Cross-ratio — where it appears
Named by 42 essays across 11 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A height, out of one photograph
Four points on a vertical, one cross-ratio, and the height of something nobody measured. The only metric input is the photographer's own eye height, because the horizon is at eye level and that is the one piece of perspective folklore that is exactly true.
What a projection destroys
A projection loses length, angle, area and the ratio in which a point divides a segment. Exactly one quantity comes through untouched, and almost everything that can be checked about a picture is checked with it — including, as it turns out, some things it cannot check at all.
A lens destroys the invariant
The cross-ratio is the one thing a projection preserves, and nearly everything checkable about a photograph is checked with it. A lens returns it one and a third per cent out where the pinhole is exact to fifteen digits — and the height error that follows tracks a quantity nobody would guess.
A picture through water has no viewpoint
Continue the rays of a refracted picture into the water and fit them to a common point. They miss it by ten millimetres. The same fit with the water taken away misses by zero, which is what makes ten millimetres a measurement rather than a number.
A map along, and a picture across
The midpoint of a segment lying along a scroll's length images to the midpoint of its image, exactly. The midpoint of a receding one lands 22% of the way off. One projection, two answers — and the direction that keeps measure keeps something a perspective picture never offers.
How wrong a measurement from one picture can be
The formula divides by a difference of two nearly equal numbers when the object is tall, which looked like the instability and is not. Measured, a taller object is recovered better and a more distant one worse — half a per cent per pixel at six metres and eleven per cent at a hundred and twenty. The argument that was wrong is as much the finding as the curve that replaced it.
A projection of a projection
Photograph a photograph and the composite map is a homography — four marks determine it and every other lands where they say, to 1e-13 px. Roll the print and the same four mispredict the rest by 30.5 px, which is why straightening a page of a thick book never quite works.
A texture does not interpolate on the page
Walking across a drawn surface at a constant rate walks across the real one at a rate that changes, and the worst gap is a closed form in the depth ratio alone — 0.52 at ten to one, more than half the whole range. It is exactly the error a person makes dividing depth by eye, made by a machine, and the fix is the fourth coordinate the pipeline kept.
The diagonals find the middle
Three taught methods for spacing a receding row are all wrong, and the best of them misplaces a post by three and a half metres. There is a fourth, it needs no measurement and no vanishing point, and it is exact at every camera and every depth — because 'the diagonals of a rectangle cross at its centre' is a statement about which lines meet where, and that is the one kind of statement a projection cannot damage.
The lens a pavement can hide
A photographed pavement reads as a correct drawing up to a radial coefficient of about four tenths — a lens strong enough to bow a straight edge across the page by nearly six pixels and to print as twenty per cent distortion at the frame's corner. The reason is that a pavement sits near the principal point, which is the one part of the frame a radial map barely touches.
A shadow can be un-cast
A shadow looks like a lossy record — a flattened smear with the shape half thrown away. It is nothing of the kind. The map from the occluder's plane to the floor is a plane projectivity, so it has an inverse, and the outline comes back out of its own shadow exactly. What breaks it is not the light and not the shape: it is the floor not being flat.
What one picture of a plane determines
A photograph of a tiled floor fixes that floor's geometry up to a projectivity, and no further. Supplying the horizon buys back the midpoint — exactly, and nothing else. Supplying the image of one circle buys the right angle and the ratio of two lengths at right angles. Three stages, three prices, and a quantity a stage does not determine has no value rather than a wrong one.
Straightening does not move the eye
Correct a photograph's converging verticals and what comes out agrees with a level camera at the same point — one the correction was never shown — to 3e-13 px, with the verticals parallel to 0e+0°. The cross-ratio of four points along a ground line reads 1.3333 before and after, so the corrected picture measures exactly what the original measured, from exactly where the original was taken and nowhere else.
Four lines have a cross-ratio
The cross-ratio is introduced as a property of four points on a line. Its dual — four lines through a point carry the same number, and any transversal reads it back — is not a second theorem. It is why the first one is true: four rays from an eye are a pencil, every picture of them is a section of that pencil, and a quantity belonging to the pencil cannot depend on which section was taken.
The horizon, and the fraction
The horizon crosses every upright at the point of it that stands at the camera's own eye height — always, whatever the picture plane is doing. It crosses at the same *fraction* of the drawn height only when the plane is vertical: tilt by 6° and the fractions spread by 0.08 percentage points, tilt by 4° and 0.06. One statement is an incidence and survives; the other is a ratio and does not.
