Projective map — where it appears
Named by 47 essays across 10 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
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.
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.
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 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.
The cone that reads the floor
A conical mirror standing on a design turns it into a picture, and the map it performs is exact, one-to-one, and not a projectivity — a homography fitted to four of the marks returns those four to 7e-13 mm and puts the rest 2480 mm away, on a design 369 mm wide. The reason is that the cone turns the annulus inside out: the middle of the picture comes from the far edge of the floor and the rim from the near one.
Turning the cameras inwards
A stereo pair made by rotating two cameras toward a common point puts the same world point at different heights in the two pictures — up to thirty pixels here, on a frame of four hundred. Two eyes level with each other see every point at the same height, so a pair with vertical difference is a pair of pictures of no scene at all.
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.
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.
The plane is a choice
A projection has a centre and a surface, and they move independently. Keep the eye and turn the picture plane and every point of any scene lands where one 3×3 matrix says, to 2.5e-13 px. Move the eye instead and the matrix fitted to four points is exact at those four and out by 32.0 px everywhere else. The first is a homography of the picture; the second is parallax, and nothing about the picture can undo it.
A tile is an off-centre frustum
Rendering a picture in tiles is exact, and the way to do it is one line of arithmetic: a tile's sides are the whole frustum's sides read at the tile's own pixel bounds. Aiming the camera at each tile instead is defensible at every step and is a different picture, out by about a tenth of a tile whatever the tile size.
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.
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.
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.
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 curved screen is eight flat ones
A projection matrix is a plane and nothing else, so a curved display cannot be rendered — it has to be driven as several planes and assembled. The gap between chord and arc is the whole error, it goes as the square of the angle each piece spans, and the piece count therefore goes as the inverse root of the tolerance — three for eight pixels, eight for one, fifteen for a quarter.
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.
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.
Undoing a picture made on a curve
Three rounds of work here have measured what a curved receiving surface costs going forward — 5.67 mm on a dish, 9.07 mm on a ridge, 529.4 mm on a vault. None of them asked whether the design can be got back. It can, exactly, and the price is stated precisely: you have to supply the surface. Told the floor, the recovery returns a design to 1.1e-12 mm; told nothing, and fitting the four marks every rectification tool fits, it is 111 mm out.
Two mirrors make one turn
Reflect a point in two mirrors meeting at 36° and the images arrive nine at a time, every one of them on a single circle about the line where the mirrors meet, to 4 × 10⁻¹⁶ m. The rule taught for the count — three hundred and sixty over the angle, less one — is right at six of nine angles tried and wrong at the rest, because it is a rule about angles that divide a half turn and it is quoted for angles that divide a whole one.
A projector in the viewer's eye
A projector paints a wall along its own rays, so from the projector's own position the wall's shape is invisible — exactly, on a cylinder, on a dome and on a plane alike. Move a hand's breadth away and the residual is pixels. The one place a projector can stand and ignore the shape of what it is throwing onto is the eye of the person watching.
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.
A point at infinity is an ordinary vertex
Give a vertex a zero in its fourth slot and it stops being a point and becomes a direction — and the projection matrix draws it anyway, through the same multiply and the same divide, on that direction's vanishing point to seven trillionths of a pixel. Slide the eye ten metres and it does not move. Two of them bound a ground that reaches the horizon, where a ground drawn to ten kilometres stops a fifth of a pixel short.
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 lamps and one map
A flat object lit by two lamps casts two shadows, and one is the other scaled about a point — ratio 1.2509 here, carrying every point of the first outline onto the second to 1e-15 m. No rotation and no shear is available to it, because a projection between two parallel planes has its axis at infinity. And the ratio is exactly 1 when the two lamps are at the same height, which makes a pair of shadows a measurement of the lamps.
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.
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 conic a circle becomes
A circle photographed is an ellipse, or a parabola, or a hyperbola, and which one is decided by a single incidence: whether the circle reaches the plane through the eye parallel to the picture. Not the lens, not the tilt, not how far away it is. The discriminant of the image agrees with that one test at every point of a sweep, and at the crossing it is zero to 1e-13.
Two lines at infinity
A picture of a plane has two of them and they are not the same line. One is the horizon, where the plane's own infinity went; the other is where the picture's coordinates run out. The words ellipse and hyperbola are about the second, and every scrap of metric information is on the first — so a circle whose photograph is a hyperbola calibrates exactly as well as one whose photograph is an oval, to 7e-14 of a degree.
