens when you place a magnet under a bulb containing ferrofluid.
The ferrofluid visualizes the lines of force of the magnetic field
He also found Stirling engines, including a simple and inexpensive one using a test tube as a support, available as a kit to assemble.
The beautiful wooden bicone, a true sculpture, which climbs uphill instead of descending.
Passionate about internet technologies as well, he created his e-commerce website "in his garage" and uses it to publish light scientific news and very comprehensive popular science articles, abundantly illustrated with videos and 3D animations:
He plans to soon enrich his site further with short interviews in the form of video podcasts. He'd also like to develop his venture by designing and handcrafting certain products, such as Möbius strips and Boy's surfaces; artisans reading this text, take note!
Guillaume, with the model of Boy's surface that I had made, which enabled Jérôme, Souriau's son, to build the first parametric representation of this object, invented in 1902 by a young student who then disappeared without a trace.
He launched his website last December and continues discovering new objects, delighting us all. Captivated by the all-consuming passion of entrepreneurship, Guillaume, alias Lanturlu, has also launched a forum on this theme:
http://www.sp-wiki.com/forum/entreprendre/
Radiometers that endlessly spin in the sunlight
So I decided to do a bit of promotion on my site to help boost his launch and improve his search engine visibility. Please don't hesitate to visit and leave comments to help him improve his site.
His email:
I think Guillaume, besides selling these objects by mail order, should create a scientific animation show. Yes, science has its "Magic Circus" side. I'd really like him to share his phone number so I can contact him for this file.
To young "temporary performers," I'd say: "Put on scientific clown shows for children. There are a thousand things to do."
Example: Two clowns arrive in a square during summer. One wears ice skates and has decided to practice the sport. The other mocks him.
"Perfectly, sir. I'm going to skate right before your eyes—and I'll show you!"
Then, with a few liters of liquid nitrogen, he creates a layer of ice by pouring it onto the surface of the pond. And then... you can imagine the result!
Another gag: A performer wearing a well-greased pulley, along which runs a flexible and strong rope (an 8 mm climbing rope). One clown asks the other:
"The boss asked you to put these books in the storage room upstairs."
The other places the books on a tray connected to the pulley by a climbing rope (sold by the meter). When he pulls the rope, surprise: he rises at the same speed and height as the books. The reason: the weight lifted is exactly equal to his own! A comedic version of the "Atwood machine." When he descends, the books do the same.
Variant: The actor asks a spectator to pull the rope and asks the audience: "What do you think will happen?" He notes the percentage of responses on a blackboard. You'd be amazed at the result—the most frequent answer being: "Nothing..."
I once performed this demonstration at the Faculty of Letters in Aix-en-Provence during a conference of epistemologists, who were also unable to give the correct answer (...).
You can imagine the possible dialogues:
A clown is knitting in a corner. He's making a completely surreal sweater.
"What are you doing?"
"I? I'm a theoretical physicist."
"You? A theoretical physicist!?"
"Absolutely. I'm knitting with superstrings..."
One would need to be Raymond Devos to fully exploit all the facets of this. I can picture Devos arriving on stage saying he has a black hole without his matchbox, and that if he hears someone laughing, he'll throw them into the middle of the room.
Imagine actors gathered around a machine housing retrochronologists—people who live time in reverse—and are about to open a door.
"No, wait—stop!"
"What?"
"What are you going to tell these people? They live backward in time."
"So what?"
"Well, if you open the door, you have to say 'goodbye' because in their time, they're leaving."
"Oh, right..."
"And that's not all."
"What else?"
"When you speak to them, remember they already know everything you're about to say, while they know nothing of your previous words."
The other removes his hand from the door and thinks:
"This seems more complicated than we thought. But still, a show with retrochronologists would be really interesting."
"Why?"
"Think about it. Commercially, we'd make a fortune. They're interested in our waste, while they're trying to get rid of their raw materials."
"And on top of that, they're willing to pay for it!"
"Indeed, seen from that angle."
Former CNRS research director seeking a theater troupe to create scientific shows in the style of Raymond Devos.
You might remember that Nicolas Tesla, dressed in a suit and bow tie, used to captivate audiences by manipulating tubes filled with gas under low pressure, which lit up under the influence of an induced field produced by a hidden Rumkhoff coil beneath a table, discreetly operated by an assistant. I recall, when I had an MHD lab (in the only attic room in Aix-en-Provence equipped with 30,000 volts!), I used to amaze visiting journalists. I'd hand them a sealed bulb, cigar-sized, filled with argon, place it in their mouth, telling them not to move and to "concentrate." Then, in the dark, I'd slowly increase the power of the...