An anamorph has one eye
Worth reading first: A set cut for one eye · A floor anamorph is three numbers · The point you have to stand at.
The design point of an anamorph is a point in the air. Standing there, the floor marks read back as the intended picture — exactly, to sixteen decimal places, which is what this collection means when it says a construction is a construction rather than an approximation.
Nobody has an eye at a point in the air. A person has two eyes, about 63 millimetres apart, and neither of them is the design point. Both are 31 millimetres off it, in opposite directions, across the line of sight — which is the direction the anamorph forgives least, where the whole tolerance at a ten-millimetre error budget is 14 millimetres.
So a head standing at the marked spot does not fit inside the room the design allows.
What each eye gets
Each eye is a wrong eye, and a wrong eye is a known object: it composes the intended picture with a central collineation whose axis is the ground line, so the error is zero at the bottom of the design and grows with height. That is where the anamorph still works.
The two eyes are displaced in opposite directions, so they get opposite errors — the left eye sees the design sheared one way, the right eye sheared the other. Neither sees the design.
But shear is not the interesting part, because a person cannot compare their two eyes’ pictures point by point. What the visual system does compare is the directions of the same feature seen from the two eyes, and the difference between them is a disparity, which is what depth perception is made of.
How the disparity is computed
The measurement wants stating, because the naive version of it gives a number that is large and means nothing.
Each floor mark has a direction from the left eye and a direction from the right eye, and the angle between those two directions is the mark’s disparity. Every point at a finite distance has one; a mark two metres away has a much larger disparity than a mark six metres away, and the near marks of a pavement anamorph are much nearer than the far ones. So the raw disparities of the floor marks run over a wide range — about 37 arcminutes from end to end of this design — and quoting that range would be quoting the fact that the floor recedes.
What matters is the difference between the disparity the floor gives and the disparity the intended picture would have given. The intended picture is an upright board standing at the ground line: it also has a range of distances, since its top is further from the eye than its bottom, and it also produces disparities. If the two sets of disparities agreed, the two eyes would have no way to tell the floor from the board.
They do not agree, and the disagreement is the signal. Point by point up the design, the floor’s disparity and the board’s differ by up to 46.6 arcminutes, with a median of 22.1.
Quoting the raw floor disparity instead would have been the same kind of error this collection recorded when a search returned the same wrong answer at three iteration counts: a self-consistent quantity, correctly computed, that is not the quantity the argument needs.
The comparison that matters
An anamorph’s marks are on the floor, at a range of distances from the viewer. The picture they stand for is an upright board at the ground line.
Both give the two eyes a disparity — anything at a finite distance does. The question is whether the disparity the floor gives is the disparity the board would give, because that difference is the signal that says these marks are not where the picture says they are.
The worst disagreement is 46.6 arcminutes and the median is 22.1. Stereoacuity — the smallest disparity a person can detect — is a few tens of arcseconds at these distances, which is a few hundredths of a single arcminute.
The signal is therefore three orders of magnitude above threshold. A viewer standing at the mark is not being asked to notice something subtle; they are being told, loudly and continuously, that the marks are on the ground.
Why it fails in person and works in the photograph
This is the point at which a measurement can be misread, so it is worth being careful.
A pavement painting standing up as a hole in the road, looked at with two eyes from the marked spot, does not usually work. Anyone who has stood on one knows it: the illusion is weak in person and overwhelming in the photograph on the poster next to it. That has always been explained by saying photographs have one eye, which is true and is usually left at that.
The measurement above puts a number on it, and the number says the explanation is not merely qualitatively right — the disparity signal is enormous, far above threshold, and it is the strongest cue in the scene. Nothing else about the picture is competing on that scale.
One boundary before that. Everything measured here is a disparity — an angle between two directions, computed from two centres of projection — and a disparity is geometry. Whether a person notices one, how their visual system weighs it against the other cues, and what they end up believing about the floor are facts about seeing, and this collection has no standing on any of them. The stereoacuity figure quoted above is borrowed from that literature to say the signal is not marginal; nothing else here depends on it, and the geometry would be the same for an observer who could not fuse two images at all.
What is competing is everything monocular: perspective, texture gradient, occlusion, shading. Those are strong cues too, and in a well-made anamorph they all point the other way. The result is a conflict, and conflicts get resolved differently by different people, at different distances, with different amounts of squinting — which is exactly the reported experience of standing on one.
Closing one eye resolves it immediately and completely, and that is the test the measurement predicts.
What the conflict actually looks like
The measurement says the stereo signal is three orders of magnitude above threshold, and experience says that people standing on a good pavement painting sometimes do see the illusion. Both are true, and the reconciliation is worth having because it is the only part of this subject that is not geometry.
Depth cues are combined rather than adjudicated. A person looking at a painted hole in the road receives:
- disparity, saying flat floor, at enormous strength;
- perspective and texture gradient, saying deep hole, also strong;
- occlusion, saying nothing, because a painting occludes nothing;
- accommodation and vergence, saying flat floor, weakly at these distances;
- motion parallax, saying flat floor the moment the viewer’s head moves at all.
