Foreshortening — where it appears
Named by 56 essays across 13 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A scroll is a camera that moves
A Chinese handscroll is not a picture with a wandering viewpoint or a picture with no viewpoint. It is the image of an eye that travels along a track and records one vertical line at a time, and that object has an exact geometry — orthographic along the roll, perspective across it.
What isometric actually means
The three axis scales are equal to each other. They are not equal to one. Every unit along every axis is drawn at 0.8165 of its true length, which is √(2/3), and a great deal of confusion about isometric drawing comes from the word promising something it does not deliver.
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.
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 picture with no size–distance signal
In a system with no diminution the drawn size of an object falls at exactly zero pixels per metre, so nothing in the picture says how far away anything is. Depth has to be carried by something else, and what carries it is height on the page — linearly, and without a horizon.
The circle whose centre moves
The image of a circle is an ellipse, and the image of the circle's centre is not the centre of that ellipse. The gap is 3 or 4% of the ellipse's width in an ordinary view — large enough to see, small enough to be dismissed as a slip by anyone not expecting it, and the reason drawn wheels look wrong.
Which axis scales are possible
An orthographic projection's three foreshortening ratios always satisfy one identity — their squares sum to two. Isometric's famous 0.8165 is forced by it rather than chosen, and cavalier's 1, 1, 1 sums to three, which is the arithmetic saying cavalier is not the ORTHOGRAPHIC projection of anything. A later rung shows what the departure is a measurement of.
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.
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.
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.
Oblique is a shear, and the shear is the whole system
Cavalier and cabinet are usually introduced as easy perspective for people with a set square. They are not a simplification of anything — they are the answer to a demand no orthographic projection can meet, which is a front face at true size and a depth axis at full length at the same time. The two are locked on a unit circle, and buying both costs exactly 45° of obliquity.
Which way the drawn circle leans
Two rules are given for the direction a drawn circle's short axis runs in: along the axis of the cylinder, and pointing at the centre of vision. On the optical axis both are exactly right. At the edge of an ordinary frame the first is out by three and a half degrees and the second by seventy-nine. The statement neither of them is comes out of differencing the projection, and it matches the drawn ellipse to a hundredth of a degree.
Three distances in one landscape
A landscape assembled from a low station for the near ground, a level one for the middle and a high one for the far gives its furthest band 6.9 times the picture one camera would allow it — because the image of a fixed depth interval falls as one over depth squared, and its own station gives that back. What it costs is a jump in the rate at which depth runs, 2.50 at the first join and 2.75 at the second, and three views from one height leave no seam at all.
A ruler on an isometric drawing
Isometric drawing has one scale — 0.8165 — and every account of it stops there. But that number is about three directions and a drawing has infinitely many, so a length measured off the paper and divided by 0.8165 comes back anywhere between √(1/2) and √(3/2) of the truth: 29.3% short to 22.5% long, with nothing in the picture to say which.
The forty-five degree shadow
Draw the shadow at forty-five degrees and make it as long as the object is tall. In the plan that is exactly a sun halfway up the sky. Applied on the paper it puts four posts under four different suns — altitudes from sixteen to twenty-nine degrees, azimuths thirty-two degrees apart, and shadows between one and three-quarters and three and a half times the height. No drawing angle brings them together.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The corner sees an ellipse
A circular pupil viewed from off the axis is foreshortened by the cosine, so the blur patch a corner receives is an ellipse of axis ratio 0.920 at the edge of a full-frame picture with a 50 mm lens — and the light through it falls as the fourth power of the same cosine, 0.480 stops. Both are geometry, both happen to a perfect lens, and no design removes either.
The view that makes a line a point
Descriptive geometry's first drill is to look at an edge from a direction perpendicular to it, so it draws at true length, and then along it, so it draws as a point. Both are the same identity — the imaged length is the true length times the sine of the angle to the ray — and the sine holds to 1e-12 across the whole sweep of directions.
The same person, twice on one panel
A panel showing one figure at four moments is geometrically the least strange thing in this field — one camera, one floor, and every pair of copies meeting the horizon to 8.5 × 10⁻¹⁴ px. What the picture withholds is the order, and four copies admit twenty-four readings, and a reading convention supplies 4.6 bits from outside the marks. Enlarge one figure by six per cent and the horizon test that passed the panel catches it at 36 px.
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.
Nothing moves when the object does
Slide a box 3.2 m across the world and its parallel drawing is the same drawing translated 131.5 px — every edge the same length to 4e-14 px. The perspective drawing of the same move changes its edge lengths by 87.2%. One family's pictures depend on where a thing is; the other's do not, and almost everything the two families disagree about follows from that.
The evenness a curve buys
A curved screen is sold on evenness, and evenness turns out to be three quantities that disagree. On pixel pitch the curve wins from every seat; on the angle the glass is turned through it wins until three and a half metres along the sofa; on the plain distance from eye to glass — the reading the argument is usually made in — it gives up before half a metre.
