Demonstration — where it appears
Named by 100 essays across 17 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
What the removed roof buys
The Japanese convention of drawing an interior with its roof lifted off is usually explained as a way of seeing inside. What it actually buys is uniformity — every room reports the same share of its floor, to the last sample, where the eye that frames the same building reports three different numbers.
The picture whose lines spread
In a Byzantine icon the sides of a table diverge with depth. The standard account says the vanishing point is behind the viewer. It is not — it sits below the near edge, in front of the eye, and it is the vanishing point of a direction running down and away.
The divide is postponed, not avoided
A renderer does not divide by depth. It multiplies by a four-by-four matrix that carries the depth in a fourth coordinate and divides later, and the postponement is not an optimisation — it is what makes clipping and texture interpolation possible at all. The matrix and this site's pinhole put every point on the same pixel to five parts in a hundred trillion.
A focal length is not an angle
Fifty millimetres means nothing until a rectangle is named behind it. The same lens is 39.6° across full frame, 26.6° across APS-C and 8.7° across a phone sensor — and the distance the resulting print is correct from depends on the ratio of the two, so two cameras matched on angle agree exactly whatever their formats.
The screen sets the distance
Every viewing distance quoted for a picture on a page is conditional on an assumed figure width. Replace the assumption with an actual chain — focal length, sensor width, display width — and the same 50 mm frame is correct from 9 cm on a phone, 83 cm on a monitor and 16.7 m in a cinema. Nobody is standing at any of them.
A straight line in a scroll is a hyperbola
Under a pushbroom the image of a straight world line is a Möbius function of the paper coordinate, which is a rectangular hyperbola. It is straight exactly when the line holds its depth — so a curve in a handscroll is a depth signal rather than a stylistic one, and the sag is computable in pixels.
An inverse perspective is a leaning plane
Ask a divergent construction what solid it depicts and it answers: a rectangle, four right angles, near edge equal to far. What the splay encodes is not the shape but the plane's tilt — and a real square on a plane leaning toward the camera really does photograph with its far edge wider.
What happens behind the eye
A point behind the camera has a perfectly plausible image. Dividing by a negative fourth coordinate flips both signs, so the point lands through the principal point on the far side of the frame, and a segment crossing the eye plane is drawn straight, inside the frame, and running in exactly the opposite direction — a direction cosine of −1.0000.
Stepping closer is not zooming
Changing the focal length leaves the ratio between any two things in a picture exactly alone — to twelve decimal places, at every focal length there is. Moving changes it. Hold the subject's drawn size across a step from 3 m to 1.5 m and the background halves, which is the whole of the shot everybody knows and nobody derives.
A wide field on a small screen
A picture rendered at a hundred degrees and shown on a screen that subtends forty-nine is being read from two and a half times its own station distance, so the depicted space is two and a half times too deep. The stretch at the edges everybody complains about is correct; the complaint is really that nobody is sitting where it would be invisible.
The centre a scroll does not have
Fit a common point to the rays of one section of a handscroll and it misses by metres. The miss is not a residual to be tightened — it is exactly the standard deviation of the eye's own track, it grows linearly with how much is unrolled, and it goes to zero only for a section of no width.
The precision a depth buffer has left
Depth is stored as an affine function of one over the distance, so half of a buffer's codes are spent before the harmonic mean of the near and far planes — twenty centimetres out of a kilometre. The resolution goes as the square of the distance, and the fix that works is not more bits.
Every row is a different camera
A shutter that reads its rows one after another images each of them from wherever the camera was at that instant, so a frame is a stack of projections indexed by height — a handscroll with the roll running down the picture. Its rays miss their own best centre by the spread of the eye's track, at a ratio of 0.988, and a global shutter's meet to 2 × 10⁻¹⁶ m.
Two pictures on one screen
A stereoscopic display puts a point where two sightlines cross, so the depicted depth is b·D/(b−d) and the disparity that reaches infinity is exactly the separation of the reader's eyes — 63 mm, at any screen distance whatever. The depth budget is set by the width of a head and by nothing about the scene.
A centre and a measure are exclusive
Eight drawing systems, measured on five questions, with the pinhole as a row rather than the header. Exactly one has a centre of projection and it is exactly the one with no true measure — and loosening the measure test by a hair lets it in, which is what says the boundary is real.
