Straightedge construction — where it appears
Named by 22 essays across 7 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Six tangents and the point nobody drew
Brianchon's theorem is a test a reader can run on a finished drawing with nothing but a straightedge — six tangents, three diagonals, and a question about whether they meet. Pointed at the drawing office's four-centre ellipse it rejects the curve by 1.7 per cent of the figure's own width, 546 times the instrument's own floor, with no true ellipse to compare against.
Two matches are enough
A general fundamental matrix has seven free numbers and needs eight correspondences. A mirror pair's has two, and two correspondences fix it — with a straightedge, on a print, by drawing the line from each mark to its reflection and marking where the two cross. Given the same sixteen marks read to four tenths of a pixel, the constrained fit lands 4.8 times closer to the truth than the eight-point algorithm.
Carrying a height across the room
A known height at one place on the floor, and the same height wanted at another: two lines settle it, and they settle it exactly, at every camera and every pair of positions. What the recipes never mention is that one of those two lines has to be drawn to a point that is usually not on the paper — 3,300 canvas widths away in the case drawn here — and that the repair is not to extend it further.
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.
A picture with nothing straight in it
Every construction on this site is handed the horizon, and a photograph of a crowd, a hillside or a curved façade has no straight edge to give it. What such a picture does have is repetition — and three things of one height put the horizon exactly where the camera has it, from the picture alone. Two things do not, and three standing abreast do not either, and both refusals are the reader's ordinary situation.
Seven is not a power of two
Halving a receding depth by diagonals is exact, and every book gives it. Halving reaches a half, a quarter, three eighths — and never a third, however many times it is spent, because no power of two is divisible by three. There is a construction that reaches every whole fraction, it costs three lines rather than a stack of quadrangles, and the extra ingredient is not a measurement.
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 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.
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.
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.
The shadow rules that hold here
Drop the foot, run a line from the top at forty-five degrees, take the intersection: the drawing manual's shadow construction is exact in a parallel drawing, to arithmetic noise, at every point of the picture and with one set square. It is where the rule came from, and carrying it into a perspective picture is what broke it.
A steady creep draws the rule's bow
The arc reading was built to find the constant-ratio rule by the shape its pavements bow the diagonal. A correct pavement painted by a hand that lets each transversal gap grow 4.5 per cent on the last bows it the same way — to 0.31 pixels, a cosine of 0.9994 — on eight braccia, and 1.5 per cent is enough on twenty-two. The arc reading measures how much a pavement's tiles lengthen, not what lengthened them, and against its counterfeit it is a coin. The rule's own definition still tells them apart: its gaps' logarithms are straight, a correct pavement's bend. Read to half a pixel, that names the rule on eight braccia 94 times in a hundred.
Dividing to a point off the board
A wall turned forty degrees to the view has its vanishing point 0.65 canvas widths past the edge of the paper, and the construction that aims every course at it without ever reaching it is exact to 1e-13 px. Putting the vertex where the sheet ends instead costs 20.9 px, which on this wall is 300 mm of masonry, and nothing in the drawing says so.
The bays that are not equal
The diagonal repeats a bay exactly and forever, and what it reaches is the whole multiples of that bay and nothing else. An arcade of 1:1.5:2 is 250 mm short of its boundary with no halving, exact after one, and an arcade of 1:1.333:2 is out of reach at every depth whatever. A measuring point lays out all three to 6e-14 px.
Which rule a fisheye obeys, from straightness alone
Four candidate rules for a fisheye lens part by 54.0 per cent at 45° off axis, and a plumb-line fit shown no scene, no camera and no calibration target can still name which one took a photograph — reliably from about 45° of half-field. Below that the four are indistinguishable in the marks, and naming one collapses to guessing.
What a straightedge reaches on a receding line
Three marks on a receding line fix a coordinate, and everything a straightedge builds from them is a ratio of whole numbers. Three complete quadrangles put 1655 marks on the unit interval with no gap above 0.0038, a third costs two quadrangles where repeated halving never reaches one at all, and the same net built on a line that does not recede arrives at the identical 30 coordinates.
The arcs the five-point construction actually draws
The taught five-point construction draws circular arcs between five vanishing points and instructs a draughtsman to graduate the radius evenly. Read that way, the arcs miss a straight line's true image by up to 3.75 pixels on a 300-pixel disc. Read at the stereographic scale instead, the same arcs are exact to 4.3e-13 pixels — the construction was always drawing one projection, and the taught scale was never it.
A measuring point for a ramp
Stepping true distances along a receding line needs a measuring point, and every printed rule puts it on the horizon. On a 1 in 6.0 ramp the ramp's own point lands every tread to 1.2e-13 pixels and the ground's puts the sixth one-metre tread at 2.57 metres instead of six. A halfway construction separates the two halves of the mistake, and the wrong radius costs 0.083 metres of the 3.43.
The quadrilateral that finds the middle
The harmonic conjugate is usually built from four points. Built instead from four lines — the dual construction, the same number of straightedge steps — it lands on the same fourth point to 1.2 × 10⁻¹⁵ of the range's own length, gives a cross-ratio of exactly −1, and refuses the midpoint, whose conjugate is at infinity.
Pascal's line, and the theorem underneath Pappus
Six points of a conic, three meets of opposite sides, collinear to 1.3e-12 px. Flatten the conic towards a pair of lines and the residual never leaves the axis — 5.7e-14 px at the end, where the theorem has become Pappus's — so Pappus is the degenerate case of Pascal reached continuously rather than a separate theorem that resembles it.
A straightedge convicts the rule on five braccia
The constant-ratio rule for spacing a pavement's boards leaves one mark a correct construction does not: its tile corners bow off the diagonal. The worry was that a painter's hand would bury the bow in its own scatter. At a pixel of scatter it does not, on any pavement of five braccia or more. What limits the test is not the hand but the page: a pavement drawn to one width bows no more at twenty braccia than at eight, while the hand's wander keeps growing with every tile.
The rule's bow is read by its shape
A straightedge on a painted pavement's diagonal convicts the constant-ratio rule by the size of its corners' worst departure, and gives out once the painter's hand scatters by a third of the bow. The bow has more than a size. It is one smooth arc, to one side, fixed by the ratio, and a hand's scatter is neither. Fit that arc with one free amplitude and the rule is ranked above a construction 96 times in a hundred on five braccia at two pixels, where the straightedge managed 83 — and the reading holds to half the bow's size in scatter.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Vanishing pointCross-ratioHorizonConditioningIncidenceComplete quadrangleDrawing systemForeshorteningHarmonic conjugateConicDyadic rationalPavement