Every essay — page 15
What survives Constructing a view Where to stand Surfaces that are not flat The other systems Light and mirrors Mirrors that are not cameras Measuring from one picture Through water and glass The real instrument The second eye What a pair is for Many pictures at once The eye that moves Systems that kept the measure What each system gave up What a machine computes The rectangle behind the lens The second projection Drawn confidently
The second projection
A picture that has been made still has to be shown, and the display is a projection with a correct point of its own. Here the assumed figure width every earlier essay quoted is replaced by an actual chain — sensor, focal length, screen — and the answer is that almost nobody is standing where the picture says to.
The evenness a curve buys
A curved screen is sold on evenness, and evenness turns out to be three quantities that disagree. On pixel pitch the curve wins from every seat; on the angle the glass is turned through it wins until three and a half metres along the sofa; on the plain distance from eye to glass — the reading the argument is usually made in — it gives up before half a metre.
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.
Matching buys one seat
Feeding a curved screen its own picture surface makes the picture exact at one point and worse everywhere else than the flat picture it replaced. Forty centimetres along the sofa the two cross, and past that the matched picture is the worse of the pair — because a flat picture is mediocre everywhere and a matched one is perfect at a point and falls away from it faster.
The distance at which the eyes part
The two eyes' disagreement on a curved screen was measured at each screen's own sitting distance and reported as a null result. The sitting distance is a parameter and the chair moves — swept, the raw difference falls like the cube of it and the residual like the fourth power, and a viewer twenty-nine centimetres from a curved monitor crosses the fusion limit the null result was quoted against.
A stereo picture is drawn for a level head
Every stereo pair is drawn for two eyes level with each other — a point's two images share a row and differ only across it. Tilt the head 10° in front of a television and that difference turns partly vertical, 14.46 arcminutes for anything drawn at infinity, and the two sightlines to a point stop meeting. At a desk monitor the same fifteen-arcminute limit arrives at 2.58°.
The eye that moves
A handscroll is drawn by an eye that travels, imaging one line at a time — orthographic along the roll and perspective across it, so a mile of river holds its scale while a single pavilion still recedes. Its rays miss their own best centre by metres, and the miss is exactly the length of track you unroll.
A scroll is a camera that moves
A Chinese handscroll is not a picture with a wandering viewpoint or a picture with no viewpoint. It is the image of an eye that travels along a track and records one vertical line at a time, and that object has an exact geometry — orthographic along the roll, perspective across it.
A straight line in a scroll is a hyperbola
Under a pushbroom the image of a straight world line is a Möbius function of the paper coordinate, which is a rectangular hyperbola. It is straight exactly when the line holds its depth — so a curve in a handscroll is a depth signal rather than a stylistic one, and the sag is computable in pixels.
The centre a scroll does not have
Fit a common point to the rays of one section of a handscroll and it misses by metres. The miss is not a residual to be tightened — it is exactly the standard deviation of the eye's own track, it grows linearly with how much is unrolled, and it goes to zero only for a section of no width.
A map along, and a picture across
The midpoint of a segment lying along a scroll's length images to the midpoint of its image, exactly. The midpoint of a receding one lands 22% of the way off. One projection, two answers — and the direction that keeps measure keeps something a perspective picture never offers.
A scroll is not a panorama
Both draw straight world lines as curves, and one of them is a projection. A rotating eye keeps its centre exactly however far it turns; a translating eye has none at all. Curvature and centrelessness are independent properties, and conflating them is the standard mistake about both objects.
Three distances in one landscape
A landscape assembled from a low station for the near ground, a level one for the middle and a high one for the far gives its furthest band 6.9 times the picture one camera would allow it — because the image of a fixed depth interval falls as one over depth squared, and its own station gives that back. What it costs is a jump in the rate at which depth runs, 2.50 at the first join and 2.75 at the second, and three views from one height leave no seam at all.
A landscape that changes its rule halfway up
A reader handed only the marks of a three-station landscape recovers each band's own camera height without being told any of them — 1.60 m, 4.00 m, 11.00 m, to 3.6e-15 m. What that same reader cannot recover across a join is a common ground: the next band's own marks read as a ground point 2.40 m away from the true one at the first seam, 7.00 m at the second.
A pond in a scroll is not an ellipse
A pinhole draws a round pond as an exact ellipse whose widest row is 3.58 px off the row of the pond's centre — the drawn-circle error every perspective textbook warns about. A handscroll draws the same pond widest exactly on its centre's row, and draws it as a quartic that no conic fits: the best ellipse misses it by 3.08 px. Each keeps what the other loses, and off to one side the pinhole's pond leans 9.67 px while the scroll's does not lean at all.
