Sampling — where it appears
Named by 52 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A grey edge arrives coloured
A sensor site measures one channel and the other two are interpolated from neighbours that sat somewhere else. Across a black-and-white step that reconstruction gives an achromatic scene a chroma of 144 per cent of its own local mean, and nothing in the scene or the sensor was coloured.
Colour thrown away on purpose
Every video format in use discards three quarters of its colour information and keeps all of its luminance, because the eye resolves fine colour detail badly. On an edge that carries luminance the loss is exactly zero. On an edge of nearly equal luminance it is a colour difference of forty-three, and the two edges are the same edge to the codec.
How fine a colour edge can be
The eye resolves a lightness pattern to about fifty cycles per degree and a red–green one to twelve. Every colour difference here is quoted as though a patch had no size, and the same difference is plainly visible at one scale and gone at another.
Five nanometres is a choice
Every integral here is taken in five-nanometre steps, and the interval has never had to be defended. Coarsening it to twenty costs daylight two hundredths of a colour difference and a fluorescent tube six and a half — and which way of coarsening is used decides a further factor of six.
A difference has no size
A colour difference formula answers a question about two large patches seen side by side. Applied to a pattern, it reports fourteen units where the eye is left with less than one — and the ratio depends on nothing but how finely the difference is spread.
A pattern has a direction
Every spatial claim here is a claim about a frequency, and a frequency has no direction in it. Turning a printed screen forty-five degrees makes it exactly twice as quiet with nothing else changed — and the same rotation does nothing at all to a chromatic one.
Every threshold was measured with a grating
An earlier essay here claimed that the model cannot explain why dither works, and named two missing pieces. One of them was real and worth thirteen times the guess; the other was not needed. The piece nobody named was the detector — and reading the same model two ways changes the answer by a factor of fifty.
A tint at the edge of a page
The last phase left this join open and guessed at its answer — how visible a halftone tint is away from the centre of gaze should be the product of two effects it had measured separately. It is not the product. At five degrees the guess is fifty-three times too generous, and by twenty it is out by eight orders of magnitude.
The list nobody made
The last phase found that reading a filtered signal at a point asks a question its thresholds were never fitted to, made it a standing rule, and admitted that nobody had gone back through the site to see which claims it touched. Here is the list. Every claim with noise on one side of it moves — and so do two that have no noise in them at all, which the rule said would not.
The shutter samples the lamp
A lamp switched between two drive currents at a hundred hertz is one steady colour to a person and two spectra to a camera. A thousandth-of-a-second exposure catches whichever phase the shutter opened at — two and a third stops of exposure and five units of colour, decided by nothing but timing — and a rolling shutter writes the difference across the frame as bands.
An extremum is not a sample
Three separate measurements in this collection took a maximum or a minimum over a sample of a set — forty-eight points round an ellipse, twenty-four directions out of an optimum, fourteen changes of light off a list. All three are wrong, all three are wrong in the same direction, and the error in each grows with the very quantity being measured.
An ellipse is not a ring of points
For eleven rounds of argument the distortion a colour space does to MacAdam's ellipses by mapping forty-eight points round each one and dividing the longest radius by the shortest. The minimum sits in a notch whose width is the reciprocal of the answer, so the method was accurate wherever the answer was small and short by a factor of two where it was large.
Three numbers for one ellipse
How far a colour space is from making a discrimination contour circular has three different answers — what a coarse sample of the boundary reports, what a converged sample of a contour of stated size reports, and what the map's own derivative says. They differ by up to a factor of two, they mean different things, and only one of them is what the question is asking.
How long is the bowl
The optimum of an adaptation objective is twenty-nine times longer one way than another, and the two ends have names — the stiffest direction is almost entirely the short-wavelength row of the basis, the flattest almost entirely the long-wavelength one. Twenty-four random directions reported a factor of eight, and no number of them would have done better.
The worst case is where the box stops
The worst change of light this collection quotes is two bounces off a green wall, and it is the worst of fourteen changes somebody wrote down. Searching the family those fourteen were drawn from reaches six times further — and does not stop, because the residual rises monotonically towards a narrower notch on a darker wall. There is no worst case in this family, and the number anybody quotes for one is a number about their own constraint.
A width nobody varied
Five numbers say how much people differ from one another, and every conclusion drawn here about a population rests on them. Each was written down with the range the literature reports beside it, so that a result could be re-read at the pessimistic end. Nothing ever was.