The one thing a single view cannot give
Make the world a hundred and thirty-seven times larger and move the eye a hundred and thirty-seven times further away, and the picture does not change by a measurable amount. Every ratio in a scene is recoverable from one photograph and no size is, and that is not a caveat about the method — it is the shape of the method.
Each system answers its own question
A comparison in which every system wins its own column proves nothing if the columns were chosen after the systems. The test that makes it a result is whether any system wins something it was not designed for — and two of them do.
A pixel is not a point
Where the sample sits inside a pixel is a convention, and getting it wrong shifts every mark by half a pixel in each axis. What that costs can be measured by recovering the camera from the picture — the answer is a principal point exactly 0.707 px from the truth with the focal length untouched, and the other half-pixel mistake does precisely the reverse.
A frame is an interval
An exposure is not an instant, so a frame is an integral of projections and every moving point draws a streak. The streak is straight, because the image of a straight path is straight — and its length goes as one over the depth, so two objects at 3 m and 6 m blur by lengths in the ratio 2.000. No single kernel describes the frame.
The render is distorted on purpose
A headset renders a bent picture so its lens can straighten it, which is a lens's distortion polynomial run backwards, and the one case in which distortion is introduced deliberately. The round trip closes to a thousandth of a millionth of a pixel, and the price is that one rendered pixel becomes 0.493 delivered pixels at the edge of the field and one at the centre.
A carpet and the people on it
A Persian miniature draws the ground as though from above and the figures standing on it as though from in front. The two views want optical axes exactly ninety degrees apart, and the plan view does not shorten a standing figure — it replaces its height with its distance from the point under the eye.
Assembled from several views
An Egyptian relief takes each part of a figure from the direction that identifies it — head in profile, eye and shoulders frontal, a pond in plan. What that buys is exactly measurable: any single viewing direction keeps at most √k of k perpendicular aspects, so the best compromise view retains 58% of each.
What perspective gave up
The field ends by turning its own battery on the system it has been comparing everything against. Four quantities a pinhole destroys that the other systems keep, each measured by the same computation as the systems it is set against, and each the price of the one thing perspective has and they do not.
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 pixel that is not square
A camera with two focal lengths is a real thing — anamorphic cinema optics, non-square photosites, a stretched video format. Hand the round trip of camera recovery a picture from one and it returns a focal length 49.6% out, a principal point far from the truth, three independent estimates agreeing to 1e-16, and bundle residuals at the noise floor. Every alarm the site has stays silent.
A projector is a camera run backwards
Turn a projector fifteen degrees from square and it throws a trapezium; keystone correction cannot add light outside it, so it shrinks the picture until it fits and discards a sixth of the panel. And the instrument itself comes back out of the picture it threw — 2880 panel pixels recovered against 2880, by the function the wrong field wrote for hand-drawn cubes.
Any three lines you draw are a cube
Four earlier essays said that cavalier projection is not the projection of anything — because its axis scales sum to three where every orthographic projection sums to two. That is true of orthographic projection and false of projection. Three lines from a point, drawn by hand, are a picture of an actual cube seen from an actual direction, and the cube and the direction come out of the drawing in closed form.
The shadow of a ball is a conic
A cone cut by a plane is a conic section — which is the definition of the phrase, not an analogy — and the shadow of a ball is exactly that cut. So the shadow closes or runs to the horizon depending on where the lamp is, and the condition is not what anyone guesses: it is that the lamp is above the top of the ball. The ball's distance appears nowhere in it.
Brunelleschi drilled a hole in his panel
The first perspective demonstration in the European record came with its viewing point enforced — a hole through the back of the panel, a mirror held out in front, and one place to stand. That distance is computable from the panel's size and the angle the Baptistery subtends, and the answer lands squarely on the arrangement the account describes.
The arcs a curvilinear drawing uses
The taught way to draw a very wide view by hand is to run every straight edge of the world as a circular arc. That recipe has been repeated for sixty years without a surface attached to it, and it turns out to name one exactly — fitting a general conic to the image of a straight line returns a circle to nine decimal places under stereographic projection and returns nothing like a circle under any of the other standard picture surfaces.
A picture with two eyes in it
Several traditions draw the floor from one place and the people on it from another. No single camera produces both, as an earlier essay showed. What such a picture actually is has a measurement attached: give the rays their world points and ask for the one place they all pass through, and at a stride of separation the best answer misses them by six tenths of a metre.
