The thread: Determined up to something — page 5
The parallax you cannot shoot away
A stitched panorama's parallax has two halves and they do not behave alike. The one across the seam falls as the sine of half a frame spacing, so more frames buy it off; the one up the frame is the sine of half the frame's own height, and no quantity of shooting touches it. They cross at π over β, which has no pivot error in it at all.
Measuring from one pictureFive facts that close the same gap
The gloss that one length has to come from outside the photograph names a single option, and there are at least five — a length on the ground, the camera's own height, a repeated object of unstated size, a standing object of known height, and the focal length with the horizon. All five give an answer on the same picture with the same noise; their spreads run from 0.36 to 3.60 per cent, a factor of ten, and which one is available depends on the photograph rather than on the arithmetic.
The eye that movesA scroll of a climbing road measures its grade
Every reading of the two-slit scroll has leaned on its two drawings of a point sharing a row, because the eye is at one height at both moments. On a road that climbs they do not — and what parts them is the height climbed between the two moments over the reach, which on a straight climb is 2·f·g·sin φ for every point at every depth and height. The scroll does not lose its rows to a hill. It gains a third mark, a gradient meter that a level bend cannot counterfeit.
What a pair is forA sliding pair keeps its line only near the middle
Two eyes that roll by Listing's law lose the horopter's straight line as soon as they look up and aside, and the question worth a number is whether they lose it by much. Measured along the line they nearly keep, the disparity is exactly the slide seen by one eye — 3.20 px at 20° aside and 20° up, a metre and a bit away — and the slide does not shrink with distance. At arm's length the line survives to within a pixel only in a narrow cross through the middle of the field.
Through water and glassA wedge moves the centre, not the lens
A wedge of glass in front of a lens deflects every ray by a little more the further off the axis it goes, which looks like the shape a radial distortion coefficient describes. Fitted together, the two are nearly independent — correlated at 0.16 at most — and a calibration that knows nothing of the glass does not invent a lens: it reports a coefficient of about 0.002, moves its principal point by 4.5 to 14 pixels, and leaves a swirling residual that no radial model takes. The blame goes to the camera's centre, and the residual says so from twenty-two degrees off the axis.
The second eyeA sway gives the blind centre a depth, not a good one
A camera driving straight forward cannot see how far away the thing it is driving toward is: the mark at the epipole does not move between pictures. Let one of three pictures sway sideways and the centre gets a depth at once — but a depth resting on the sway alone, which a pixel of reading moves by the focal length's reciprocal times the depth over the sway. For a centimetre of steering wobble at eight metres that is 144 per cent; for a tenth of the forward step, 29. The hole closes; the disc around it stays until the sway is a third of the step.
Many pictures at onceA scale bar is worth its ends, not its tape
A length measured at the start of a walk round a ring pins the walk's scale — but only to the precision with which the pictures place the length's two ends, 3.4 mm here, whatever the tape says. Measured to a thirtieth of a millimetre or to three millimetres, a one-metre bar leaves the worst camera at the same 89 mm. So a short length is not a long one measured well: a bar under about 13 cm tells the walk less about its scale than the walk already knows. And on an open walk no length at the start does better than 214 mm, because what is left there is drift, not scale.
What each system gave upA tiring panel keeps its order, not its direction
Let a painter's creep grow from one strip to the next as the panel is worked, and the strips' habits carry the order they were drawn in — but only as a line, never as a direction: tiring from the floor to the book and steadying from the book to the floor put the same drift on every strip. Four strips find the order a quarter of the time against a twelfth by chance; six find it nineteen times in twenty. And the order costs the reading its refusal: once it is free, two steady hands fit one tiring hand nearly as well as a tiring hand does.
Measuring from one pictureWhere each closure enters the stratification
The five facts that turn a photograph's ratios into metres do not all do the same job. Read on four quantities through the map each supplies — a cross-ratio, a ratio along a line, an angle, a length — three of them return all four exactly and two return only the first three. Set the free scale ten per cent wrong and the whole ten per cent appears in the length and nothing appears in the other three, to thirteen digits.
The eye that movesAn eye that pitches with the road keeps its rows
An upright eye climbing a road parts each point's two drawings by the same few rows, and that offset reads the grade. Fix the eye to the vehicle instead, so it pitches with the road, and the offset vanishes exactly — for every point, at every depth and height. The grade has not gone. It has moved into the posts, which now lean by an amount that grows with their depth, and into one drawing, which can now read the grade on its own.
