Bitumen of Judea

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Bitumen of Judea, or Syrian asphalt, is a naturally occurring asphalt that has been put to many uses since ancient times.[vague] It is a light-sensitive material in what is accepted to be the first complete photographic process, i.e., one capable of producing durable light-fast results. The technique was developed by French scientist and inventor Nicéphore Niépce in the 1820s. In 1826 or 1827, he applied a thin coating of the tar-like material to a pewter plate and took a picture of parts of the buildings and surrounding countryside of his estate, producing what is usually described as the first photograph. It is considered to be the oldest known surviving photograph made in a camera. The plate was exposed in the camera for at least eight hours.[4]

The bitumen, initially soluble in spirits and oils, was hardened and made insoluble (probably polymerized) in the brightest areas of the image. The unhardened part was then rinsed away with a solvent

Niépce's primary objective was not a photoengraving or photolithography process, but rather a photo-etching process since engraving requires the intervention of a physical rather than chemical process and lithography involves a grease and water resistance process. However, the famous image of the Cardinal was produced first by photo-etching and then "improved" by hand engraving. Bitumen, superbly resistant to strong acids, was in fact later widely used as a photoresist in making printing plates for mechanical printing processes.[citation needed] The surface of a zinc or other metal plate was coated, exposed, developed with a solvent that laid bare the unexposed areas, then etched in an acid bath, producing the required surface relief.

Because I am a photographer of the last century I know who Nicéphore Niépce was and how he took what it probably the world’s first photograph, in 1826 or 1827 from his kitchen window.

I really never made the connection with bitumen of Judea until more recently.

A few years back (2011) I read Cleopatra: A Life by Stacy Schiff . In it I found out something most interesting about the sticky product. Cleopatra was a rich and shrewd woman. She was aware that the Roman fleets (particularly those of her buddy Marc Antony) used bitumen to caulk the planks and hulls of their ships. She also knew that most of the bitumen of the time came from the Roman Province of Judea. There was a problem in that the man in charge in Judea was Herod the Great. Cleopatra asked Antony to intercede for her so that Herod would cede the bitumen (of Judea) exploitation rights to her. And so it was.

With my preoccupation (with my Rosemary) on the affairs of the world gone Trump mad I have read about Alberta’s bitumen and wonder if their female Premier doesn’t have a little Cleopatra in her.

There are two extremes to this argument on the fate of that bitumen. Perhaps some sort of pragmatism will in the end resolve the problem and no asps will have to be imported.

Today I had lunch with Tim Bray, a guru on all things interent, digital, etc. I tried to convince him on my theory that our ability to associate is what makes humans different from other lifeforms on our planet. It was not to be and with a simple smile on his part we went to other things. 

Yesterday I posted this blog (to fill a gap some months ago that was empty as Rosemary were in New York or in Mérida). In the same set of negatives I found the one you see here. I immediately associated the hand to Spanish mano.

In Mexico friends call each other by that word. “¿Cómo estás mano?” It seems that mano is simply short for hermano. Would this mean that Mexicans started the contemporary “bro” thing in the last century?

One way streets in Mexico are simply called tránsito. The word implies that traffic (tránsito from the verb transitar) goes only in one direction. In my Buenos Aires a different expression is used, contramano or against the direction of my hand.

Both Emily Dickinson and Julio Cortázar (and obviously others) have written about the human hand. I like this particular one by Cortázar (with an English translation byTamara Pearson) who many think may have influenced or inspired the TV program The Twilight Zone. The poem by Dickinson I have referenced before but here it is below, again.

A hand’s lines – Julio Cortazar

Translated by Tamara Pearson

From a letter thrown on the table, a line extracts itself and runs along the pinewood then goes down a leg. If you look closely, you can see the line continue along the hardwood floor, climb the wall, enter a metal plate that is reproducing a painting by Boucher, trace the back of a woman reclining on a sofa, and finally escape the room by the roof and descend a chain of lightning rods to get to the street. It’s difficult to follow it because of the traffic, but if you focus, you’ll see it climbing the wheel of the bus parked on the corner that goes to the port. There it gets off the bus on the nylon stocking of the blondest passenger, passes through the hostile territory of customs, and crawls and zig zags to the wharf, and there (it’s difficult to see it, only the rats follow it to get on board) it gets on the boat with the loud turbines, runs along the first class deck, overcomes with difficulty the main porthole, and enters a cabin, where a sad man drinks cognac and listens to the farewell siren. It climbs the lining of his pants, then his vest, and slides along towards his elbow. Then with one last effort, it takes refuge in the man’s right hand palm, which in that instant starts to close on the butt of a handgun.