The wall under the paint
An anamorph's design is a set of rays from a known eye, fixed before any paint is applied — so the marks are a calibration target whose rays are known exactly and whose shape is not. One ordinary photograph supplies the second ray for each mark and the wall comes back at the arithmetic floor, on a dished floor, a ridged one, and a floor with a step in it. What it says between the marks is nothing, by the sagitta.
A yes in the table is a price
The comparison table says isometric, cavalier, the elevation and the plan oblique all keep measure. Priced on four hundred boxes, with each picture handed its own best ruler, the four charge 0%, 0%, 33.3% and 0% for an edge — and a pinhole charges 39.5%, only 6.2 points more than the elevation it is filed against. Turn the boxes and three of the four yeses cost something; only the plan oblique's stays free.
Two triangles and the line nobody drew
Desargues' theorem is the reason a hand-drawn shadow construction closes. An object and its shadow are two figures in perspective from the lamp; the theorem says their corresponding sides meet, pairwise, on one line — which is the ground line. So the closure a draughtsman treats as confirmation that the work is accurate is a theorem they cannot violate.
One parameter between two surfaces
Wide architectural views are usually made on a projection with a number attached to it — a family running from the flat plane at one end toward the cylinder at the other, with everybody using the value one. That value has never been given a geometric defence. Measured across the family with the same battery of tests as every other surface, the worst angular error over the field has a minimum, and the minimum is at 1.04.
The second eye is a shear
A picture drawn from two eyes is a picture drawn from one, of a different room. The map that puts the second eye away holds the picture plane still point by point and carries one centre onto the other, and the member of its family that matters turns out to be affine — a shear along the line joining the eyes, growing with depth, which is the same operation an oblique drawing performs.
The screen is a picture surface too
A curved television is one of the six named picture surfaces sitting in a living room, and from its own axis it delivers azimuth in proportion to the picture, exactly. What it is shown is a rectilinear picture from a sofa, and the difference is not a matter of degree — a flat screen from any seat shows a homography of the intended picture, so it is a correct picture of a transformed scene, and a curved one shows a map that is not a homography from any seat at all.
The curvature a shadow reports
A flat floor makes a shadow a homology, so four marks predict the rest exactly and a curved floor mispredicts them by millimetres. Turn that round and the mispredict is a measurement of the floor. It recovers a dished floor's own curvature to a per cent — and returns 0.482 for a floor made of two planes, whose curvature is zero everywhere, with a residual of ten microns.
A page is bounded by a divide, not a centre
A pinhole draws the whole of an infinite ground in a bounded patch of page — each doubling of distance half the one before — while a handscroll spends the same page on every doubling and an isometric drawing spends three quarters of its page on the last one. It is tempting to credit the centre. A crossed-slits camera, whose rays miss any common point by 0.46 m, is bounded too: what does it is dividing by depth in both directions of the page.
The drawing does not say which corner is nearer
The Necker cube is filed under optical illusion, as though the flipping were something the eye does. It is not: a parallel drawing of a cube is a drawing of exactly two cubes, mirror images of each other, and they project to the identical picture to the last bit. Perspective rules the second one out at a rate exactly inverse in the eye's distance, and never entirely.
A wall does not get darker as it goes away
The inverse square law is about a point source. A surface is not a point source, and the picture of a wall is exactly as bright at twenty metres as at two — the patch one pixel covers grows as the square of the distance and the light per unit area falls as the square of the distance, and a picture records the product. Which is why aerial perspective has to be the air.
A floor anamorph is three numbers
An anamorph is described everywhere as a picture stretched until only one viewpoint can read it, which says what it looks like and nothing about what it is. Cast one onto a floor and fit a map to the marks, and the map turns out to be a planar homology — a line of fixed points, one point off it, and a single ratio. Those three numbers are not a description of the eye. They are the eye.
Conformal is not undistorted
The most distorted-looking picture in ordinary circulation is the little planet — a 360 photograph re-projected from below, with the ground curled into a ball. Its worst angular error over 160 degrees of the sphere is 4.4e-8 degrees, which is arithmetic noise. Every crossing in the original crosses at exactly the same angle in the result, and what has gone is area, over a factor of 255.