Size that means rank
In a great many pictures the drawn height records importance rather than distance. That is a decision rather than a mistake, and it can be caught with a straightedge by carrying one figure's height across the room by the taught construction and see where it lands. A tenth of rank in the picture already misses the drawn head by 21 px, the miss is exactly linear in how much rank is there, and the whole test needs two references and no arithmetic.
Counting is a measurement
A tiled floor gives its area with no reference length at all — count the tiles and multiply. The count is an integer, so it is exact wherever it can be made, which is a completely different error law from the rectifier's smooth decay. And the distance at which it fails is set by the tile's depth edge, which foreshortens as one over the depth squared, so 18.7 m for a 62 cm tile, where the across edge alone would have allowed 217.
The minor axis is not the axle
A wheel's perspective ellipse is supposed to have its short axis along the axle, and it does — on the principal ray, to 5e-14 degrees, and nowhere else. Off it the two part by 5.95 degrees on an ordinary frame while the drawn curves stay 0.98 px apart. A sphere obeys a rule of exactly the same shape and obeys it everywhere, which is why nobody caught the difference.
Along a line of constant depth the page is affine
Stepping a texture by a constant amount per pixel is wrong across a receding floor and exactly right along any line of it that stays at one depth — and on every plane those lines run parallel to its own vanishing line. Turn a 120 px span 1° away from that direction and it is 0.79 px out; roll the camera a hundredth of a degree and a floor drawn to 30 m is out by 0.69 px on its worst scanline.
The true shape of a cut
A plane through a box makes a hexagon of 2.8996 m². The front view draws it at 1.9966 m² — the true area times the cosine, 0.6886 — and gets its corners wrong as well, the worst by 15.60°, because a foreshortening scales one direction and not the other. The area is recoverable with one number and the angles are not, which is why a section gets a view of its own.
Turning and travelling blur different worlds
A subject 8 m away crosses the frame at 4 m/s, and the camera keeps it sharp over a thirtieth of a second. Turn to follow it and every still thing blurs by the same 13.5 px, whatever its depth. Travel beside it and the still world blurs as one over its depth — 49 px at 2 m, 1.5 px at 64 m — while everything moving with the subject is sharp at every depth.
A cylinder has two different ends
The two end circles of a cylinder image as two different ellipses — 14.4° apart in the direction of their major axes and 0.918 against 0.839 in aspect — and the outline's straight sides touch neither of them where its major axis ends, missing by 28° round the ellipse and 35 pixels. Walking the cylinder away removes the difference between the ends and does not remove the offset of the touch, which settles at 7.3° off the principal ray and at nothing on it.
A shadow map's texels land by two distances and two cosines
A renderer finds its shadows by taking a second picture from the lamp and storing a depth in every texel. Each texel reaches the screen through the surface it falls on, and how many pixels it covers there is a closed form — two focal lengths, two distances and two cosines. From a lamp beside the eye every texel lands at 0.79 px; from a lamp 40 m ahead facing back, the same map lands texels of 8.69 px on the floor 5 m out.
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.
The design that outruns the floor
A pavement anamorph of a design forty per cent of eye height needs two metres of floor. Eighty per cent needs thirteen. Ninety-four per cent needs fifty, ninety-nine per cent needs three hundred and seventeen, and the sky needs an infinite one — because the ray through a design point level with the eye never comes down. Depth times the height still to go, divided by the height already reached, is the eye's own distance at every point of the family.
A wire with a corner in its shadow
A bent wire has no corner anywhere on it, and its shadow has one. The lamps that do it are not a coincidence — they are a surface in the room, two-dimensional, made of the wire's own tangent lines, and a lamp being carried across the room passes through it.
The dimetric the set square draws
An orthographic direction has two parameters and produces three axis scales, so the achievable triples are a surface rather than a list. The drawing office's dimetric — one axis at 1 in 8, the other at 7 in 8 — has the right three scales exactly and the wrong two angles, and the picture it makes is an oblique projection of a cube rather than an orthographic one.
A tilted span walks a staircase
A span along a banked floor's constant-depth direction is exact, and a renderer visits pixels rather than the span. Snapped to the grid, a 120 px span at a 20° bank costs 0.577 px where the same span along a page row costs 13.26 — twenty-three times better — and it never rises above 1.22 px at any bank. The price is bookkeeping: a band of twenty-four such spans draws 53 of its 1,368 pixels twice.
The line every nosing is on
Nothing in a staircase points up the pitch. Every surface in it is level or vertical, and its picture has a vanishing point off the horizon all the same — belonging to the line the front edges of the treads lie on. That point is not free: it is collinear with the travel point and the vertical point, and the angle it makes says the rise-to-run the builder chose.
