The conic a circle becomes
Worth reading first: The circle whose centre moves · What a projection destroys.
Everybody knows that a photographed circle is an ellipse. It is one of the few pieces of projective geometry that survives into ordinary speech: a plate seen at an angle is an oval, a coin on a table is an oval, the rim of a cup is an oval.
It is also not true, and the exception is not exotic. Stand in the middle of a traffic roundabout and photograph the kerb, and the picture contains a hyperbola. Not an ellipse so eccentric it looks like one; a genuine hyperbola, with two branches and two asymptotes, one branch below the horizon and its partner above it.
This essay is about what decides which. The answer turns out to be one incidence, it has nothing to do with the lens, and it is exactly the kind of statement projective geometry exists to make: a condition about meeting, checked without measuring anything.
What a projection does to a curve
Start with what does not change. A projection through a point takes lines to lines, so it takes a curve of degree two to a curve of degree two. A circle is a curve of degree two; its image is therefore a conic, always, without qualification.
That much is a statement about degree and it is not the interesting half. Ellipse, parabola and hyperbola are the same object as far as a projection is concerned — one conic, seen three ways — and they are told apart only by a piece of information a projection does not carry: where the line at infinity is.
In a picture, that line has a name. It is the horizon: the image of the ground plane’s points at infinity, and the place every family of horizontal parallels goes to meet.
So the three names are three answers to one question: how does the image of the circle meet the horizon?
- Miss it entirely, and the image is an ellipse.
- Touch it once, and the image is a parabola.
- Cut it twice, and the image is a hyperbola — and the two crossings are where the asymptotes’ directions come from.
That is the whole classification, and it is worth noticing what it does not mention. Not the focal length, not the angle of view, not the tilt of the plane, not the distance to the circle. The horizon is where the plane’s infinity went, and the question is whether the circle got there.
Where the circle goes to meet infinity
The horizon is the image of the points at infinity of the plane. Which points of the circle could possibly land on it?
A point images on the horizon when the ray from the eye to it is parallel to the ground — which for a point in the ground plane means the ray never gets there, and that means the point is infinitely far away. On a circle, no point is infinitely far away. So no point of the circle images on the horizon, and every circle is an ellipse.
That argument is wrong, and finding out where it is wrong is the content of this essay.
It is wrong because the image of a point is not defined by drawing a line from the eye to the point and seeing where it crosses the picture. It is defined by the ray direction, and a direction has an image whether or not the point in it is in front of the camera. The plane through the eye parallel to the picture — call it the vanishing plane, because its image is the vanishing line — is where the two accounts come apart. A point on it has a ray parallel to the picture, so it images infinitely far away in the picture; a point on the far side of it images in the ordinary way; a point on the near side images too, on the opposite side of the picture, which is a perfectly well-defined thing to do and is what a camera refuses to photograph.
So the question “does the image of the circle meet the horizon” has an answer in the world: does the circle reach the vanishing plane?
Computing the image without photographing it
There is an obstacle to measuring any of this the obvious way, and it is worth naming because it shaped how the figures here are built.
The obvious way is to take a few hundred points on the circle, project each one, and fit a conic through the results. That is exactly what the essay on the circle whose centre moves does, and for a circle in front of the camera it is right and it is enough.
It cannot reach the case this essay is about. A camera refuses a point at or behind the vanishing plane — correctly, since there is no ray from the eye through such a point that crosses the picture in front of the eye — so a circle that crosses that plane comes back as a broken arc with the interesting part missing. A conic fitted to what is left is a conic fitted to an arc.
The repair is to stop sampling. A plane in the world carries a homography to the picture: three columns, being the two directions in the plane and the offset to its origin, all written in the camera’s own basis and multiplied by the calibration. A conic in that plane is a symmetric matrix. The image of the conic is then
one matrix product, valid for every point of the circle including the ones no camera can see. Whether the result is an ellipse, a parabola or a hyperbola is the sign of read off its coefficients.
Two checks keep that route honest, and both are made rather than assumed. The plane’s vanishing line, computed as the bottom row of , has to be the camera’s own horizon — which is derived a completely different way, from the ground normal written in camera coordinates — and it is, to about of a pixel. And where the sampled route can be taken, the two must agree: sample a circle wholly in front of the camera, fit the conic, normalise both sets of coefficients, and they match to .
The sweep, and the knife edge
With the algebra in place the claim can be put to a test that could fail it.
Take one camera and one ground plane. Grow a circle centred where the camera is looking, from a radius small enough to sit entirely in front of the eye to one large enough to swallow it, and at each radius compute two things independently: the depth of the nearest point of the circle relative to the vanishing plane, and the discriminant of the image conic.
At every sample the two agree. That is the first half, and on its own it is not worth much: a sweep that stayed on one side of the plane would have every sample agree and would show nothing. So the sweep is required to visit both types, which it does.
The knife edge is the part worth the arithmetic. The parabola is a single value of the radius out of a continuum, so it is found by bisecting on the depth of the nearest point — ninety halvings, driven entirely by the geometric condition — and only then is the discriminant computed there. It comes out at of the coefficients’ own size. The geometric test located the parabola without ever looking at the algebra, and the algebra agreed.