Counting the eyes needs the room
How many eyes made a picture is not a question the picture can be asked. Told what the room really measures, the rays refuse to meet and a second eye has been caught; told instead that the room is the one the picture is consistent with, the same rays meet exactly, at the first eye. The refusal is real and it belongs to the room.
One picture of a ball
The outline of a ball in a photograph fixes the cone of rays that graze it, so the cone's axis is the direction of the ball's centre and its half-angle is the arcsine of radius over distance — both exactly, and neither of them separately. A ball a hundred and thirty-seven times larger, a hundred and thirty-seven times further away, draws the identical conic. And the drawn ellipse's own centre is not the image of the ball's.
A fitted radius is wrong before it is uncertain
A sphere and a paraboloid of the same vertex radius agree to second order, so a fit over a small aperture cannot separate them. What it does instead is return a confident radius that is wrong by a stated percentage, with a residual far below any measurement floor — 0.03% of bias behind a residual of three ten-thousandths of a degree. The residual only clears a two-hundredth of a degree at six times the aperture, by which point the bias is thirty-six times larger.
The ellipse the drawing office draws
Every isometric ellipse template is cut to a construction of four circular arcs, and every account of it calls the result an ellipse. It is not one and cannot be: a circular arc has constant curvature and a conic's varies, so the two can agree at four points and nowhere between. The four-centre curve reaches 2√2/3 of the true semi-major axis — 5.72% short — and its minor axis is 3.53% too long.
A lamp lights less than half a ball
Everyone knows a sphere is half lit. It is half lit by a source at infinity and by nothing else: a lamp two radii away lights a quarter of it, and the boundary it draws is a circle offset toward the light rather than a great circle. The offset is R²/D, which means a photograph of a lit ball carries the distance to whatever lit it.
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.
Six flat pictures of everything
There is one way to photograph the whole sphere and keep every straight line straight, and it is to stop using one surface. Six flat pictures at ninety degrees cover everything, each of them a perfect pinhole, and the price is paid entirely at the seams — where a straight line does not bend but kinks, by an angle that reaches 45 degrees and is exactly zero for the lines lying in the seam's own plane.
Where the anamorph still works
A picture correct from one point raises an obvious question that nobody answers with a number — how far may the eye move. The answer here is exact rather than approximate: a wrong viewpoint composes the intended picture with a central collineation whose axis is the line the picture stands on, so the error is zero along that line and grows linearly upward, and a step sideways costs precisely as much as the same step upward.
Two grounds, and what the second one costs
The miniature convention wants its floor drawn from overhead and its figures drawn from in front, and the two optical axes it asks for are exactly ninety degrees apart. Read as a picture with two centres rather than as a picture with none, the arrangement stops being a contradiction and becomes a quantity: the rays of the composite miss their own best point by more than a metre, and the absorbed reading is a floor that leans.
Two pictures of a ball
Two outlines give two tangent cones, and where their axes cross is the ball's centre — with the radius following from either half-angle. There is no correspondence problem, because a ball's outline in one picture and its outline in another are guaranteed to be the same ball; and there is a degeneracy, which is the two eyes and the ball in a line, and the solver refuses it rather than returning something plausible.
The marks name the place, not the height
Run the camera-recovery round trip on an anamorph — hand it the floor marks and ask for the eye back — and it returns the spot on the floor to eleven decimal places with nothing assumed at all. It does not return the height. What the marks fix is the product of the eye's height with the design's aspect ratio, and no amount of looking at the floor separates the two.
The lines a surface leaves alone
Only the plane draws every straight line straight, which is easy to measure and which gets read as though a curved surface bent everything. It does not. Every curved picture surface here keeps a one-parameter family of world lines exactly straight, and the family is a curve on the sphere of lines rather than a region of it — so a grid of samples finds none of it, which is what the first version of this measurement reported.
The floor that is not a plane
A shadow on a flat floor is a homology, so four marks determine the whole map and the rest of the outline comes back exactly. Dish the floor and the same four marks mispredict the rest by 5.67 mm; ridge it and 9.07 mm; put a step in it — two planes, each of them exactly a homology — and 74.95 mm. The receiver's shape is what breaks the projective description, and it breaks it worst where the surface is flattest.
A parallel floor under a perspective room
Draw the floor without diminution and the people on it with it, and the picture has a centre at infinity glued to a centre in the room. The same map absorbs it — but there is no shear this time, and there cannot be: bringing a point in from infinity is not something an affine map does, so the room the picture is equally a picture of has its midpoints moved as well as its angles.