Which measurement is worth making
Four things about an eye differ between people, and they have been ranked here by how much of the answers they carry since the population was built. Ranking them by how much doubt they carry gives a different order, and ranking them by which one takes a published claim closest to failing gives a third.
How wrong would the data have to be
Twenty-five ellipses measured on one observer in 1942 are the ruler every colour space here is judged against, and they have never been given an error. Rather than invent one, the question is turned round, and asks how large an error would have to be before the ranking changed.
Twenty-five is a sample of the diagram
A colour space's uniformity score is the mean of twenty-five numbers, and a mean of twenty-five numbers has a standard error those twenty-five numbers determine. Nothing has to be quoted to compute it, and three of the seven adjacent pairs in this collection's ranking survive it.
What would have to be wrong
A great many statements here have thresholds written into them, which turns out to make an audit possible — for each one, the smallest change in a declared input that would stop it holding. Most are unreachable. One is inside a factor of one and a third.
A mean has a set under it
Every adaptation number this collection publishes is an average over a hundred and twenty-five surfaces that were written down once, in one file, with no argument for how many there should be or how saturated. The average runs from exactly zero to twice itself across them, and the set has never been varied.
A lattice is a quadrature rule
Walking a set of test surfaces more finely does not converge on a better answer, because refining a lattice under a constraint changes which corners of the region get sampled and not only how densely. The lattice used here turns out to be a two per cent biased estimate of the integral it stands for.
The error on a gap is not the errors at its ends
Comparing two rows of a table by looking at whether their error bars overlap is the wrong comparison, and here it is wrong by a factor of up to 3.4. The same 125 surfaces score both rows, so the difference between them is quieter than either — and how much quieter is a measurement of how alike the two rows are.
The instrument named the pair that moved
A standard error over a test set flagged four steps of the adaptation census as unresolved. Rebuilding the set three different ways reversed exactly one pair, and it was one of the four. Rebuilding it to a different rule reversed a pair the error separated by nearly nine standard errors — which is not a failure of the instrument but a statement of what it is about.
A mean is not a worst case
Every adaptation number this collection publishes is an average over objects, and the reader asking whether adaptation will fail them is asking about the object it fails on. That object costs between 1.9 and 4.0 times the published figure, and how uneven a change of light is across objects turns out to be a property of the change rather than a constant.
An extremum is still not a sample
Two rounds ago three measurements turned up that took a maximum over a sample of a set and were short by up to a factor of two. The same error was live in a fourth place the whole time, on the set of surfaces every adaptation number is averaged over, and it is short by up to a third.
Two instruments and one ranking
A sampling error over a hundred and twenty-five surfaces and a change of colour-difference formula share no arithmetic at all, and they were asked the same question of the same table. Every adjacency the whole menu reverses had already been flagged as unresolved. And one the test set settles at nine standard errors is reversed by four of the five formulae, which is what makes them two instruments rather than one.
A pixel has an aperture too
A camera photographing a translucent object has the same two discs a spectrophotometer has — one lit, one looked at — and gets them the other way round. Its illumination covers the whole scene, so the flat colour of a translucent surface comes out exactly right at any magnification, and the error moves entirely into the edges.
The index is a choice too
Every colour in this collection is a sum over eighty-one numbers running from 380 to 780 nanometres in steps of five. That index is not a property of the eye, the light or the sample — it is a tabulation, and it holds three separable decisions that behave completely differently from one another.
The slit is what makes it legal
Point-sampling a mercury line at five nanometres costs a colour difference of one unit, and a laser projector thirty-seven. Integrating the same spectrum through the five-nanometre slit every spectrometer already has costs 0.014 and 0.19. The blur anybody would remove if they could is what makes a coarse table honest.
A finer reading of a coarser table
Interpolating a five-nanometre spectrum to one nanometre helps a daylight calculation by a factor of five and harms a three-emitter LED by a factor of a hundred and twenty thousand. Both are the same operation on the same table, and which one happens is decided by a property of the light nobody records.
Where the grid starts
Holding the step at five nanometres and sliding the grid's origin through one cell moves a fluorescent tube's computed colour by 3.18 ΔE₀₀ and a laser projector's by 35.0. Refining the step does not fix it and averaging over origins hides it. It is the one tabulation fault with no smooth error to cancel against.
A grid is not a resolution
Ten essays into this collection there is one sentence about wavelength sampling, and it is that five nanometres is enough. Ten measurements later there are three decisions, three mechanisms, three repairs and two rankings, and the word resolution names none of them.
