Every essay — page 10
What light is What the eye does Matching and measuring Difference and uniformity What the brain does What a scene does What a camera does Where the model breaks What it takes to deliver it
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What the eye does
Three cone types project an infinite-dimensional spectrum onto three numbers. Everything colour science can and cannot do follows from that one collapse.
Why colour is exactly three-dimensional
Matching every wavelength with three primaries requires, for some wavelengths, a negative amount of one of them. That physical awkwardness is why the colour-matching functions were transformed into XYZ, and why the horseshoe is curved.
The eye that has no colour
Rods outnumber cones twenty to one, work alone below a hundredth of a candela, and are absent from the centre of gaze. Between dusk and a lit room both systems run at once, and neither standard curve describes what is happening.
Three cones, two axes
The retina does not send three receptor signals down the optic nerve. It sends a sum and two differences, and the reason falls out of the statistics of natural light rather than out of anything the eye intended.
Nothing is in focus at both ends
The eye carries about two dioptres of chromatic aberration across the visible band, which is a strong reading prescription. Whatever it is focused on, most of the spectrum is landing somewhere other than the retina — and the cone class that gets the worst of it is the one the retina bothered least to sample.
The mosaic is not the observer
The ratio of long-wavelength to medium-wavelength cones varies between ordinary people by a factor of sixteen. Those people make the same colour matches, to twelve decimal places, and that single fact is the reason a standard observer can exist at all.
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.
A cone absorbs its own light
A photopigment's absorbance is a property of a molecule; a cone's sensitivity is that molecule stacked in a column deep enough to absorb most of what arrives. The stacking broadens the curve by thirty-five nanometres, and two observers differing in nothing else disagree about a match that is exact for one of them.
Colour goes first in the dark
A cone reports a count, and a count carries the square root of itself as noise. Counting the photons says where colour vision stops — a chromatic difference runs out four hundred times sooner than a lightness difference of the same size — and says just as clearly that in daylight the eye is nowhere near that limit.
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.
Colour stops at the edge of sight
Cone density falls twenty-one-fold between the centre of gaze and ten degrees out, and the three channels give out at three different rates — so a colour difference in the periphery does not merely shrink, it turns. At the exact point of fixation there are no short-wavelength cones at all.
The eye has a shutter
An isoluminant flicker fuses at fifteen hertz and a luminance one at sixty, so a light whose colour changes forty times a second is a steady light of a colour it never emits. And the frequency at which flicker stops being visible is not a property of the eye — it moves twelve and a half hertz for every decade of light.
The drift is a luminance mechanism
The eye's own drift was shown to sit inside a band of speeds that keeps every spatial frequency modulating, and the band was quoted as though it were about vision. Asked about colour, it has no slow edge at all — a stationary chromatic pattern needs no eye movement whatever. And a stabilised chromatic pattern is the first thing to fade.