The edge of a shadow is drawn on the object
The outline of a cast shadow is the image of a curve, and the curve is on the caster. It is not painted there: it slides when the lamp moves, it is not the outline the camera sees, and the two coincide only in the arrangement where no shadow is visible at all.
One warped shadow map, and what it cannot reach
The lamp facing the eye needed a shadow map 9,530 texels square — 90.8 million texels — for none of them to land on the near floor larger than a pixel. Fitted to the floor and warped by one projective parameter, the same map needs 805 thousand; nothing can do better than one texel per pixel of the eye's picture, 148 thousand. What stays out of reach is not the cosine of a surface, which a warp absorbs, but two surfaces that want different densities along one ray from the lamp.
A hole is not preserved
The shadow of a connected object is connected — always, at every lamp position, and for a reason with no geometry in it. A hole survives in neither direction: a ring's shadow closes up at a computable tilt, and an object with no hole in it casts a shadow that has one.
A circle off the coordinate planes
An ellipse template is cut at one ratio, and the ratio is the cosine of one angle: between a coordinate plane's normal and the direction of projection. A face tilted out of that plane needs a different ratio and — the half that gets drawn wrong even when the ratio is close — a major axis pointing somewhere else, perpendicular to the drawn normal rather than to any edge.
A texture reaches the horizon as a rate
A ground drawn to infinity cannot carry a texture coordinate at its far corners, because a repeating texture has no coordinate there. It can carry a rate — so many checks per metre along the direction — and a second number that is 1 at points and 0 at directions. Interpolated like every other attribute and divided once, that pair is exact half a pixel from the horizon. Give the same corner a value instead and the ground is drawn in reverse perspective.
Higher on the page, and where that stops being true
A pinhole's image height above the horizon falls monotonically with depth over the whole 2–400 m range sampled here, and 57% of that whole range lands in the ground's last drawn tenth — the accumulation the oldest depth convention is quietly built from. Above eye level the ordering inverts, and at eye level exactly, five different depths draw one height, a spread of 0.0e+0 px.
A tilted target pays for its tilt in perspective
A calibration target of printed circles held square to the lens fixes a lens's first radial coefficient to 4.77 thousandths from ninety-six marks. Tilt it sixty degrees, fit the tilt along with everything else, and the same ninety-six marks fix it to 1.70 — nearly three times better. Squash the circles by the same angle without perspective and nothing is gained. What pays is the near half of each circle being drawn larger than the far half, which spreads a circle's marks across a band of distances from the lens's centre.
What an eye can paint
A flight of steps has eighteen faces and no eye reaches more than fifteen. Pointed at a cluster of blocks, a seating rake and a corridor with a doorway in it, the same measurement finds 8 of 21, 7 of 13 and 6 of 7 — and the plane, which offers its whole self to every eye, is the control that makes the law a law rather than a fact about stairs.
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.
The eye that reaches the most
A higher eye buys the faces occlusion was hiding and loses design off the far end of the object, so "the best eye" is not a question with an answer until somebody says which of the two they are paying for. On three objects the answer is as high as possible; on a corridor with a doorway in it the two quantities cross and the best height is two and a bit metres.
A design that lands in two rooms
Cast a design down a corridor with a doorway in it and four per cent of the picture goes through the opening and lands on a wall three metres beyond, at 9.4 metres from the eye against the end wall's 6.4. The picture is continuous across the edge of the doorway and its scale jumps by half again, which is a corner anamorph's discontinuity with a gap in the middle of it instead of a fold.
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 stretch decides the band
A design band chosen by geometry — the rays that meet the object — includes rays that graze along it, and a grazing ray lands two design points twenty times further apart than the design says. Cap the stretch at four and a bare floor keeps 55 per cent of its design, a corner 80, and the top of a descending flight all of it.
One flight, two pictures
From the top of a descending flight every riser faces away, so the design lands entirely on treads. From the foot of the same flight the risers take 68 per cent of the design at a median stretch of 1.4, and the treads take the rest at a median of 2.6. Give each reader the faces the other cannot use and one staircase carries two pictures, with no face asked to hold both.
Copying square by square
The taught grid workflow sets a pavement's cell corners out exactly and then fills each cell by eye, and the corners are right while the fill is not — 3.30 px on a picture 690 across at eight cells, falling as the square of the cell. On a wall square to the camera the same fill reads 3e-13 px, which is why the method feels reliable.
A tapered part meets at its apex
The sides of a turned part that narrows by one degree meet 54 pixels from the vanishing point of its axis, at the image of its apex, and a quarter of a degree already moves them 15. Drawn toward the vanishing point instead, a two-degree part loses nine tenths of its own taper. Flare it the other way by 5.9 degrees and a correct photograph prints its sides parallel; flare it further and they spread with depth.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
DemonstrationPicture planeDrawing systemHorizonOrthographicConicDiminutionVanishing pointFree parameterOcclusionAnamorphosisAnisotropy