Reflection — where it appears
Named by 18 essays across 8 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.
A mirror is a second camera
Reflect the scene and photograph it, or reflect the camera and photograph the scene. The two routes disagree by 315 px and agree to the last bit once one axis of the image is reversed — which is the whole of why a mirror is said to swap left and right, written down.
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.
A mirror ball is an equal-area fisheye
Photograph a mirror ball from far enough away and its rule is ρ = R·sin(θ/2), which is the equal-area fisheye — not an approximation to it, the rule. Measured, the departure falls from 4.27% of the picture's radius at 3 radii to 0.01% at 2000, while the next-best named rule stays 21% out at every distance. And the ball reflects 100.0% of the directions there are, which no designed surface does.
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.
The cylindrical mirror unbends it
Put a mirrored cylinder in the middle of the sheet and the light path from the eye to the paper bends once. The map that results is not a homography and not a projection in the plane sense at all — it varies its scale by a factor of seven across the design, which is why the smear is unreadable and why the mirror can put it back.
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.
Measured down from the waterline
Whatever stands so far above the water, draw its reflection the same distance below. Through a vertical picture plane that is not an approximation — it is the reflection, to the arithmetic floor. Tilt the camera twenty-two degrees and it is eleven pixels out. Draw a gull, which touches the water nowhere, and guessing its waterline point wrong by two metres of depth costs fifty.
The near plane can be any plane
Rewrite one row of a projection matrix and the near plane stops being perpendicular to the axis and becomes whatever plane is asked for. Every x and every y is untouched — it is the same projection of the same scene from the same eye — and the depth order is wrecked, which is a clean separation of the two things a projection matrix does.
One surface, two images
A water surface reflects what is above it and refracts what is below it in the same photograph, from the same plane. The reflected half has a centre of projection to 1 × 10⁻¹⁴ m and every theorem about central projection applies to it; the refracted half misses its own best-fitting point by 28.6 mm and none of it does. And the landscape manual's rule for drawing a reflection turns out to be the epipole placed at infinity, which is why it costs nothing at zero tilt and 11.5 px at twenty-two degrees.
A mirror that is not parallel to the wall
Carry the depth in front of the glass an equal depth behind it, square to the wall. That is exact for a mirror hung parallel to the wall and 1.26 metres — 107 pixels — out for one turned 20°. Two invariants survive the turn instead, and one of the two nearly did not survive being tested, because it had been written in a form that could not fail.
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.
The corner that answers every eye
Three mirrors at right angles compose into the point inversion, so a ray entering leaves antiparallel to itself whatever direction it arrived from — a picture surface with no correct viewpoint because every viewpoint is correct. Tilt one face half a degree and the worst returning ray is out by exactly one degree, twice the error; the best is out by a twelfth of it, which is why a tolerance quoted from one measured ray is a statement about that ray.
What two parallel views leave free
Two perspective pictures give shape and no size. Two parallel pictures do not even give shape: the metric upgrade has six unknowns, two views supply six equations, and the system comes out rank five — a one-parameter family of solids that redraw both pictures to 7e-16 m. A third view closes it, and the mirror image survives every count.
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.
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.
Two people between mirrors see each other equally often
Put two people between a pair of mirrors and each sees some number of images of the other. The two numbers are always equal, and so is the apparent distance of each image against its partner — a path of light walked backwards is the same path. What is not shared is where each image appears, and what the shared count depends on turns out to be neither person's position but two quantities made of both: the difference of their angles about the mirrors' meeting line, and the sum.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Virtual imagecentre of projectionMirror planeRay tracingDihedralIsometryMirrorCausticCentral collineationdegrees of freedomFixed pointHandedness