In this short video, the artists of Chemical Bouillon explore a broken LCD monitor and its liquid crystals. By sandwiching the fluid between thin, transparent sheets, they create dendritic shapes as the liquid crystals and other fluids (air? ink?) push into one another. There’s a lot here that’s likely connected to the Saffman-Taylor instability, but without knowing more details on the ingredients and set-up, it’s hard to speculate beyond that. (Video and image credit: Chemical Bouillon)
At nearly 10 times saltier than the ocean, the Dead Sea is one of the saltiest places on Earth, and since 1979, scientists have observed it growing even saltier as snow-like salt precipitates to the bottom of the lake. Numerical simulations have now confirmed that this salt-fall is the result of double-diffusive salt fingers.
Here’s how the mechanism works: the upper layer of the lake is made up of warmer, saltier water covering deeper, colder waters. As the sun evaporates water near the surface, what’s left behind becomes saltier and heavier. Tiny pockets of this warm, salty water sink into colder regions and rapidly cool. The heat can move a lot more quickly than the salt, though, and since cold water cannot hold as much salt as warmer water, some of the salt precipitates out. That forms the falling crystals scientists observe sinking to the bottom of the lake. (Image and research credit: R. Ouillon et al., source; via Physics World; submitted by Kam-Yung Soh)
Take a mixture of a viscous liquid – like clay mud – and squeeze it between two glass plates and you’ll create a mostly-round layer of liquid. As you pry the two glass plates apart, air will push its way into that layer, forcing through the mud in a dendritic pattern. This is called the Saffman-Taylor instability or viscous fingering. It occurs because the interface between the air and mud is unstable. (Image and video credit: amàco et al.)
Although many people have studied droplet impacts over the years, there’s been remarkably little work done with oil-on-water impacts. One of the things that makes this situation different is that the oil and water are completely immiscible, which means we can see aspects of the impact process that are invisible with, say, water-on-water impacts.
The animation above shows an underwater view of the oil droplet’s impact. The energy of the initial impact creates an expanding crater and an unstable crown splash. That crown splash contains both water and oil. After it ejects some droplets, the rim stabilizes, but we can still see small perturbations along its edge as it starts to retract. In the water, high surface tension damps out these perturbations. Not so for the oil! As the crater retracts, the small disturbances along the rim get stretched into mushroom-shaped fingers that point inward toward the impact site. Because the index of refraction is different between oil and water, we can see the fingers clearly near the end of the animation. (Image and research credit: U. Jain et al.; submitted by Utkarsh J.)
Adding particles to a viscous fluid can create unexpected complications, thanks to the interplay of fluid and solid interactions. Here we see a dilute mixture of dark spherical particles suspended in a layer of fluid cushioned between the walls of an inner and outer cylinder. Initially, the particles are evenly distributed, but when the inner cylinder begins to rotate, it shears the fluid layer. Hydrodynamic forces assemble the particles together into loose conglomerates known as flocs. Once the particles form these log-like shapes, they remain stable thanks to the balance between viscous drag on particles and the attractive forces that pull particles toward one another. (Image and research credit: Z. Varga et al.; submitted by Thibaut D.)
Although turbulent flow is chaotic, it’s not completely disordered. In fact, order can emerge from turbulence, though exactly how this happens has been a long-enduring mystery. Take the animations above. They show the flow that develops between two plates moving in opposite direction that are separated by a small gap. (The formal name for this is planar Couette flow.) The visualization is taken in a plane at a fixed height between the plates.
Initially (top), the flow shows narrow bands of turbulence, shown in green, separated by calmer, laminar zones in black. As time passes, these areas of laminar and turbulent flow self-organize, eventually forming diagonal stripes that are much longer than the gap between plates (bottom), the natural length-scale we would expect to see in the flow. Researchers have wondered for years why these distinctive stripes form. What sets their spacing, and why are they along diagonals?
To answer those questions, researchers explored the full Navier-Stokes equations, searching for equilibrium solutions that resemble the striped patterns seen in experiments and simulation. And for the first time, they’ve found a mathematical solution that matches. What the work shows is that the pattern emerges naturally from the equations; in fact, given the characteristics of the solution, the researchers found that many disturbances should lead to this result, which explains why the pattern appears so frequently. (Image and research credit: F. Reetz et al., source; via phys.org; submitted by Kam-Yung Soh)
A jet of falling liquid doesn’t remain a uniform cylinder; instead, it breaks into droplets. In this video, Bill Hammack explores why this is and what engineers have learned to do to control the size of the droplets formed.