The rule that draws another room
The taught rule for spacing receding boards — each gap a fixed fraction of the last — is not a projection of anything, and it produces a pavement that is a correct perspective to within a fifth of a pixel. Of a room whose horizon is a hundred and seventy pixels from the one the panel drew. The error is not incoherence; it is a disagreement between two halves of one drawing.
A tilted sensor is not a distortion
Tilt a sensor 3° out of square with its lens and every point of the picture moves — up to 7.5 px on the frame drawn here — yet every straight line stays straight to 10⁻¹³ px and the cross-ratio survives to 10⁻¹⁶. The picture is an ordinary pinhole picture whose principal point has moved 22.30 px. A calibration that frees its principal point absorbs it exactly; one that holds the principal point and reaches for tangential distortion terms leaves 1.87 px, and used as a correction it bends straight rows by 4 px.
The ceiling that is not a plane
Paint the same design for the same eye onto a floor and onto a barrel vault, then fit the best possible homography to each set of marks. On the floor it misses by femtometres, because the map is a collineation and four marks determine every other. On the vault it misses by half a metre, and no choice of four marks helps — which is where every projective construction made for a floor stops applying.
An angle is a cross-ratio
A projection destroys angle, which every account of perspective says and a direct measurement confirms. It destroys it only in the sense that the picture no longer carries it for free — because an angle is a cross-ratio taken against two particular points, and once those two points are located in a photograph the world's angles can be read off it directly, with no rectification, no camera, and nothing measured but which lines pass through which points.
The bay repeated by a straightedge
Draw one bay, then repeat it by diagonals alone — no measurement, no scale, no arithmetic — and after twelve bays the constructed corners sit 1e-12 px from the corners the camera projects. It is exact because the operation being iterated is a homology of the picture, not because the draughtsman was careful, and that separates it from every construction in this site's `wrong` field.
Carrying a height across the room
A known height at one place on the floor, and the same height wanted at another: two lines settle it, and they settle it exactly, at every camera and every pair of positions. What the recipes never mention is that one of those two lines has to be drawn to a point that is usually not on the paper — 3,300 canvas widths away in the case drawn here — and that the repair is not to extend it further.
The two pencils keep one number
Four lines through the image of the other eye in one picture, and the four epipolar lines they become in the other. The angles between them change by up to 11.4°; their cross-ratio is 3.012836 on both sides, to eight parts in a trillion. Three pairs of lines fix the map between the pencils, and the fourth is predicted to a third of a billionth of a pixel.
Seven is not a power of two
Halving a receding depth by diagonals is exact, and every book gives it. Halving reaches a half, a quarter, three eighths — and never a third, however many times it is spent, because no power of two is divisible by three. There is a construction that reaches every whole fraction, it costs three lines rather than a stack of quadrangles, and the extra ingredient is not a measurement.
The circle in the square wants a number
Every manual draws a circle in perspective by inscribing it in a square, crossing the diagonals, and marking four more points about seven tenths of the way out. Seven tenths is right — along the diagonal of the real square. Along the drawn one it is 54 mm off a circle two and a half metres across, and the drawn diagonal is the only diagonal on the paper.
Where each closure enters the stratification
The five facts that turn a photograph's ratios into metres do not all do the same job. Read on four quantities through the map each supplies — a cross-ratio, a ratio along a line, an angle, a length — three of them return all four exactly and two return only the first three. Set the free scale ten per cent wrong and the whole ten per cent appears in the length and nothing appears in the other three, to thirteen digits.
The polar with a straightedge
Two secants through a point cut a conic at four places; the complete quadrangle they make has two more diagonal points; the line through those is the polar. Not one length, angle or midpoint is used, so the whole construction survives the projection that made the picture — and three unrelated pairs of secants land on the same line to 4.3e-13, while moving the point moves it by fifteen orders of magnitude more.
Three procedures, one panel
Alberti's lateral section, the distance-point construction and a pinhole camera put every transversal at the same pixel — and every reading of the finished drawing therefore returns the same number for all three. The methods are distinguishable on the desk and indistinguishable on the panel, which is the fact any attribution has to start from.
A line is a space of its own
Most of what is said about projective geometry in pictures is said about the plane. One dimension down there is a smaller object with a complete theory: a point of a line is one ratio, a map of a line is three numbers, three pairs fix it, and the cross-ratio is not merely an invariant but the only one — which is a claim that can be made to fail.
Four marks before anything is said
A reader fitting a correct perspective to a row of transversals has three numbers to choose, so three transversals fit whatever they are and the fourth is the first that can disagree. Below that count a pavement is unfalsifiable, and a great many painted pavements are below it.