The grid hid the observer
On this collection's five-nanometre grid a three-laser projector's observer disagreement is exactly zero. On a quarter-nanometre grid it is 2.34 ΔE₀₀ and the largest in the table. The two audits of this round meet here, and the first one does not compound with the second — it removes it.
One step has no choice
Four of a raw converter's operations can be arranged twenty-four ways. The reconstruction cannot be arranged at all — a colour matrix needs three numbers and a mosaic site has one, so filling in the mosaic is forced to the front by arithmetic rather than by convention. What is not forced is whether it happens in linear light or after the curve, and that decision costs 5.8 colour differences at an ordinary edge and nothing at all four sites away from it.
An average on the stored values
A resize, an antialiased edge, a transparency composite and a chroma subsample are all averages, and in almost every pipeline they are taken on the numbers as stored. The numbers as stored are encoded, the encoding is a compression, and a half-and-half blend of black and white taken that way lands 18.7 colour differences from the half-and-half blend of the light — 22.7 units of lightness darker, on every pair, always in the same direction.
A narrow table can vouch for its own peaks
The bound a colour engine can put on its bandpass error is loose because a lamp declares one peak for its whole spectrum and the bound charges it to every window. A table measured through a slit about as narrow as the lamp's lines can do better: no feature of the declared width can be blurred below a computable fraction of its height, so the table's own entries cap how tall the lamp can be in each window. At one nanometre that ceiling is never below the truth and sits twice above it, where the global peak sat twenty times above. The bound halves, and for the first time it certifies notches within a colour difference. At five nanometres it buys nothing at all.
A finer grid keeps the price of separating
A sample's reflectance and a lamp's spectrum measured through separate slits can be reused under any other lamp; measured together through one slit on the reflected light, they are fifteen times more accurate and belong to that one lamp. A finer grid was expected to close the gap, because a one-nanometre table barely blurs anything. It closes most of the distance to the old answer and none of the distance to the new one. On a one-nanometre grid the best separate pair under a fluorescent tube is as good as one slit on the product used to be at five, and one slit on the product on the same fine grid is twenty-nine times better again.
A correction travels with its lines
Keeping a sample's reflectance and a lamp's spectrum as separate tables costs fifteen times the error of measuring their product under a fluorescent tube. The middle course proposed was to measure the product once under a representative tube, store the ratio of product to separable colour with the sample, and apply it under any tube. Under tubes whose lines are narrower or wider, or whose phosphors sit elsewhere, it removes nine tenths of the error. Under a tube with the same lines in a different mix it removes under two thirds, and less the further the mix moves. Under an LED or a laser it makes things worse — a white LED five times worse than no correction. A class of lamps, for this purpose, is a mix of lines.
A narrow table declares its own lines
A bound on a colour table's bandpass error needs one number from the lamp's maker: its narrowest feature, 1.2 nm for a fluorescent tube. Through a slit about as narrow as that feature, the table's entries around each line carry its width. Measured to half a per cent, a one-nanometre table's entries admit only line widths within four per cent of the truth, and a bound built on the narrowest of them is within two per cent of the bound on the maker's number. Through two nanometres the table still declares a usable width. Through three it cannot rule out a line five times narrower, and the bound it supports is the global one. The failure is as sharp as predicted, and never unsafe.
Nine black levels sharpened the press's corners
Three essays measured how far a safety margin pushes the corners of a coated press inward, and found them sharper than anything a smooth solid would have: the solid yellow moving nearly four times the margin, every corner past a cube's. Read by their ink recipes, three of the nine corners are vertices and six are edges, and each has a shape the press model's own derivatives state exactly. Against that shape the edges moved a quarter to two thirds too far. The reason is not the press. It is how the press was built: as three-ink solids at nine levels of black with nothing between them, so that every face black helps to make was scalloped. Walked at thirty-three levels, every corner moves within seven per cent of its own tangent shape, three of the nine are rounder than a cube's corner, and the solid yellow moves 3.2 times the margin, not 3.8.
A stricter fit declares a wider line
A two-nanometre table of a mercury lamp whose every line is self-reversed admits every reversed line as a Gaussian within half a per cent, and declares a width its own ceiling cannot stand on from a depth of two and a half. The obvious repair is to fit harder. The prediction was that at a tenth of a per cent the table refuses the reversed blue and green lines, admits the least-reversed yellow, declares unsafely from it between — and that a threshold that strict would refuse even unreversed lines on a real instrument's noisy table. The refusals come where predicted: the blue from a depth of three, the green from four. But the stricter threshold makes the declaration less safe, not more. It narrows the range of widths each line admits from below, so the yellow, never refused, declares a wider width at every depth, and the ceiling built on it falls below the true peak from a depth of two instead of two and a half. And a tenth of a per cent survives a quiet instrument: no unreversed line is refused until the table's noise reaches half a per cent — and then the first line refused is the yellow, the one that declares.