The dish no outline reaches
An outline is a pair of numbers per direction and nothing more, so a shape built from outlines has two errors that behave differently. The part outside the convex hull falls as one over the square of the view count. The part inside a concavity is the same area at four views and at a hundred and twenty-eight, because no pair of supporting lines ever reaches into a bite.
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.
A shadow across an edge
A straight rod's shadow crossing the crease between floor and wall is two straight pieces, each dead straight to 1e-15 m, meeting at 35.08°. The corner is a fact about the room and not about the rod. Fit the floor's map from four marks and apply it across the whole shadow and the part on the wall comes back up to 78.9 cm from the object — the wrong map, applied confidently.
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.
A set cut for one eye
Build a colonnade four metres deep and cut every column so that its picture is the picture of one eighteen metres deep. The taper is forced rather than chosen — height and width both scale as the real depth over the intended one — and the match from the design eye is exact to sixteen decimal places. What gives it away is the second eye, and not by the ratio anybody would predict.
The two points a picture hides
The stratification rung says a photograph of a plane is projective, becomes affine when the vanishing line is known, and becomes metric with one more fact. The one more fact has a size and a shape: it is two points, complex conjugates on the vanishing line, and a rectification built from those two and nothing else returns every world angle to a tenth of a picodegree and every ratio of lengths to five parts in a quadrillion — and refuses to name a length.
A third ray is worth what its picture is worth
Three eyes on one point, two at seven metres and one walked back to seventy. The point nearest all three rays in metres is 132 millimetres from the truth and the point of least reprojection error is 34 — the same 34 the near pair gives alone — and the first is pulled 12 millimetres along the line to the distant eye. And arrangement beats count outright — two rays spread over fifty-five degrees beat eight rays inside four, by a factor of 4.4.
The spread a point gets
A track of sixty degrees gives no point of the scene sixty degrees. The nearest receive 89 and the furthest 41, a factor of 2.2, and their errors run from 1.5 to 8.4 millimetres — following the angle at the point as its −1.68 power, with 94 per cent of the variation explained. The arc a track covers is one number for forty-four different situations and predicts none of them.
One conic calibrates the camera
A focal length is usually recovered from two perpendicular vanishing points by an orthocentre construction with a square root in it. There is a second derivation with no construction and no square root — two vanishing points of perpendicular directions must be conjugate with respect to one conic in the picture — and the two agree to the last bit. They are not two methods. The conic is what a calibrated camera is.
Vergence moves the shells and does not respace them
Turn two eyes inward and the depths a whole-pixel reading can report stop being planes and become a family of near-circles through both eyes — the twenty-pixel shell standing at 0.74 m forty degrees aside where a parallel pair puts it at 3.82. The spacing between consecutive shells is the same to 0.07 per cent across the whole field, so vergence relabels the rays and does not sharpen them, and the resolution argument for turning the eyes in does not exist.
The response is at the ends and the information is not
A radial map bows a straight edge by an amount that grows as the square of the distance along it, so 93 per cent of an edge's response to the coefficient lies in its outer quarters. Spending the marks there is 16 per cent worse than spreading them evenly, because two clusters say nothing a shifted, tilted line could not say. What identifies the coefficient is a curvature, which needs three places — both ends and the middle, which beats an even spread by 11 per cent.
What a flat map leaves alone
A projectivity of the plane is eight numbers in a matrix, and reading them tells a reader nothing. What it does is decided by its fixed points, and there are exactly three cases: three isolated fixed points, or a whole line of them with one point off it, or a whole line of them with the point fallen onto it. The middle case has five numbers instead of eight and every point slides along a line, and it is what most of the maps this site builds turn out to be.
Two mirrors show fewer images than they make
Two mirrors at 55° generate seventy-one images of a point and an eye between them can reach six. The count the field teaches — three hundred and sixty over the angle, less one — is out by as much as sixty-six against the orbit and never by a whole image against what a viewer standing on the bisector actually sees. It is a correct rule about the eye, quoted as a rule about the mirrors.
A third eye that lands on the next post
Match one post of a railing to its neighbour and the pair reports it at 19.8 metres instead of 9.0, with every test two photographs can run at the arithmetic floor. A third picture usually exposes that by hundreds of pixels — but at five azimuths in seventy-eight degrees the wrong point lands within three pixels of another post, and the third view confirms the mistake. Narrow the railing to twenty centimetres and those places cover 28 per cent of the arc.