There is a small honest discrepancy in that figure and it is worth the sentence. The crossing is at a radius of 8.995 m and the camera stands 8.78 m from the centre of the circle, a difference of 2.4%. “The circle reaches the plane through the eye” and “the camera is inside the circle” are the same condition only for a level camera; this one is pointed down by 7.7°, which tilts the vanishing plane, and the gap is exactly that. For a level camera it closes to nothing.
Standing inside it
The hyperbola is worth drawing, because the picture is not what most readers expect from the words.
The branch below the horizon is what the camera actually records: the near arc of the kerb, curving away. The branch above is the far arc, the part behind the photographer, imaged at the place its ray directions land — which is above the horizon and, in a real photograph, simply absent. The asymptotes are the images of the two points where the circle crosses the vanishing plane, which are exactly the two points whose rays are parallel to the picture.
So the everyday statement is nearly right and its exception is the ordinary case of standing in the middle of something round. The ellipse is the view from outside; the hyperbola is the view from inside; and the parabola is the moment of stepping over the kerb.
What the type is, and is not, a fact about
Three consequences follow that are worth stating separately, because each is a thing readers reliably attribute to the wrong parameter.
It is not the lens. Change the focal length and the picture scales about the principal point; a scaling cannot turn an ellipse into a hyperbola, because it cannot move a curve across the line at infinity. A wide lens makes an oval more eccentric and a long lens makes it rounder, and neither changes the name.
It is not the tilt of the circle’s plane. A circle standing upright on a wall, a circle lying on the floor and a circle leaning at 40° all obey the same rule. What matters is whether the circle reaches the vanishing plane, and a circle can do that from any orientation.
And it is not distance in the ordinary sense. A small circle a long way off and a huge circle nearby are both ellipses if both are wholly beyond the eye plane. The relevant distance is signed and is measured to one particular plane, not to the eye.
Where the conic’s centre went
Once the image is a conic in its own right, a second question becomes askable: what happened to the circle’s centre?
The image of the centre is not the centre of the image. That is the older result and it has its own essay; what is worth adding here is where the image of the centre actually is, in the language of the conic.
It is the pole of the horizon. The circle’s centre is the pole of the line at infinity with respect to the circle, and a projection carries poles to poles and polars to polars, so the image of the centre is the pole of the image of the line at infinity — which is the horizon. That relation holds for all three types, and it is the reason the classification and the centre question are the same subject.
The two points that are always there
There is a second intersection with the horizon that has nothing to do with the classification and is worth naming here, because it is where the next rung of this ladder starts.
Every circle in a plane passes through two fixed points of that plane’s line at infinity — the circular points, which are complex. They are on the line at infinity, so their images are on the horizon; they are on every circle, so their images are on the image of every circle. Intersect an imaged circle with the horizon and the pair comes back, with no fitting and no choice.
When the image is an ellipse those two intersections are complex conjugates, which is the ordinary case and is the whole metric upgrade in one line. When the image is a hyperbola they are real — which is exactly the case this essay has been drawing, and it means something has been lost.
Reading the type off a photograph
The classification is not only true, it is checkable by a reader with a picture and a straightedge, which is the test any statement here is asked to pass.
Find the horizon. Two families of parallel ground lines give two vanishing points, and the line through them is the horizon. Any photograph with a floor and a couple of rectangular objects supplies it.
Extend the drawn curve toward that line. If the curve closes without reaching it, the picture holds an ellipse. If it runs off toward the horizon and appears to approach a straight line as it goes, the picture holds a hyperbola and that line is an asymptote.
And check by walking. A hyperbola on the picture means the eye was inside the circle when the picture was taken, allowing for tilt. That is a fact about where the photographer stood, recovered from the shape of a curve — which is the same sort of trade this site makes everywhere: something about the picture in exchange for something about the room.
What is settled and what is not
The type of the image is decided by one incidence and nothing else. That is a complete answer to a question the everyday statement gets nearly right, and it costs one signed distance to check.
What it does not settle is the circle. Knowing that a photographed curve is the image of some circle, and even knowing exactly which conic it is, leaves the circle itself undetermined — its size, its distance and even the tilt of its plane. Five marks on a photograph fix the conic completely, with nothing left over; the next essays are about how much they leave free after that, and the answer is more than it looks.
Reads more easily once this is understood
Essays that name this one as worth reading first.
Shares its objects with
Essays that name at least two of the same things, and that neither author linked.
- Two lines at infinity — both name conic, ellipse, horizon, hyperbola, point at infinity, projective map, vanishing line
- Two circles, one picture — both name centre of projection, circle, conic, picture plane, point at infinity, projective map
- Five marks and the sixth — both name circle, conic, discriminant, point at infinity, projective map
- The polar with a straightedge — both name centre of projection, conic, horizon, incidence, projective map
- The horizon, and the fraction — both name horizon, picture plane, point at infinity, vanishing line
- The one shape that focuses — both name centre of projection, conic, parabola, point at infinity
Named objects
A flat tag is an object no other essay names yet.
centre of projectionCircleConicDiscriminantEllipseHorizonHyperbolaIncidenceParabolaPicture planepoint at infinityProjective mapVanishing line