Every essay — page 4
What survives Constructing a view Where to stand Surfaces that are not flat The other systems Light and mirrors 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 other systems
Isometric, oblique, elevation. Not perspective done badly by people who had not worked it out yet, but a different answer to a different question — and the difference is measurable.
The eye taken to infinity
A parallel projection is a photograph from infinitely far away with the lens lengthened to match. That is not an analogy — it is the limit, it can be watched happening, and it explains why a long lens flattens a scene and why an isometric drawing has no viewing distance to state.
Which axis scales are possible
An orthographic projection's three foreshortening ratios always satisfy one identity — their squares sum to two. Isometric's famous 0.8165 is forced by it rather than chosen, and cavalier's 1, 1, 1 sums to three, which is the arithmetic saying cavalier is not the ORTHOGRAPHIC projection of anything. A later rung shows what the departure is a measurement of.
Any three lines you draw are a cube
This site has said, for four rungs, that cavalier projection is not the projection of anything — because its axis scales sum to three where every orthographic projection sums to two. That is true of orthographic projection and false of projection. Three lines from a point, drawn by hand, are a picture of an actual cube seen from an actual direction, and the cube and the direction come out of the drawing in closed form.
Oblique is a shear, and the shear is the whole system
Cavalier and cabinet are usually introduced as easy perspective for people with a set square. They are not a simplification of anything — they are the answer to a demand no orthographic projection can meet, which is a front face at true size and a depth axis at full length at the same time. The two are locked on a unit circle, and buying both costs exactly 45° of obliquity.
A ruler on an isometric drawing
Isometric drawing has one scale — 0.8165 — and every account of it stops there. But that number is about three directions and a drawing has infinitely many, so a length measured off the paper and divided by 0.8165 comes back anywhere between √(1/2) and √(3/2) of the truth: 29.3% short to 22.5% long, with nothing in the picture to say which.
The drawing does not say which corner is nearer
The Necker cube is filed under optical illusion, as though the flipping were something the eye does. It is not: a parallel drawing of a cube is a drawing of exactly two cubes, mirror images of each other, and they project to the identical picture to the last bit. Perspective rules the second one out at a rate exactly inverse in the eye's distance, and never entirely.
The ellipse the drawing office draws
Every isometric ellipse template is cut to a construction of four circular arcs, and every account of it calls the result an ellipse. It is not one and cannot be: a circular arc has constant curvature and a conic's varies, so the two can agree at four points and nowhere between. The four-centre curve reaches 2√2/3 of the true semi-major axis — 5.72% short — and its minor axis is 3.53% too long.
What a machine computes
A renderer does not divide by depth and stop. It multiplies by a matrix and postpones the divide, clips while the points behind the eye are still finite, quantises what it kept, and lands on a grid of samples half a pixel from where the arithmetic put them. Each of those is a decision about what the picture is a projection of, and each has a number attached.
The divide is postponed, not avoided
A renderer does not divide by depth. It multiplies by a four-by-four matrix that carries the depth in a fourth coordinate and divides later, and the postponement is not an optimisation — it is what makes clipping and texture interpolation possible at all. The matrix and this site's pinhole put every point on the same pixel to five parts in a hundred trillion.
What happens behind the eye
A point behind the camera has a perfectly plausible image. Dividing by a negative fourth coordinate flips both signs, so the point lands through the principal point on the far side of the frame, and a segment crossing the eye plane is drawn straight, inside the frame, and running in exactly the opposite direction — a direction cosine of −1.0000.
The precision a depth buffer has left
Depth is stored as an affine function of one over the distance, so half of a buffer's codes are spent before the harmonic mean of the near and far planes — twenty centimetres out of a kilometre. The resolution goes as the square of the distance, and the fix that works is not more bits.
A pixel is not a point
Where the sample sits inside a pixel is a convention, and getting it wrong shifts every mark by half a pixel in each axis. This site can say what that costs, because it recovers cameras from pictures — the answer is a principal point exactly 0.707 px from the truth with the focal length untouched, and the other half-pixel mistake does precisely the reverse.
A texture does not interpolate on the page
Walking across a drawn surface at a constant rate walks across the real one at a rate that changes, and the worst gap is a closed form in the depth ratio alone — 0.52 at ten to one, more than half the whole range. It is exactly the error a person makes dividing depth by eye, made by a machine, and the fix is the fourth coordinate the pipeline kept.
Through water and glass
A refracted picture is not a projection at all — its rays, continued into the water, miss each other by millimetres rather than meeting at a point. Everything the rest of this site rests on is measured here against the case where it fails, from the cross-ratio to Snell's window to a dome port that turns out to be an exact pinhole.
What a ray does at a surface
A pool looks three-quarters as deep as it is — but only if you look straight down. At sixty degrees the same bottom appears at half its depth, and at eighty at a fifth, which is why the far end of a pool looks shallow enough to walk in.
A picture through water has no viewpoint
Continue the rays of a refracted picture into the water and fit them to a common point. They miss it by ten millimetres. The same fit with the water taken away misses by zero, which is what makes ten millimetres a measurement rather than a number.
What survives a pane of glass
A slab of glass moves every point of a picture and moves no direction at all. So the camera recovered from a photograph taken through a display case is exactly the camera that took it — out of a picture in which nothing is where it was.
The sky inside a cone
From under water the whole sky — every direction out to the horizon — arrives inside a cone of 48.61°. Outside it the surface is a mirror. That cone is a picture surface, and it has a distortion no surface in the curved field has — an area scale that runs to zero.
The port that is not there
A flat window into water costs a lens a third of its field. A sphere centred on the entrance pupil costs nothing at all — not nearly nothing, exactly nothing — and six millimetres off centre costs 0.635°.
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 screen sets the distance
Every viewing distance this site has quoted was conditional on an assumed figure width. Replace the assumption with an actual chain — focal length, sensor width, display width — and the same 50 mm frame is correct from 9 cm on a phone, 83 cm on a monitor and 16.7 m in a cinema. Nobody is standing at any of them.
A wide field on a small screen
A picture rendered at a hundred degrees and shown on a screen that subtends forty-nine is being read from two and a half times its own station distance, so the depicted space is two and a half times too deep. The stretch at the edges everybody complains about is correct; the complaint is really that nobody is sitting where it would be invisible.
Two pictures on one screen
A stereoscopic display puts a point where two sightlines cross, so the depicted depth is b·D/(b−d) and the disparity that reaches infinity is exactly the separation of the reader's eyes — 63 mm, at any screen distance whatever. The depth budget is set by the width of a head and by nothing about the scene.
The render is distorted on purpose
A headset renders a bent picture so its lens can straighten it, which is the lens field's polynomial run backwards and the one place on this site where distortion is introduced deliberately. The round trip closes to a thousandth of a millionth of a pixel, and the price is that one rendered pixel becomes 0.646 delivered pixels at the edge of the field and one at the centre.
A projector is a camera run backwards
Turn a projector fifteen degrees from square and it throws a trapezium; keystone correction cannot add light outside it, so it shrinks the picture until it fits and discards a sixth of the panel. And the instrument itself comes back out of the picture it threw — 2880 panel pixels recovered against 2880, by the function the wrong field wrote for hand-drawn cubes.
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.