The second eyeA plane's coefficient reaches as far as its parallax
After a known plane's map, every raised point's displacement is its height over its depth, read as a coefficient on the epipole — exactly, for any point either picture sees. The worry was that the number would be local, good only near the floor whose marks fixed the map. Read to a pixel, it is not a distance on the floor that runs out. It is a length in the picture: the point's error is about 260 per cent over its parallax in pixels, wherever the point stands.
What a pair is forA rectification's free shift is free only near the pair
Sliding a rectified pair's principal points apart adds a constant to every disparity, and a constant changes nothing about where points are — on paper. A whole-pixel reading is not paper. The same slide moves every depth the reading can report, and for a wall ten metres away the choice between the best shift and the worst is 1.71 metres. Near the pair it is millimetres. A matcher with half a pixel of its own error erases the choice, and pays more than the worst shift did.
Through water and glassA third eye sees the water the pair cannot
A level stereo pair looking at a stick in water gets two rays that meet exactly and a stick 285 mm too short, with nothing to warn it. A third eye raised ten centimetres above the pair sees a disagreement of 2.6 pixels at the stick's tip. Asked to agree with the other two as if there were no water, it hides nearly all of that and makes the stick shorter still. Told only that there is a flat surface, the same three eyes find its refractive index and put the metre back.
The rectangle behind the lensA frame's shear knows travel only over depth
Read a frame row by row while the camera turns and travels, and every vertical post leans — the near ones more. The lean is the turn plus the travel over the post's depth, and that sum is all the frame holds: twice the travel past posts twice as far draws the same frame to eighteen decimal places. Two posts cannot separate turn from travel. A facade can, because a turn leans the edges of the frame more than its middle, but the two signals are 99.8 per cent alike, and reading them apart takes a pixel on every row.
The real instrumentA tilted target pays for its tilt in perspective
A calibration target of printed circles held square to the lens fixes a lens's first radial coefficient to 4.77 thousandths from ninety-six marks. Tilt it thirty degrees, fit the tilt along with everything else, and the same ninety-six marks fix it to 2.46 — nearly twice as well. Squash the circles by the same angle without perspective and nothing is gained. What pays is the near half of each circle being drawn larger than the far half, which spreads a circle's marks across a band of distances from the lens's centre.
What each system gave upA strip keeps its ratio, not the end it began
A painter dividing a strip into bays tires as they go, and each bay comes out a little larger than the last. Divide the strip from its far edge instead of its near one and the tiring runs the other way — but the rows record none of it: a strip divided from the far edge by a tiring hand is, to the last digits, a strip divided from the near edge by a steadying one. A whole picture recovers every strip's direction anyway, because one hand shared one rate of tiring across strips of different splay.
Many pictures at onceSplit the track and the needles turn
A point triangulated from a track of cameras is not known equally well in every direction: its error is a needle, long along the direction its lines of sight barely constrain. That direction is not the mean line of sight but the lines of sight weighted by how near each camera is — and it can be turned. Two groups of cameras more than a right angle apart swing every needle across, and the same six pictures of a facade then measure its depth four times better.
What a pair is forA quarter of a degree of roll keeps the line
A Listing pair's horopter loses its straight line because the motion between the eyes slides along its own axis. Helmholtz's rule cures that by turning each eye several degrees. A roll a tenth that size, in opposite senses, cures it just as exactly, and its size is a short law: a quarter of the elevation times the vergence, with hardly any dependence on the azimuth.
What survivesTwo 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.
Light and mirrorsThe ball stands at a focus
A ball on a floor casts an ellipse, and the point where the ball touches the floor is a focus of it — not near a focus, on one, to two parts in ten thousand million million. That is Dandelin's theorem arriving somewhere nobody puts it, and it is the only thing about the lamp that the shadow gives away.
The other systemsThe drawing that gives the solid back
One parallel view of a general point determines nothing: two equations, three unknowns, and the kernel is free. What closes it is not a second view but the correspondence — knowing which drawn edge runs along which world axis — and with it the whole solid comes back out of one drawing, exactly.
Constructing a viewThe arc every eye stands on
Four drawn corners known to be a rectangle fix the horizon of their plane and nothing else. The eye that drew them has to see the two vanishing points at a right angle, so it lies on the circle those points are a diameter of — and every point of that arc reconstructs a genuine rectangle, with right angles to five parts in ten million million of a degree, and a different proportion.
Surfaces that are not flatA rig is right on one surface
Several cameras looking outward have several centres, and no warp registers all of a scene. The residual is a disparity, so the depth the stitch is computed for has an exact optimum — the harmonic midpoint of the depth range, not the middle of it — and the arithmetic middle costs a factor of 2 z_far over the sum, which tends to two.
Where to standWhat 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.