The map a row of posts is
Walking one bay further down a row is a map of the drawn line to itself, and which map it is settles everything about how the spacings behave. It is parabolic — one fixed point, counted twice, and that point is the vanishing point — which is why the drawn posts crowd toward it and never arrive. Doubling a distance instead gives a hyperbolic map whose multiplier a straightedge can read.
The slip that leaves no trace
A distance point put twenty-four pixels wrong moves the pavement by two and a half and leaves the reader's projective test reading exactly four thirds. The same slip on Alberti's section moves the drawing by the same amount and is caught, so the difference is not the size of the error — it is that one of them lands back on the set of correct drawings.
The ladder of assumptions is a ladder of conditioning
Push the four corners of a board by one pixel and read three quantities through the one recovered map. A cross-ratio does not move at all — it is read in the picture and never went through the map. A ratio of parallel lengths moves by a tenth of a per cent at twenty degrees of obliquity and by 1.6 per cent at seventy-eight. An angle moves by sixteen thousandths of a degree and by nine tenths. The stratification ladder is usually taught as a hierarchy of what is assumed; it is also a hierarchy of what a pixel costs.
Dividing to a point off the board
A wall turned forty degrees to the view has its vanishing point 0.65 canvas widths past the edge of the paper, and the construction that aims every course at it without ever reaching it is exact to 1e-13 px. Putting the vertex where the sheet ends instead costs 20.9 px, which on this wall is 300 mm of masonry, and nothing in the drawing says so.
The bias out of reach
A single-view height recovered from the cross-ratio has an error with two terms. The spread of an average of m readings falls as one over the root of m, by a fitted exponent of −0.52 over three decades. The bias does not fall at all — and it is eight microns, against a single-shot spread of six millimetres, so the two cross at 535,000 measurements. There is a floor here and no experiment anybody will run can see it.
The bays that are not equal
The diagonal repeats a bay exactly and forever, and what it reaches is the whole multiples of that bay and nothing else. An arcade of 1:1.5:2 is 250 mm short of its boundary with no halving, exact after one, and an arcade of 1:1.333:2 is out of reach at every depth whatever. A measuring point lays out all three to 6e-14 px.
What a straightedge reaches on a receding line
Three marks on a receding line fix a coordinate, and everything a straightedge builds from them is a ratio of whole numbers. Three complete quadrangles put 1655 marks on the unit interval with no gap above 0.0038, a third costs two quadrangles where repeated halving never reaches one at all, and the same net built on a line that does not recede arrives at the identical 30 coordinates.
The stair that turns has a vanishing point that moves
A spiral stair's treads are one rectangle turned by a constant angle, so every front edge has its own vanishing point and the twelve lie on one horizon to 2.8e-14 pixels. Four consecutive of them read a cross-ratio of 1.353720, and the formula behind it holds no focal length, no principal point and no eye — so a photograph gives the builder's 12° turn back.
The quadrilateral that finds the middle
The harmonic conjugate is usually built from four points. Built instead from four lines — the dual construction, the same number of straightedge steps — it lands on the same fourth point to 1.2 × 10⁻¹⁵ of the range's own length, gives a cross-ratio of exactly −1, and refuses the midpoint, whose conjugate is at infinity.
Four points on a conic look the same from anywhere on it
Four marks on a photographed circle subtend the same cross-ratio at every point of the curve — 1.627695, unmoved over twenty-two positions of the fifth point, to 1.1e-13 degrees of projective spread. A fifth point 6.1 pixels off the conic reads anything from 1.00 to 2.52, so the invariant belongs to the curve rather than to the four marks.
A line is a closed curve
The point at infinity is an ordinary point, so a projective line is a circle — and the consequence is about order. Betweenness broke in 21.1 per cent of ten thousand random projectivities and separation in none of them, and the zero is a reading rather than a blind instrument because a fold of the same circle breaks it 3,522 times.
Three kinds of map on a row of posts
A projectivity of a line has two fixed points, one, or none, and every one of the three is a picture this collection already draws. The three orbits are told apart by where they go — one piles onto a fixed point, one crawls, and the third returns after six steps and is 1.9e-11 pixels from where it started.
Every projectivity is two perspectivities
A perspectivity is what one eye does between two lines, and two of them compose to any projectivity at all. The construction closes on a point nobody used to 1.4e-14 pixels, both of its free choices move the second centre 663 pixels across the picture, and the composite does not move at all.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Vanishing pointProjective invariantHorizonpoint at infinityHomographyDemonstrationHarmonic conjugateProjective mapTransversalProjective linesingle-view metrologyPicture plane