Two nanometres hide the yellow's notch from any fit
A plain Gaussian fit admits the reversed tube's 578 nm yellow line at every threshold on a two-nanometre table, and the ceiling built on its width fails from a column depth of two and a half. A fit with the notch in it — an emitted Gaussian with an absorbed one taken out of its centre — might see what the plain fit cannot. The prediction was that two nanometres leave too few entries to determine the notch, and one nanometre finds it from a depth of two. Two nanometres hide it completely: the best notch fit carries a negative notch, a spike, at every depth, and the readings a two-standard-error rule calls reversed are the same noise draws at every depth, each fitting a notch that erases the whole line. One nanometre finds it sooner than predicted — in every reading from a depth of one and half of them at a half — and its fitted depth climbs with the column. But its standard error cannot be trusted with seven entries and four numbers: the rule calls a third or more of unreversed readings reversed. The notch's fitted depth itself separates them cleanly.
A slow pigment splits mercury's lines only if its swing fits between them
Under a clear mercury lamp a pigment whose reflectance may swing from nought to one over no less than forty nanometres loses 21 of the census's 148 directions, and every one of them asks it to reflect one of the lamp's green and yellow lines and absorb the other. The census samples the spectrum every five nanometres, which smears each six-nanometre line across a band, and the prediction was that a one-nanometre grid would let the pigment's cliff fall between the lines and cut the count by a third. It cuts it by nothing: 21 on either grid. Narrowing the lines to one and a half nanometres cuts it only to 17. What decides the losses is the lines' spacing, 31.5 nanometres, against the pigment's swing. With narrow lines a pigment whose swing is 30 nanometres loses no direction at all, and one whose swing is 34 loses fourteen; the step sits at the gap. The mercury lamp's cost to a slow pigment belongs to the lamp, not to how the census samples it.
The notch fit declares the true width, and the true width runs out
A lamp's table declares the narrowest line width its peaks admit, and builds on it a ceiling for how high any line can rise between the entries. A reversed tube breaks both: its lines are notched by cooler gas, a plain fit reads each notched line as a wider one, and on a one-nanometre table the ceiling falls below the true peak from a column depth of a half, until at two the table refuses every line and declares nothing. A fit with the notch in it reads the yellow's notch on that table, and the proposal was to declare the line it finds underneath — notch taken back out — with the prediction that the ceiling then holds to a depth of three. It holds to two. The notch fit returns the tube's own 1.2 nm core within two hundredths of a nanometre at every depth, clean and in noisy readings, and the ceiling built on it is safe to two and fails from two and a half, in the window beside the reversed blue line. So does the ceiling built on the true width itself, at the same depths to within a hundredth. The repair is perfect, and what fails past two is the ceiling's rule, which assumes the lines it bounds are not notched.
A ceiling that knows the notch holds to the deepest column
A lamp's table promises a ceiling for how high any line can rise between its entries, and for a reversed tube — every line notched by a cooler column — that ceiling fails on a one-nanometre table from a column depth of two and a half, because its rule assumes the line it bounds has no notch. The notch fit already reads the yellow line's notch, and the proposal was to build the ceiling for a notched line instead: in each window, the factor for a slit-blurred line carrying that window's notch. The prediction was that it holds to a depth of four. It holds to five, the deepest column the census runs, at every depth and in every one of 440 noisy readings. The fit's depth must be read as an optical depth, −ln(1 − d); taken as the first-order depth it fits as, the ceiling fails from four and a half. Part of the safety is the fit's own error: read that way, a deep notch comes out too deep — 4.25 for a true 2.29 at depth five — and an overstated notch only raises the ceiling.
A coarse table can borrow a notch, but not a phantom
A one-nanometre table can bound a reversed lamp by building its ceiling for the notch its own fit reads. A two-nanometre table cannot read the notch, and its ceiling, built for an unnotched line, fails from a column depth of three and a half. The proposal was to borrow the notch from the finer table, and the prediction that the coarse ceiling then holds to five with a wider margin. It does: 8 to 42 per cent above the reversed lamp's true peak at every depth, against the fine table's 1 to 29. But borrowed from the fine table's noisy readings, one notch in 440 sinks the coarse ceiling below the true peak — a notch of 0.13 the fit read in noise where there was no column at all. Under a wide slit a shallow notch flattens a line's top, two flanking entries see more of it, and a ceiling that assumes the notch is set lower; the phantom set it too low. Borrowing only notches the depth rule calls — deeper than 0.2 — keeps all 440 safe; borrowing those more than twice their error does not.