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.
Five marks and the sixth
Five points determine a conic exactly — five coefficients up to scale, five equations, nothing left over — so a fit through five marks on a photograph is not a fit at all. The sixth mark, withheld, lands on the curve to 1.9e-13 px. And the moment a sixth mark is used, the arithmetic changes character completely: it becomes a least-squares problem, and the residual starts telling you something the five could never say.
A stair does not use all its faces
A corner anamorph is two homologies and a flight of nine steps is eighteen, which is arithmetic and is the least of it. What a flight has that a corner does not is that which faces exist and which faces can be painted are different questions. From the top of a descending flight not one riser is reachable at any eye height, so half the planes are unpaintable by construction — and from the bottom of an ascending one, 58 per cent of the picture lands on risers that are 36 per cent of the surface.
One homography makes a shadow map the eye's picture
A shadow map for a lamp facing the eye needed 706 thousand texels however its rows were re-spaced, nearly five times the one texel per pixel no map can beat. Warp the whole map by a projective transformation, not only its rows, and it needs 154 thousand — within five per cent of the bound — and every texel, carried into the eye's picture, lands at one pixel. The reason is exact: the eye's picture of a floor and the lamp's picture of the same floor are one homography apart.
Two circles, one picture
A photographed circle leaves its own pose ambiguous, and not a little: two congruent circles in planes 23.6° apart draw the same conic to 1.1e-16 on normalised coefficients, both of them in front of the camera. On top of that the distance is free, so the family is two discrete poses each with one continuous parameter — and a plane one degree from either draws a conic 2.5e-4 away, which is what makes the agreement a measurement.
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.
A sky is carried as a direction
A triangle of sky has all three vertices at infinity, so the weight that lets a texture reach the horizon is zero everywhere and there is nothing to divide by. The attribute that belongs to such a triangle is the direction itself: carried over w like any other, it is every pixel's own ray to 5e-14 degrees. Carry the vertices' azimuth and elevation instead and a 60° triangle is 7.7° out, a 4096-texel sky needs triangles under ten degrees wide, and a triangle across the seam where azimuth wraps is painted with the opposite sky.
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.
Ground and sky meet at the horizon without a crack
A ground of rate triangles and a sky of direction triangles share their vertices along the horizon, and rasterised as a graphics processor does it — positions snapped to a fraction of a pixel, every centre given to one triangle by the top-left rule — they lose no pixel and claim none twice, at any roll and any snapping. What the horizon does have is a sliver: a centre that falls within half a snapping step of it goes to whichever side the snapped edge puts it, and one that falls exactly on it, rolled one way, is given to the ground at a weight of zero. A ground stopped at a far plane leaves the crack the shared vertex never does: f·h/D rows.
An even spend of the panel is an uneven picture
A keystone correction that spends the panel evenly exists: render the picture straight into the panel pixels that reach the corrected rectangle, one sample each. At fifteen degrees that is 82.2 per cent of a frame's samples, and on the wall it delivers exactly what a full frame does — 0.99 of the source's detail at the near edge, 0.76 at the far — because the panel, not the source, was setting the detail everywhere. It removes no unevenness. On fewer samples it makes the picture worse where it was worst; the even picture is a uniform source of 57.6 per cent of a frame.
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 fold names the height
A pavement anamorph’s marks fix where the reader must stand and leave how tall they are entirely free — every height explains the marks exactly, to the last bit. Put one crease in the floor and the freedom is gone, because two degrees of fold makes a ten-centimetre error in the height leave six tenths of a millimetre, and a right angle makes it nine.
A point and a line are one object
Every projective statement has a partner got by swapping the words point and line, and the partner is true whenever the original is. Run on this collection's own Desargues configuration, all thirty of its incidences survive the exchange to 5 × 10⁻¹⁶ — and three of the dual's ten points land at infinity, which is a fact about where the drawing sits on the page rather than about the theorem.
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.
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.
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.
Three conics are one conic and a choice of horizon
Ellipse, parabola and hyperbola are one curve and three answers to which line is infinitely far away. Pitching one camera over one 6 metre circle walks through all three, and the crossing sits at 30.465545° by two instruments with different units — but the line that decides is not the horizon, and the popular name for the choice names the wrong one of the two lines a picture of a plane has.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
HomographyDemonstrationpoint at infinitycentre of projectionPicture planeAnamorphosisPlanar homologyCross-ratioHorizonReceiving surfaceRectificationCentral collineation