Four of those say floor and two say hole, and the four include the strongest. So the expected outcome is that the illusion fails, and it does — the reported experience of standing on one is that it looks like a painting until one eye is closed.
What survives with both eyes open is not the depth illusion but the rendering: the shading, the cast shadows and the perspective all read as a solid object, and the object reads as a solid painted flat on the ground. Which is exactly what it is, and is why these things are still worth looking at.
The photograph is a different matter entirely, and the difference is one number: the camera’s single centre of projection removes the four cues that say floor, leaving only the two that say hole.
The built set, which has the same problem
The same measurement applies to something physical rather than painted, and this collection has already built it.
A forced-perspective set is a colonnade four metres deep cut so that its picture is the picture of one eighteen metres deep. From the design eye the match is exact to sixteen decimal places. What gives it away is the second eye — and the giveaway is not the ratio anybody would predict, because the two eyes’ disparity for a real eighteen-metre colonnade and for a four-metre one cut to look like it are different by an amount set by the depths, not by the sizes.
The film industry’s answer is the same as the pavement painter’s: use one lens. A forced-perspective set photographed by a single camera is exact; the same set shot in stereo falls apart, which is why the technique nearly vanished when stereo photography arrived and returned when it left.
Two eyes are a pair of pictures
There is a cleaner way to say all of this, which connects it to a subject this collection has already built machinery for.
Two eyes are two cameras with a known baseline. A pair of pictures determines the scene’s shape — two views give shape and no size — so a pair of eyes looking at an anamorph determines the shape of what is in front of them, and what is in front of them is a floor with marks on it. The reconstruction is correct. There is no illusion for the pair to be fooled by; the pair is doing its job.
The illusion is available only to a single view, because a single view is what leaves the depth free. That is the same fact from the other side: an anamorph exploits precisely the ambiguity a monocular picture has, and adding a second view removes the ambiguity and the exploit together.
Which makes the phrase “correct from one point” more literal than it sounds. The anamorph is correct from one point, and two eyes are not a point.
What the interocular distance decides
The disparity signal is proportional to the eye separation, so it is worth asking what changes it.
A child has eyes about 55 millimetres apart rather than 63, so gets about 13 per cent less signal — and is also shorter, which moves the eye off the design point along the tight axis by far more than that gain is worth.
Distance from the design. The disparity of anything falls as the square of the distance, so an anamorph designed to be read from ten metres gives a much weaker giveaway than one designed for three. Very large street paintings, read from a balcony, work considerably better in person than small ones read from standing height, and this is why.
Nothing about the design’s size. Making the painting bigger and moving the viewer back in proportion keeps the picture the same and weakens the disparity — so the illusion improves with scale, at constant angular size, purely because everything is further away.
That last one is a useful piece of advice that falls straight out of the arithmetic: for a better anamorph, build it bigger and stand further back. Nothing about the geometry changes and the strongest cue against it weakens as the square.
The other place the second eye decides everything
There is a family relationship worth drawing out, because it explains why this collection has three separate essays that end in the same place.
A curved mirror has no eye at all — continue the lines of sight behind a mirror ball and they pass through no common point, so a photograph of one is a projection of nothing from anywhere. A picture taken through water is the same. A forced-perspective set has an eye and only one. An anamorph has an eye and only one.
In each case the question is how many centres of projection does this arrangement have, and the answers are none, one, and one. What varies is what that costs, and the cost is always paid by whatever expects there to be two.
A single camera is indifferent: it has one centre and asks for one. A person is not, and the amount they are inconvenienced is the amount their two centres disagree.
That is a tidier statement of the whole subject than “anamorphs are tricks”, and it has the advantage of being measurable. The disparity above is the disagreement, in arcminutes, between two centres of projection looking at an object built for one.
The general point
An anamorph is usually described as a trick, and the description carries an implication that it is a trick on the visual system. It is not. It is a construction that is exactly correct for a stated viewpoint, and the visual system is not fooled by it because the visual system has two viewpoints and is entitled to use both.
The trick is on the camera, which has one. Everything about anamorphosis that reads as psychological — the illusion, the surprise, the failure in person — comes out of the difference between one centre of projection and two, and both halves of that are geometry.
The same sentence covers the built set, the pavement painting, and the trompe-l’œil ceiling. Each of them is exact from a point. Each of them is photographed rather than visited. And each of them is a projection through a centre that a person, having two, cannot occupy.
Shares its objects with
Essays that name at least two of the same things, and that neither author linked.
- Measured down from the waterline — both name ground plane, homology, virtual image
- The anamorph that crosses a corner — both name anamorphosis, ground plane, homology
- The design that outruns the floor — both name anamorphosis, ground plane, homology
- The height a flat floor cannot give — both name anamorphosis, ground plane, homology
- Standing in the wrong place — both name depth cue, station point
- Stepping closer is not zooming — both name depth cue, station point
Named objects
A flat tag is an object no other essay names yet.
AnamorphosisBinocular disparityDepth cueForced perspectiveGround planeHomologyInterocular distanceStation pointStereoacuityVirtual image