Where to stand
The point you have to stand at
A perspective picture is a projection through a centre, and scaling that centre's distance to the width the picture is actually shown at gives a distance in centimetres. Shown 160 mm wide, a 40° picture is correct from 22 cm and a 90° one from 8 cm. Nobody stands there, and that single fact explains most of what gets called distortion.
Wide angle is not distortion
A wide lens stretches shapes at the edge of the frame by exactly 1/cos θ — 3% at 28° across, 41% at 90°. Every bit of that is what a correct rectilinear projection must do, and every bit of it disappears if the picture is viewed from the point it was made for. Nobody views it from there.
Anamorphosis is only a viewpoint
A smear on a wall that resolves into a skull when the viewer stands in one particular place off to the side. It is not a trick added to perspective — it is perspective, with the centre of projection put somewhere nobody would naturally stand, and it is the clearest demonstration there is that every picture has such a point.
When the picture surface is not flat
A flat picture plane keeps straight lines straight and stretches the edges without bound. A cylindrical one spreads the stretch evenly and bends every straight line that is not through the axis. Neither is the distorted one — they are answers to different questions, and the choice decides what a wide view can be.
An anamorph at true size, on paper
An anamorph is the shadow of the intended picture, cast from the reader’s own eye. Every claim about a figure on a screen is quoted against an assumed display width, because nobody can know how wide a screen shows it; this one is not, because it ships a sheet in millimetres and states where to put an eye.
The cylindrical mirror unbends it
Put a mirrored cylinder in the middle of the sheet and the light path from the eye to the paper bends once. The map that results is not a homography and not a projection in the plane sense at all — it varies its scale by a factor of seven across the design, which is why the smear is unreadable and why the mirror can put it back.
Standing in the wrong place
A picture read from twice the distance it is correct from depicts a scene twice as deep — and not one mark on the paper moves. The error is invisible in the picture, which is why it survives everywhere.
A floor anamorph is three numbers
An anamorph is described everywhere as a picture stretched until only one viewpoint can read it, which says what it looks like and nothing about what it is. Cast one onto a floor and fit a map to the marks, and the map turns out to be a planar homology — a line of fixed points, one point off it, and a single ratio. Those three numbers are not a description of the eye. They are the eye.
Where the anamorph still works
A picture correct from one point raises an obvious question that nobody answers with a number — how far may the eye move. The answer here is exact rather than approximate: a wrong viewpoint composes the intended picture with a central collineation whose axis is the line the picture stands on, so the error is zero along that line and grows linearly upward, and a step sideways costs precisely as much as the same step upward.
The marks name the place, not the height
Run the camera-recovery round trip on an anamorph — hand it the floor marks and ask for the eye back — and it returns the spot on the floor to eleven decimal places with nothing assumed at all. It does not return the height. What the marks fix is the product of the eye's height with the design's aspect ratio, and no amount of looking at the floor separates the two.
The ceiling that is not a plane
Paint the same design for the same eye onto a floor and onto a barrel vault, then fit the best possible homography to each set of marks. On the floor it misses by femtometres, because the map is a collineation and four marks determine every other. On the vault it misses by half a metre, and no choice of four marks helps — which is where every projective construction made for a floor stops applying.
A set cut for one eye
Build a colonnade four metres deep and cut every column so that its picture is the picture of one eighteen metres deep. The taper is forced rather than chosen — height and width both scale as the real depth over the intended one — and the match from the design eye is exact to sixteen decimal places. What gives it away is the second eye, and not by the ratio anybody would predict.
The room the eye may stand in
An anamorph is correct from one point, and one point is not a thing a person can occupy. Fix a tolerance on the picture and the set of eye positions that meet it is a solid — for a design 1.8 m wide and a ten-millimetre tolerance it is 36 mm long, 14 mm across and 31 cubic centimetres altogether, a spindle pointing along the line of sight. Ten times the tolerance is a thousand times the room.
An anamorph has one eye
From the design point exactly — a camera's single eye — the floor marks give the design back to sixteen decimal places. A head carries two eyes 63 mm apart, and neither of them is the design point. The difference between the disparity the floor gives and the disparity an upright board would give runs to 47 arcminutes, against a stereoacuity of a few tens of arcseconds. This is why pavement paintings are photographed.