The technical name for this phenomenon is the Plateau-Rayleigh instability. It begins (like many instabilities) with a tiny perturbation, a wobble in the falling jet. This begins a game of tug of war. One of the competitors, surface tension, is trying to minimize the surface area of the liquid, which means breaking it into spherical droplets. But doing so requires forcing some of the the liquid to flow upward, against both gravity and the liquid’s inertia. The battle takes some time, but eventually surface tension wins and the jet breaks up.
That’s not necessary a bad thing. It’s actually key to many engineering processes, like ink-jet printing and rocket combustion, as Bill explains in the full video. (Video and image credit: B. Hammack; submitted by @eclecticca)
The evaporation of a simple droplet holds far more complexity than one would expect. If you look closely at the edge of the drop, there’s a tiny, beautiful display at work. It begins with small variations in surface tension at the contact line where solid, liquid, and gas meet. These could be caused by local temperature or concentration differences; either way, the gradient in surface tension creates a flow. It starts out as a series of microjets spaced evenly around the contact line (left).
As the microjets strengthen, they merge into larger and larger vortical structures (right). This kind of feature – large structures emerging from smaller ones – is known as an inverse cascade. Fluid dynamicists have traditionally studied the classic (turbulent) energy cascade, where kinetic energy moves from large scales into smaller ones, but researchers are beginning to recognize more situations where the inverse cascade occurs, such as in the storms of Jupiter. (Image and research credit: A. Ghasemi et al., source)
Granular mixtures show surprising similarities to fluids, even though their underlying physics differ. The latest example of this is a Rayleigh-Taylor-like instability that occurs when heavy particles sit atop lighter ones. By combining vertical vibration and an upward gas flow, researchers found that the lighter particles form fingers and bubbles that seep up between the heavier grains (upper left). Visually, it looks remarkably similar to a lava lamp or other Rayleigh-Taylor-driven instability (upper right).
But the physics behind the two are distinctly different. In the fluid, buoyancy drives the instability while surface tension acts as a stabilizing force. There’s no surface tension in a granular material, though. Instead, the drag force from gas flowing upward provides the vertical impetus while friction between the grains – essentially an effective viscosity – replaces surface tension as a stabilizing influence.
The similarities don’t stop there, though. When the researchers tested a “bubble” of heavy grains suspended in lighter ones (lower left), they found that, instead of sinking, the granular bubble split in two and drifted downward on a diagonal. Eventually, those daughter bubbles also split. Again, visually, this looks a lot like what happens to a drop of ink or food coloring falling through water (lower right), but the physics aren’t the same at all.
In the fluid, the breakup happens when a falling vortex ring splits. In the granular example, gas moving upward tends to channel around the heavy grains because they’re harder to move through. Eventually, this builds up a solidified region under the bubble. When the heavy grains can’t move directly down, they split and sink through the surrounding suspended particles until they build up another jammed area and have to split again. (Image credits: granular RTI – C. McLaren et al.; RTI simulation – M. Stock; bag instability – D. Zillis; research credit: C. McLaren et al.; submitted by Kam-Yung Soh)
In nature, the way a system behaves often depends on multiple competing factors. This is particularly apparent for chemical reactions, some of of which can oscillate in wild patterns as different forces compete. Similar patterns can occur in combustion, as shown above.
What you see here are patterns formed on a flame propagating down a tube. They’re a result of what’s known as a thermal-diffusive instability. Flames like these typically propagate by conducting heat into the fuel-air mixture ahead of the flame front, thereby raising its temperature, while, simultaneously, fuel and air diffuse into the flame to sustain the chemical reactions. If the rates of heat transfer and chemical diffusion are balanced, the flame moves steadily. But if there’s an imbalance between those factors, instabilities occur.
In this case, the temperature rises much faster than the time needed for fresh fuel to move into the flame. As the temperature goes up, the reaction rate increases exponentially, and the flame surges forward. But the slow resupply of fuel makes the reaction rate drop, causing the flame’s progress to stall. This interplay results in the complex, pulsating instabilities we see here. (Image and submission credit: H. Pearlman; research credit: H. Pearlman and D. Ronney)