Three constructions, one map
A shadow cast on a floor, an anamorph painted on one, and a reflection in a mirror are usually treated as three different subjects, each with its own derivation and its own figure. Decomposed into their fixed points and lines, three of them are the same kind of map — a central collineation with a line of fixed points — and the fourth, a rectification, is not. That difference separates changing where a picture is seen from, from changing one picture into another.
The pivot that is not the eye
A camera bolted to a tripod turns about the screw under its baseplate, and the light crosses somewhere else. Every ray of the panorama that results passes the pivot by e sin γ — the offset times the sine of how far off its own frame's axis the ray points — so the picture has a radius where a projection would have a point.
A symmetric object is its own stereo pair
A building with a plane of symmetry photographed once gives fourteen correspondences whose joining lines meet at one point to 1.9 × 10⁻¹² pixels, a skew-symmetric matrix, and the object's whole shape to fifteen digits — with no mirror anywhere and no second exposure. What it does not give is the size, and the instrument that decides whether any of it applies is the same meeting point, which opens to 12.7 pixels when the symmetry is half a per cent out.
Three-point, laid out with a straightedge
Recovering a camera from a drawing is the familiar direction. The other direction — stand somewhere, measure a room, and lay the picture out — had never been taken in three-point, because the third axis needs a measuring point on a line nobody draws. With it, every corner lands where the camera puts it to three parts in ten million million of a pixel, and nothing anywhere is judged.
The parallax you cannot shoot away
A stitched panorama's parallax has two halves and they do not behave alike. The one across the seam falls as the sine of half a frame spacing, so more frames buy it off; the one up the frame is the sine of half the frame's own height, and no quantity of shooting touches it. They cross at π over β, which has no pivot error in it at all.
A drawing has three horizons
The triangle three vanishing points form is not a scaffold. Each of its sides is the vanishing line of one of the three coordinate planes — the floor's horizon and two walls' — and its orthocentre is the centre of the picture. So the horizon a perspective drawing is built on is one side of a triangle, and it is special only because the ground is where things stand.
The camera that is a cylinder
A swing-lens camera turns its lens about its own entrance pupil and sweeps a slit across film bent into a circle concentric with it. Compute where the light lands, unroll the film, undo the pinhole's inversion, and the result is not similar to the cylindrical picture surface — it is the same map, to the arithmetic floor. What it pays instead is detail, and a shear on anything that moves.
The arc every eye stands on
Four drawn corners known to be a rectangle fix the horizon of their plane and nothing else. The eye that drew them has to see the two vanishing points at a right angle, so it lies on the circle those points are a diameter of — and every point of that arc reconstructs a genuine rectangle, with right angles to five parts in ten million million of a degree, and a different proportion.
A rig is right on one surface
Several cameras looking outward have several centres, and no warp registers all of a scene. The residual is a disparity, so the depth the stitch is computed for has an exact optimum — the harmonic midpoint of the depth range, not the middle of it — and the arithmetic middle costs a factor of 2 z_far over the sum, which tends to two.
No solid casts an aspective figure
Fitting the best single rigid view to an aspective figure — head and legs in profile, eye and shoulders turned square — misses its own marks by 2.6% of the drawn height, and no yaw does better than 3.0% in a full sweep. A genuine single-view drawing of the same body fits to 7.6e-13 pixels, and the five rotations recovered from the marks alone match the convention's own list to 0.0e+0°.
The proportion is the assumption
Read the proportions of a rectangle out of a photograph of it and the answer is a function of where the centre of the picture is assumed to be. Sweeping that assumption across the horizon takes one drawn quadrilateral from one part in fourteen to slightly wider than square, every reconstruction a genuine rectangle, and only a fiftieth of the sweep within five per cent of the truth.
The ball a drawing does not draw round
An orthographic drawing of a sphere is a circle wherever the sphere is, and its centre is the image of the sphere's centre, exactly. A cavalier oblique drawing of the same sphere is an ellipse of aspect exactly √2 — and the drawing office reaches for a circle template. One formula covers both and the camera as well, and only the camera moves the centre.
