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It looks as if this machine comes from the early industrial era. Clearly electro plating was an important process needed in the railway workshops. This photograph is designed to reflect the grunge and grime of the period.
This was the view of Chrome Hill as I had successfully descended the most treacherous bit of the Parkhouse ridge (mainly on my derriere). My Scarpa Manta boots had a coating of sticky mud on their Vibram soles, which meant staying upright on the slippy limestone quite impossible. There wasn't enough snow and ice for crampons, so I have now ordered some micro-spikes for situations like this in the future.
It was strange to see the Peak District's "Dragon Back Ridge" coated by snow and ice on the North faces, with the South sides being cleared by days of winter sun. I think the effect accentuates the shape of this wonderful reef feature. Hence the pun on "winter chrome-plating"!
It was quite an exhilarating little trek, in fact I found the Parkhouse descent quite embarrassing, having scaled many a peak in the Alps, I have never before had to slither around like a geriatric sloth on a descent from a hill. I'm just glad there were no others around to watch it!
You can see from this shot and another I will post at some point, how exposed this little ridge is. You certainly get a lot of excitement from this Hill and the view of Chrome is just great from here.
A gold plated RCA jack (phono jack). The gold plating provides corrosion resistance for a more reliable connection; its look is just an added benefit.
Nikon F3, Voigtländer Color Skopar 28mm f/2.8 SL IIs, Fuji Neopan Acros II @200 ISO
Film developed in Ilfotec DD-X 1+7.3 dilution.
Negative scanned using Fujifilm X-T5 with Fujinon XF 60mm f/2.4 Macro.
Processed with Capture One and GIMP.
Albums, groups and tags added with github.com/pemcg/flickr_cli
Thanks to Gregador for pointing out this part of Erie. This is where I landed on Street View and ended up liking it the best:
www.google.com/maps/@42.1180421,-80.0962067,3a,90y,147.65...
Listed here as one of the historic and notable bridges of the United States:
bridgehunter.com/pa/erie/bh82538/
Being dismantled in 2021:
Hill & Vine Restaurant
210 South Adams Street
Fredericksburg, Texas 78624
This is trully the BEST Onion Rings .... perfectly done !!
Is this a vessel, a flagon or a chalice? See here: Click
Let's call it a bottle, then.
As (fun) part of a chemistry experiment, we silver-plated the insite of a small glass bottle (about 50 ml, which I had purchased at Woolworth for 75 Euro cents).
The chemical process:
In a solution of silver nitrate in water, the silver nitrate dissociates to silver ions (+) and nitrate ions (-).
Ammonia is added, whixh decomposes to ammonium ions and hydroxide. Silver ions and hydroxide ions combine to silver oxide and water. The silver oxide has a low solubility and precipitates.
Adding further ammonia, the precipitate is transformed into a silver diammine complex, which again dissolves in water.
Adding potassium hydroxide, then glucose reduces the ions to metallic silver, which is deposited on the interior surface of the glass bottle. In case you are worried about what happens to the glucose in the process: it turns into gluconic acid.
The glass vessel is shown before and after the interior silver plating.
Shot with a Canon EOS600D with a Leica Marcro-Elmar-R 100 lens and a Leica-R bellows.
Plating Geranium backs. I was culling the dead and wilted leaves and thought these were beautiful. If you buy the scented varieties they would be totally edible!
Making a very pleasant change from the usual NMT, 37057 and 37610 were turned out to work the 1Q23 West of England test train circuit. It is understood this was the first appearance by class 37's on this train since November 2020.
In some beautiful winter weather, a pristine 37057 'Barbara Arbon' leads the formation through the Wylye Valley as it works between Salisbury and Westbury.
With the recent work carried out to 37099 which involved plating over the front ends, 37057 is currently the only 'split box' class 37 running on the national network- and it remains a firm favorite of mine!
Copyright © 2019 by Craig Paup. All rights reserved.
Any use, printed or digital, in whole or edited, requires my written permission.
More like this one? please click here
1 - Fresh Strawberries
2 - "Chrome Plating" - Airbrush Alclad Chrome (The same I use on my scale models)
3 - Spray water+sugar (some uses paraffin, I prefer sugar it gives a better shining effect to the droplets)
4 - Take the shot! Using a Stack of +2+4 Close up lenses plus a CPL filter lens.
