Ray tracing — where it appears
Named by 12 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A curved mirror has no eye
A flat mirror is a second camera — reflect the eye in the plane and every line of sight passes through the reflected point, to 2.8e-12 mm. Curve the mirror and the point is gone. Over 20 cm of a mirror ball two metres across, the lines of sight miss their own best-fitting point by 2.8 mm, and by 52.9 mm on a ball half a metre across. What replaces the eye is not a worse eye; it is nothing.
Where the focus went
If the reflected rays do not meet at a point, they meet each other in pairs, and the curve they are all tangent to is what the mirror has instead of a focus. On a sphere of 1.6 m vertex radius it is 184.1 mm long and has a cusp; near the axis it sits at R/2, which is why a small enough spherical mirror passes for a good one. This is the bright shape in the bottom of a coffee cup, computed rather than admired.
The one shape that focuses
A paraboloid takes every ray parallel to its axis exactly through one point — 4.8e-9 mm of envelope across a 1.24 m aperture, which is arithmetic. A sphere with the same vertex curvature spreads the same bundle over 184.1 mm. So there is exactly one curved mirror that is a projection through a centre, it is a projection for exactly one bundle of rays, and every telescope in the world is built out of that sentence.
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.
A mirror ball does not know its size
The outline of a mirror ball in a photograph gives the ratio of its radius to its distance and stops there — a ball three and a half times bigger, three and a half times further away, draws an outline identical to the last bit. What breaks the tie is a point of the room, and only a near one: the sensitivity falls as one over the room's distance, so a mirror ball photographed against a landscape has no recoverable size at all.
The caustic is the mirror's own ruler
Four of the five instruments in this row return a ratio and refuse a size. The bright curve a mirror throws is the exception, and the reason is that it is a length lying on the table rather than an angle in a picture. Its tip is the paraxial focus, so a ruler laid from the mirror's vertex to it returns the radius of curvature — 1.5996 m against 1.6, and exactly right on a paraboloid, where there is no aberration to bias the envelope.
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.
How well the floor has to be known
“Supply the surface” is an instruction with no number in it, and an instruction with no number is a wish. Here is the number: the error in the recovered design is very nearly proportional to the error in the assumed curvature — the constant varies by 1.4% across a twentyfold range — so about nine parts in a thousand of the curvature buys one millimetre on a design 1800 mm wide, and 40% out costs 43.5 mm.
Closer than they appear, by a factor with a number in it
A wing mirror of one metre radius held eighty centimetres from the eye reports 1.30 metres for an object at sixty-four, because the image of anything distant sits half a radius behind the glass. The size such an object subtends reads as a distance 2.60 times the true one, and the factor is exactly one plus twice the eye's distance over the radius — so the warning is a number, and it is larger for the mirror that is further away.
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.
The floor is a choice of coordinates
Four rungs of this field have measured what a curved floor costs a shadow reading, in millimetres. It costs nothing. A shadow mark sits on the ray from the lamp through the occluder's edge, and where along that ray the floor caught it is a fact about the floor alone — so un-casting in rays returns the occluder to three parts in ten thousand of a millionth of a millimetre on a plane, a dish, a ridge and a step alike, while the same shadow read in the plan is wrong by up to 216 millimetres.
The corners a floor cannot add
A wire with no corner anywhere on it casts a shadow with one, wherever its tangent runs along the ray. That condition contains the lamp and the wire and no surface at all — so the same helix over a plane, a dish and a ridge draws shadows that differ by metres and each has exactly one corner. A floor with a crease draws five more, and the two kinds are separable by a hundredfold: a real corner is where the shadow stops dead, and a crease is where it turns at full speed.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
centre of projectionReflectionCausticinstrument limitAnamorphosisAstigmatismCuspDevelopableDevelopable surfaceEnvelopeHomographyMirror