Every essay — page 7
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
What survives
A projection destroys length, angle, area and the ratio of lengths. One quantity comes through untouched, and almost everything checkable about a picture is checked with it.
Four lines have a cross-ratio
The cross-ratio is introduced as a property of four points on a line. Its dual — four lines through a point carry the same number, and any transversal reads it back — is not a second theorem. It is why the first one is true: four rays from an eye are a pencil, every picture of them is a section of that pencil, and a quantity belonging to the pencil cannot depend on which section was taken.
The centre, got back out of the picture
The image of a circle's centre is not the centre of the image ellipse — this site measured the gap four phases ago and left the obvious question unanswered. It has an exact answer, it needs a straightedge and the horizon, and it is one sentence: the image of the centre is the pole of the vanishing line with respect to the image conic.
An angle is a cross-ratio
A projection destroys angle, which every account of perspective says and a direct measurement confirms. It destroys it only in the sense that the picture no longer carries it for free — because an angle is a cross-ratio taken against two particular points, and once those two points are located in a photograph the world's angles can be read off it directly, with no rectification, no camera, and nothing measured but which lines pass through which points.
The two points a picture hides
The stratification rung says a photograph of a plane is projective, becomes affine when the vanishing line is known, and becomes metric with one more fact. The one more fact has a size and a shape: it is two points, complex conjugates on the vanishing line, and a rectification built from those two and nothing else returns every world angle to a tenth of a picodegree and every ratio of lengths to five parts in a quadrillion — and refuses to name a length.
One conic calibrates the camera
A focal length is usually recovered from two perpendicular vanishing points by an orthocentre construction with a square root in it. There is a second derivation with no construction and no square root — two vanishing points of perpendicular directions must be conjugate with respect to one conic in the picture — and the two agree to the last bit. They are not two methods. The conic is what a calibrated camera is.
What a flat map leaves alone
A projectivity of the plane is eight numbers in a matrix, and reading them tells a reader nothing. What it does is decided by its fixed points, and there are exactly three cases: three isolated fixed points, or a whole line of them with one point off it, or a whole line of them with the point fallen onto it. The middle case has five numbers instead of eight and every point slides along a line, and it is what most of the maps this site builds turn out to be.
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.
The conic a circle becomes
A circle photographed is an ellipse, or a parabola, or a hyperbola, and which one is decided by a single incidence: whether the circle reaches the plane through the eye parallel to the picture. Not the lens, not the tilt, not how far away it is. The discriminant of the image agrees with that one test at every point of a sweep, and at the crossing it is zero to 1e-13.
Two lines at infinity
A picture of a plane has two of them and they are not the same line. One is the horizon, where the plane's own infinity went; the other is where the picture's coordinates run out. The words ellipse and hyperbola are about the second, and every scrap of metric information is on the first — so a circle whose photograph is a hyperbola calibrates exactly as well as one whose photograph is an oval, to 7e-14 of a degree.
Five marks and the sixth
Five points determine a conic exactly — five coefficients up to scale, five equations, nothing left over — so a fit through five marks on a photograph is not a fit at all. The sixth mark, withheld, lands on the curve to 1.9e-13 px. And the moment a sixth mark is used, the arithmetic changes character completely: it becomes a least-squares problem, and the residual starts telling you something the five could never say.
Two circles, one picture
A photographed circle leaves its own pose ambiguous, and not a little: two congruent circles in planes 23.6° apart draw the same conic to 1.1e-16 on normalised coefficients, both of them in front of the camera. On top of that the distance is free, so the family is two discrete poses each with one continuous parameter — and a plane one degree from either draws a conic 2.5e-4 away, which is what makes the agreement a measurement.
The polar with a straightedge
Two secants through a point cut a conic at four places; the complete quadrangle they make has two more diagonal points; the line through those is the polar. Not one length, angle or midpoint is used, so the whole construction survives the projection that made the picture — and three unrelated pairs of secants land on the same line to 4.3e-13, while moving the point moves it by fifteen orders of magnitude more.
The ball at the edge of the frame
A ball photographed near the edge of a wide picture is not drawn as a circle. It is an ellipse, longer along the radius from the centre of the picture than across it, and the centre of that ellipse is not the image of the centre of the ball. Both are properties of the flat sheet the picture is on, and an exact pinhole produces both.