A scroll through two slits ranges in a straight line
Draw a scroll twice, through a slit leaning 10° forward along the track and one leaning 10° back, and every point appears in both drawings on the same row, separated by 9.169 px for every metre of its depth — at four metres and at fifty-two. Depth is proportional to that separation rather than reciprocal to it, so a pixel of error costs 10.9 cm at every distance, averaging leaves no bias, and there is no range past which the depth runs off to infinity. The price is paid in roll: a 100 m scroll ranges nothing past 283.6 m.
A scroll round a bend loses its straight-line depth
Draw a scroll through two slits leaning ±10° from a track that bends, and the separation that was 9.169 px for every metre of depth stops being proportional. Outside a 100 m bend it is 653.8 px at 256 m where a straight track gives 2347, and it never passes 907.6 px however deep the point; inside a 200 m bend it runs nearly three times ahead of depth and no slit reaches past 165.3 m. The two drawings still share their rows, and the scale along the roll becomes a function of depth.
A scroll can be asked its own radius
The two marks a bend leaves separate exactly. The along-roll scale alone fixes the angle in the disparity, so one point and a neighbour at its depth give back the radius and the depth in closed form — 200 m and 40 m returned to a part in 10⁹, with no search. The two answers are not equally held: a scale read one per cent too large under-reads the depth by one per cent and over-reads the radius by tan(φ − α)/α, which is 50 for a point ten metres from a five-hundred-metre bend. And a painter who evens the scale out by eye reports a gentler bend, never a bend that was never there.
The stations are also a staircase
A level eye draws a ground point on a row that depends on the eye's height and the ground's only through their difference. So a landscape drawn from three stations at 1.6, 4 and 11 m over flat ground is, to 6 × 10⁻¹⁴ px across ninety-nine samples, the same picture as one eye at 11 m over ground stepped 9.4 m and 7.0 m above the far plain. The station heights a reader recovers are recovered on an assumption the marks neither supply nor test — and what would decide between the two readings is a cliff 103% of a band's own height, which is exactly where the convention lays its mist.
A seam breaks direction, not size
An eight-metre road crossing the first join of a three-station landscape is drawn 215.4 px wide under either band's rule, identically, and a six-metre post 161.5 px tall under either — the eye's height cancels out of any size taken at one depth. What does not cancel is where those sizes sit. The road's edges are turned 23.2° from each other and the post's foot lands 64.6 px out of place, and a painter butting two bands can absorb the offset and can never absorb the turn.
The rectangle behind the lens
A focal length is not an angle until a piece of silicon of a stated width is named. And that silicon is a grid of samples that need not be square, read over an interval rather than at an instant, mostly a row at a time — so a frame is neither one place nor one moment, and the site's own round trip cannot tell.
A focal length is not an angle
Fifty millimetres means nothing until a rectangle is named behind it. The same lens is 39.6° across full frame, 26.6° across APS-C and 8.7° across a phone sensor — and the distance the resulting print is correct from depends on the ratio of the two, so two cameras matched on angle agree exactly whatever their formats.
Stepping closer is not zooming
Changing the focal length leaves the ratio between any two things in a picture exactly alone — to twelve decimal places, at every focal length there is. Moving changes it. Hold the subject's drawn size across a step from 3 m to 1.5 m and the background halves, which is the whole of the shot everybody knows and nobody derives.
Every row is a different camera
A shutter that reads its rows one after another images each of them from wherever the camera was at that instant, so a frame is a stack of projections indexed by height — a handscroll with the roll running down the picture. Its rays miss their own best centre by the spread of the eye's track, at a ratio of 0.988, and a global shutter's meet to 2 × 10⁻¹⁶ m.
A frame is an interval
An exposure is not an instant, so a frame is an integral of projections and every moving point draws a streak. The streak is straight, because the image of a straight path is straight — and its length goes as one over the depth, so two objects at 3 m and 6 m blur by lengths in the ratio 2.000. No single kernel describes the frame.
The pixel that is not square
A camera with two focal lengths is a real thing — anamorphic cinema optics, non-square photosites, a stretched video format. Hand the round trip of camera recovery a picture from one and it returns a focal length 49.6% out, a principal point far from the truth, three independent estimates agreeing to 1e-16, and bundle residuals at the noise floor. Every alarm the site has stays silent.
The centre has an area
Every theorem of perspective follows from a projection through a point, and no instrument has one. Give the pupil a radius and each world point images as a disc — whose centre is the pinhole's mark to 5.7 × 10⁻¹⁴ millimetres, at every aperture, every distance and every field angle. The geometry survives exactly; only the sharpness is spent.