5 - Enjoy but do not eat it! LOL
Location: Cork - Munster - Ireland - IE - Europe - EU
Photoshop Camera Raw Filter + Compositing
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Always Learning... Critiques are very welcome.
Serving up the meat (there was a variety by the way) during Saturday night’s meat lovers delight at Locavore to Go in Ubud, Bali … seriously nice food with great service at a great price. All the meat is from their butchery right next door.
NS 8100, the Nickel Plate Heritage Unit, leads manifest 11V westbound/northbound over the OC Bridge in the West End of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
WZ612 Type 30 is an IFV exclusively used by Pan-Asia Forces in China. Manufacted in 2030, this vehicle has been showing a slow decrease in it's usage over the past few years. The Type 30 sports ceramic armor plating, but only shows moderate overall performance.
This thing (believe it or not) eats my parts so it will be disassembled soon...
one from last years visit to Chester zoo. I planned a series of abstract close ups; in my head I saw Giraffes, Zebras, Tigers etc, etc... but the Rhino's were the only ones willing to play ball :-)
Copyright © 2021 by Craig Paup. All rights reserved.
Any use, printed or digital, in whole or edited, requires my written permission.
Suspended above the city of NeoExtropia, Sky Port Bury hangs in a tangle of steel, secrets, and light. Power is traded in whispers, beauty is engineered, and loyalty runs on voltage.
When casino matriarch Vivienne Ravenwood finds a broken synthetic in a back-alley, she doesn’t call security—she takes it home. What begins as curiosity becomes obsession, and in the city’s electric heart, creation always asks for something in return.
The Ravenwood Construct Book I: Eidolon
A new series of dark cyberpunk stories from the world of NeoExtropia.
Chapter 1 – Vivienne and the First Signal
Sky Port Bury was bracing for a storm. One of the high, thin tempests that hovered instead of falling, turning the air sharp and expectant. Neon flickered against dry steel, and the freight lifts sighed somewhere below. Vivienne Ravenwood moved through the service alleys in a long red coat and a pace that kept the city from catching up.
She’d meant to cut ten minutes off her night. Instead, she found a body.
Not human. Human-shaped.
It sat propped against a dumpster, plating gone in places, framework showing like a graphite sketch under paint. The face, even half-ruined, had been engineered toward beauty—cheek geometry tuned for light, orbital wells proportioned to imply calm. Someone had cared how it would be seen. Someone else had cared less and left it here like a confession they couldn’t finish.
Vivienne crouched. Cold oil and ozone; the city’s perfume. Close up, the chassis revealed quiet wealth in its design: anti-shear anchors at the shoulders, micro-gimbal spine segments, a combat-grade pelvis coupler disguised as grace. Industrial strength folded into elegance. She traced the line of the jaw where dermal mesh had torn back from its seam. The synthetic looked like a statue interrupted.
“Who threw you away,” she murmured, “and why did your worth change?”
A small light flickered deep inside the skull cavity—nothing dramatic, a moth inside a lamp. Not power; a capacitor’s envoi. Then she heard it: two quiet tones in succession, nearly subsonic, more gesture than sound.
Da - dum.
She didn’t believe in omens. She believed in patterns. The two notes repeated, slightly lower. The second slid. A human would call it wistful. A diagnostic would call it noise.
Vivienne stood. “All right,” she told the empty air. “You’re mine.”
She called no one on the casino channels. She didn’t like paperwork in the stormlight.
Ten minutes later, a plain cargo van eased into the alley. Two of her dockhands—one old enough to know what not to see, one young enough to want a promotion—lifted the chassis under her eye. Vivienne insisted on a blanket around the torso, an absurd courtesy that made the younger man less brave and the older one less curious.
“Workshop A?” the old one asked.
“Beneath Workshop A,” Vivienne said. “And use Route Three. No cameras.”
The van pulled away, leaving the alley to its hum. Da - dum, she thought, and almost smiled.
The private lift smelled like sterilized winter. Vivienne stepped out into a room that appeared on no Ravenwood blueprint: low-lit, three gurneys, a ceiling that remembered silence, a ring of devices named with numbers because names were incriminating. Her security chief had called this place a rumor. That was the point.
“Put it there,” she said. “Arms along the sides. Head turned slightly to the left.”
The dockhands obeyed. She dismissed them with enough pay that would keep them indebted and silent—two conditions she trusted more than loyalty. When the door shut, the room felt like a stage without an audience.