A wide table needs no notch to borrow
A two-nanometre table of a reversed tube cannot read the notch a cooler column cuts in its lines, and its ceiling, built for an unnotched line, fails from a column of three and a half; borrowing the notch a one-nanometre table read rescues it at every depth. The prediction for coarser tables was that a shallow notch lifts their flanking-pair factor further — to a fifth at five nanometres — and that the five-nanometre ceiling on a borrowed notch still holds to five. Both hold: the rise is 15, 18 and 20 per cent at three, four and five nanometres, and every borrowed ceiling stays above the true peak. But a table three nanometres wide or wider never needed the notch. Its unnotched ceiling stands at least 4.7 per cent above the true peak at every column depth, because each of its entries carries so little of any line's peak that the ceiling built on them sits high above every line, reversed or not — and borrowing the notch takes up to twenty points of that margin away.
A broad line brings the notch back to a wide table
A table of a reversed tube read through a slit three nanometres wide or wider never needs the notch a cooler column cuts in its lines: its ceiling, built for an unnotched line 1.2 nanometres wide, stays above the true peak at every column depth. The reason offered was that a wide entry carries too small a share of a narrow line's peak to be fooled, and the prediction was that broader lines undo it — that at a core of 3.6 nanometres the five-nanometre table fails from a column of about three, and that a table needs the notch wherever its slit is less than about twice the line's core. The five-nanometre table fails from a column of three, exactly. Across twelve tables of three cores and four slits, the column at which the unnotched ceiling first fails rises with the slit-to-core ratio — from a half at 0.56 to three and a half or four near 1.7 — and every table at a ratio of 2.5 or more holds; but a ratio of 2.08 still fails, so the threshold sits a little above two. With the true notch, every table holds.
Wings make a broad line easier to bound from its core
A spectral table read through a wide slit can still bound a reversed mercury tube's true peaks with a ceiling built for an unnotched line, so long as the slit is more than about two and a half times the lines' Gaussian core; at a ratio of 2.08 a five-nanometre table fails from a column depth of 3.5. A real discharge line has Lorentzian wings, which widen the width a table declares, and the prediction was that wings move that threshold out in proportion to the declared width, while a ceiling built on the declared width keeps it where it was. Both halves fail, the first in direction. With wings a tenth of a 2.4 nm core's width the five-nanometre table holds to 4.5, and with a quarter it holds at every depth, by eight per cent: wings take power from a line's peak and give it to the table's entry. A ceiling built on the wider declared width fails three of six winged tables that the core-built ceiling serves.
Wings rescue a three-nanometre table only to its deepest column
Lorentzian wings on a reversed tube's lines make every four-, five- and six-nanometre table's ceiling, built for the lines' 2.4 nm core, safer by eight to twelve points of margin a step, so that wings a quarter of the core's width carry all three to every column depth. The three-nanometre table, at a slit-to-core ratio of 1.25, is the one a bare broad line failed earliest, from a depth of two. The prediction was that it still fails with a quarter's wings, from about three, and holds at every depth only with a half's, because a narrow slit averages less of a line's skirt. The first half holds, half a step early: a quarter's wings fail it from 2.5. The second fails by a hair: with wings half the core's width the three-nanometre table holds to a depth of 4.5 and falls 1.1 per cent short at five. Its margin climbs by 6.6, 9.0 and 13.2 points a step — the smallest lifts of any table, from the lowest start.
A ceiling built for the notch holds the three-nanometre table
A table of a reversed discharge lamp read through a three-nanometre slit cannot see the notch a cool column of vapour cuts into each line's core, and a ceiling built for an unnotched core — the bound on how high the lamp can peak inside each window — fails from a column depth of two, and even with broad wings at five. The prediction was that a ceiling built for each window's notched line holds at every depth with any wing, by more than two per cent. It holds at every depth with any wing. With bare lines it holds by three tenths of a per cent at its tightest, at a moderate column, beside mercury's violet lines. Knowing the notch costs the shallow columns and pays the deep ones, because a shallow notch flattens a line's top and a deep one splits it.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Declared inputSpectral power distributionBoundWavelength gridChromatic adaptationMeasurement errorConvergenceFluorescentMeasurement uncertaintySpatial frequencyTest setAliasing