Every quadric has one outline
The curve where a solid turns away from the eye is the section of the solid by one plane — the eye's polar plane — and the outline is three matrix products with no sampling in them. It works for a ball, a dish and a hyperboloid, and it fails for a cone, whose dual outline collapses to a single point and forgets which two lines pass through it.
A line is a space of its own
Most of what is said about projective geometry in pictures is said about the plane. One dimension down there is a smaller object with a complete theory: a point of a line is one ratio, a map of a line is three numbers, three pairs fix it, and the cross-ratio is not merely an invariant but the only one — which is a claim that can be made to fail.
The map a row of posts is
Walking one bay further down a row is a map of the drawn line to itself, and which map it is settles everything about how the spacings behave. It is parabolic — one fixed point, counted twice, and that point is the vanishing point — which is why the drawn posts crowd toward it and never arrive. Doubling a distance instead gives a hyperbolic map whose multiplier a straightedge can read.
Perpendicular is a pairing
On a horizon, the vanishing point of a direction and the vanishing point of the direction at right angles to it are joined by a map that is its own inverse. Such a map has two degrees of freedom rather than three, so two pairs determine it — and its two imaginary fixed points are the focal length and the centre of the picture, handed back from two rectangles on one floor with nothing assumed.
An error with two terms
Two results from machineries with nothing in common have now found the same shape. A panorama's parallax separates into a term that halves every time the frame count doubles and a term with no frame count in it at all; a silhouette's error into an excess that falls as one over the square of the view count and the area of a concavity that is the same number at four views and at a hundred and twenty-eight. Fitting both terms turns the distinction into a measurement, and pointed at seven of this collection's own laws it reads every one of them the way its own essay does.
What a null result is worth in decades
The first draft of this expected a short sweep to invent a floor, on the reasoning that least squares always spends a free parameter. It does not — on exact data the fitted floor of a floor-free law comes back at three parts in a quadrillion. The failure is the other one and it is worse because it looks like a result. Over a third of a decade at one per cent noise, floors of a fifth of the first sample are still consistent with the data, and the fit reports none while telling the truth.
The ladder of assumptions is a ladder of conditioning
Push the four corners of a board by one pixel and read three quantities through the one recovered map. A cross-ratio does not move at all — it is read in the picture and never went through the map. A ratio of parallel lengths moves by a tenth of a per cent at twenty degrees of obliquity and by 1.6 per cent at seventy-eight. An angle moves by sixteen thousandths of a degree and by nine tenths. The stratification ladder is usually taught as a hierarchy of what is assumed; it is also a hierarchy of what a pixel costs.
The bias out of reach
A single-view height recovered from the cross-ratio has an error with two terms. The spread of an average of m readings falls as one over the root of m, by a fitted exponent of −0.52 over three decades. The bias does not fall at all — and it is eight microns, against a single-shot spread of six millimetres, so the two cross at 535,000 measurements. There is a floor here and no experiment anybody will run can see it.
A floor with a referent
Recover a focal length from two vanishing points and measure more points along each line. Through a pinhole the error falls from 0.34 per cent to 0.05 and the instrument finds no floor at all. Through a lens of k₁ = −0.05 it falls, turns, and rises to 0.70 per cent — because the noise the extra points removed had been partly masking the lens's bend. The floor is 0.72 per cent of the focal length, and doubling the distortion coefficient doubles it to 1.44. It is not noise and not conditioning; it is the model, priced.
A point and a line are one object
Every projective statement has a partner got by swapping the words point and line, and the partner is true whenever the original is. Run on this collection's own Desargues configuration, all thirty of its incidences survive the exchange to 5 × 10⁻¹⁶ — and three of the dual's ten points land at infinity, which is a fact about where the drawing sits on the page rather than about the theorem.
The horizon has a pole
Every other duality in this collection is a matrix somebody picked. A calibrated camera fixes one nobody picked, and under it the horizon of a plane and the vanishing point of that plane's normal are pole and polar — to 2.7 × 10⁻¹² pixels. Run backwards, those two marks give the focal length with no known length, no right angle and no square anywhere in the scene.