The synthetic lay where she’d wanted it, as if it had chosen the pose. Vivienne circled, cataloguing: servo array graded for torsion, knuckle housings built to take a blade, throat cavity widened for a speech modulator. There was taste in the build. There was money. And there was the violence of a hurried disassembly—cut lines not unscrewed, brackets warped where patience would have sufficed.
“Who were you to them,” she asked, and the question left condensation in the air.
The platform’s diagnostic rails extended with a quiet hydraulic curtsey. She connected three lines: power, data, and truth. Power would be patient. Data would be hungry. Truth would be whatever she could prevent from being a lie.
“Shell only,” she told the system. “No core wake. Map the lattice and stop at thirty percent.” Her voice slowed when she gave orders to machines. People mistook it for tenderness. It was tuning.
Screens bloomed. The lattice unfolded in false color, a cathedral of logic in cross-section. Weathered, yes. Sabotaged, no. And there—like writing under scraped paint—an encrypted partition nested beneath the system’s scheduling layer, mislabeled as inert fabric support. Not corporate. Not Guild. Not any vendor she’d bribed.
The identifier was wrong in a specific way: too short by two characters and too symmetrical to be a mistake.
EIDOLON.
Vivienne tasted the word like a jeweler tests metal—instinct before science. She didn’t touch the encrypted partition. Not yet. Let a thing think you hadn’t noticed it and it would tell you who it was trying to impress.
“Slow copy of the surface layers,” she told the system. “And prep the dermal frame for re-anchoring.”
If she was going to keep it—and she was, after all—she would not parade a ruin. Beauty wasn’t weakness; it was armor. People got hypnotized by beauty and confessed things they didn’t mean to.
She keyed three messages, disguised as unrelated repair orders:
To Kel Foran, who fixed neural lattices because he couldn’t fix his own sleep:
Prototype drone. Mesh burn on scheduler. Need reflow and stitch, no full boot. My lab.
To Lio, who worked the port’s edges where the cameras gave up:
Collector’s piece—frame reinforcement and servo retrofit. Has to run silent. Assume nothing. Tell no one.
To the ex-Arcova engineer who changed names monthly:
Behavioral dampers and etiquette bundles for a civilian face. You don’t know what you’re working on. If you think you do, you’re wrong.
She watched each message send, tracking acknowledgments. When the room was quiet again, she lifted a tray of dermal mesh, midnight-soft and threaded with carbon shimmer. The synth’s cheekbone caught the light at the angle the mesh would lay; the room believed in symmetry and Vivienne obliged.
Then—the two-tone hum again, fainter this time, carried in the transformer’s throat. Da - dum. The second note stepped down.
“I didn’t ask you for a song,” she said.
No answer, of course. The platform hummed and waited for her to invent meaning. Vivienne set the mesh down and let her hand find the curve of its jaw, almost gentle.
“You belong to me,” she said—not loudly, not for the cameras that didn’t exist down here, not for the city that kept its own ledgers. For the room. For the machine. For herself.
Da - dum.
Visit Sky Port Bury at maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Kasieopeia/219/128/534
This is just a compost bowl. It looks like some fancy dessert, some bougie preparation plating, but it's just an espresso puck, some strawberry guts, and radish roots.
The M1 Adaptive Tread Base Abrams was developed in 2078 the advanced computer systems and onboard AI reduced the required pilots to two. Only a few were built initially but when the robots declared war in 2081 they were mass produced as the army's main battle tank. Sadly since the humans lost the war it was the last version of the Abrams tank used in combat
Mass: 64 tons
Speed: 50 Mph (on treads)
Speed: 15 Mph (on legs)
Armament:
The tank is equipped with a 205mm main canon, a 14.6mm machine gun mounted to the side and a twin-fire missile pod mounted to the other.
NOTES:
I touched up the platting around the legs extending it on top of the treads and adding to the plating in between
I also moved the barrel ever so slightly into the center so I could design some better plating next to it to help it fit into the platting around it
lastly I added a trophy system to either side of the tank to add filler to the flat side as well as updating the machine gun with an actual M240 machine gun that I bought at the Brickfair I went to recently
As always questions and comments are always welcome and encouraged!!
This is a fuel tank being welded due to the immense heat and the non corrosive zinc plating on the metal plate it creates quite a cool smoke affect