The design that outruns the floor
A pavement anamorph of a design forty per cent of eye height needs two metres of floor. Eighty per cent needs thirteen. Ninety-four per cent needs fifty, ninety-nine per cent needs three hundred and seventeen, and the sky needs an infinite one — because the ray through a design point level with the eye never comes down. Depth times the height still to go, divided by the height already reached, is the eye's own distance at every point of the family.
The anamorph that crosses a corner
Cast one design onto a floor and the wall at the end of it, from one eye. Each plane gets a collineation of its own; the two agree on the line where the planes meet, exactly, because a point of that line is a point of both. What they do not agree about is scale — the design runs 7.8 times its own size along the floor and 2.0 times up the wall, and the jump at the join is a factor of 3.9.
The height a flat floor cannot give
The marks of a floor anamorph name the eye's position on the floor exactly and say nothing about how high it was — every candidate height explains them perfectly, to one part in a thousand trillion. That is a fact about planes rather than about anamorphs. Ripple the floor by six centimetres and the family collapses: the true height explains the marks exactly and the nearest wrong one, five centimetres away, leaves two millimetres on a design 1.8 metres wide.
A stair does not use all its faces
A corner anamorph is two homologies and a flight of nine steps is eighteen, which is arithmetic and is the least of it. What a flight has that a corner does not is that which faces exist and which faces can be painted are different questions. From the top of a descending flight not one riser is reachable at any eye height, so half the planes are unpaintable by construction — and from the bottom of an ascending one, 58 per cent of the picture lands on risers that are 36 per cent of the surface.
What an eye can paint
A flight of steps has eighteen faces and no eye reaches more than fifteen. Pointed at a cluster of blocks, a seating rake and a corridor with a doorway in it, the same measurement finds 8 of 21, 7 of 13 and 6 of 7 — and the plane, which offers its whole self to every eye, is the control that makes the law a law rather than a fact about stairs.
Facing the reader is not being reachable
A face turns toward the eye or it does not, and that is a dot product any reader can compute. Whether the eye’s rays actually land on it is a different question with a different answer — on a seating rake, three faces of ten that face the reader receive nothing, and they are 27 per cent of the facing area. On a corner the same test loses nothing at all, which is what makes the gap occlusion rather than arithmetic.
The eye that reaches the most
A higher eye buys the faces occlusion was hiding and loses design off the far end of the object, so "the best eye" is not a question with an answer until somebody says which of the two they are paying for. On three objects the answer is as high as possible; on a corridor with a doorway in it the two quantities cross and the best height is two and a bit metres.
A design that lands in two rooms
Cast a design down a corridor with a doorway in it and four per cent of the picture goes through the opening and lands on a wall three metres beyond, at 9.4 metres from the eye against the end wall's 6.4. The picture is continuous across the edge of the doorway and its scale jumps by half again, which is a corner anamorph's discontinuity with a gap in the middle of it instead of a fold.
The stretch decides the band
A design band chosen by geometry — the rays that meet the object — includes rays that graze along it, and a grazing ray lands two design points twenty times further apart than the design says. Cap the stretch at four and a bare floor keeps 55 per cent of its design, a corner 80, and the top of a descending flight all of it.
One flight, two pictures
From the top of a descending flight every riser faces away, so the design lands entirely on treads. From the foot of the same flight the risers take 68 per cent of the design at a median stretch of 1.4, and the treads take the rest at a median of 2.6. Give each reader the faces the other cannot use and one staircase carries two pictures, with no face asked to hold both.
A fold names the height
A pavement anamorph’s marks fix where the reader must stand and leave how tall they are entirely free — every height explains the marks exactly, to the last bit. Put one crease in the floor and the freedom is gone, because two degrees of fold makes a ten-centimetre error in the height leave six tenths of a millimetre, and a right angle makes it nine.
A flight that has ends
A real staircase has three families of faces and the rule proposed last round predicted three pictures. It supports four, because a picture is fixed by a direction and the flight's two sides point opposite ways — one kind of face that no single direction reaches both of. The rule counts words and the object counts orientations.