The ball at the edge of the frame
A ball photographed near the edge of a wide picture is not drawn as a circle. It is an ellipse, longer along the radius from the centre of the picture than across it, and the centre of that ellipse is not the image of the centre of the ball. Both are properties of the flat sheet the picture is on, and an exact pinhole produces both.
The quadrilateral no rectangle casts
The relation that reads a camera out of a drawn rectangle has a minus sign in it, and the minus sign is a refusal: two vanishing points on the same side of the assumed centre give the square root of a positive number, and no camera makes that quadrilateral out of a rectangle. Watching the refusal arrive shows what it is worth — one corner has to travel most of the picture's width before it fires.
No view draws a curved plate true
The auxiliary view is descriptive geometry's answer to a foreshortened plane — turn until the plane is parallel to the paper and it draws at true shape. A bent plate has no such direction and a dished one has none twice over: the best view of the first is out by 1 − cos w and the best of the second by 1 − cos²w, worse by exactly 1 + cos w, because its normals need two parameters rather than one.
Every quadric has one outline
The curve where a solid turns away from the eye is the section of the solid by one plane — the eye's polar plane — and the outline is three matrix products with no sampling in them. It works for a ball, a dish and a hyperboloid, and it fails for a cone, whose dual outline collapses to a single point and forgets which two lines pass through it.
The drawing and the development
A bent plate gets two flat pictures on the same sheet and each is exact in what the other loses. The parallel drawing keeps the generators at one scale and stretches the arc over a factor; the development keeps every length on the surface and keeps nothing of the shape in space. Neither is the plate and the pair of them is.
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.
A drawn fold has a phantom
A Necker cube has two readings and so does a drawn fold, and the fold's second reading is not the supplement of the first. The drawing fixes each plate edge's component in the picture and leaves its component along the ray free up to a sign; a reflection identifies two of the four sign pairs, so there are exactly two plates — and a hundred-degree fold reads as eighty-seven as well.
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.
Two outlines are two curves
The whole method of multiview drawing is the transfer line — a feature at a position in the front view is at the same position along that axis in the top view. On a flat-faced solid the feature is a vertex and the rule is exact. On a ball the two views draw two different great circles, meeting in exactly two points, and the transfer line joins places that are √2 radii apart.
A floor is read along curves
Whatever a shadow says about the floor it landed on, it says only where the shadow is — and a shadow is a curve while a floor is a surface. Shadow curve length grows exactly linearly in the number of lamps, by a fitted exponent of 0.999, and the fraction of floor within two centimetres of one grows more slowly at 0.94, because the curves begin to overlap. At thirty-two lamps, seventy-one per cent of a nine square metre patch has still never had a shadow on it.
Perpendicular is a pairing
On a horizon, the vanishing point of a direction and the vanishing point of the direction at right angles to it are joined by a map that is its own inverse. Such a map has two degrees of freedom rather than three, so two pairs determine it — and its two imaginary fixed points are the focal length and the centre of the picture, handed back from two rectangles on one floor with nothing assumed.
An error with two terms
Two results from machineries with nothing in common have now found the same shape. A panorama's parallax separates into a term that halves every time the frame count doubles and a term with no frame count in it at all; a silhouette's error into an excess that falls as one over the square of the view count and the area of a concavity that is the same number at four views and at a hundred and twenty-eight. Fitting both terms turns the distinction into a measurement, and pointed at seven of this collection's own laws it reads every one of them the way its own essay does.
What a null result is worth in decades
The first draft of this expected a short sweep to invent a floor, on the reasoning that least squares always spends a free parameter. It does not — on exact data the fitted floor of a floor-free law comes back at three parts in a quadrillion. The failure is the other one and it is worse because it looks like a result. Over a third of a decade at one per cent noise, floors of a fifth of the first sample are still consistent with the data, and the fit reports none while telling the truth.
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.
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.
The hook is the centre, and the eye is not
Dürer's string frame projects from a ring of iron driven into a wall, so its centre of projection has a position anybody can measure with a tape. A hook 120 centimetres behind a frame 56 centimetres wide makes a drawing correct from 34.3 centimetres shown 160 millimetres across, with its principal point 161 px off the middle of the sheet. The gridded veil projects from a head instead, and 30 millimetres of head moves its marks by 13.27 millimetres.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
centre of projectionDrawing systemStation pointinstrument limitResidualFree parameterConditioningProjective mapVanishing pointfield of viewPicture planePicture surface