Crease pattern — where it appears
Named by 61 essays across 9 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Publishing the pattern instead of the sequence
A diagram sequence is one picture per step and a crease pattern is one picture. When designers began releasing patterns rather than diagrams, the cost of publishing a model fell by two orders of magnitude and the difficulty moved onto the reader — which is what made the complex era possible and what made most of it unfoldable.
Nothing meets at three
Every interior vertex of a flat-foldable pattern carries an even number of creases and at least four. So a crease cannot stop in the middle of the sheet, three creases cannot meet anywhere, and every crease pattern in the subject ends up looking the same way — all crossings and no stars.
The shadow does not name the pattern
A photograph of a folded model carries an outline and a thickness at every point of it, and that is the whole of what it carries. It is not enough. Crease patterns in genuinely different places fold to identical outlines with identical layer counts, and nearly a third of the folded objects a short strip can reach are reached by more than one pattern.
The crease that stops in the middle
A sheet folded flat at random writes a crease pattern that satisfies every condition in the subject, everywhere. Leave one layer behind on each fold — one layer out of a dozen — and it stops writing crease patterns at all: the creases stop in the middle of the paper, and a crease with a loose end is a thing no flat folded sheet can have.
The skeleton changes its mind
The universal molecule fills any convex polygon, always, which is what makes it the part of the tree method with no special cases. It does not fill it continuously. Slide one corner along its edge and the number of creases in the molecule sits at six, jumps, and sits at seven — so two designs a hairsbreadth apart have crease patterns that are not small variations on one another.
The second term
A feature grafted into a finished design costs exactly the paper slid in for it, and the bill has one term. Add a second feature across the first and it has two: the rectangle where the strips cross is paper both features are charged for and neither uses. At a strip a fifth of the sheet wide it is nine per cent of the bill; at four fifths it is nearly a third.
The sheet remembers
Perfect memory is the fourth idealisation, and the least examined of the four. It is usually read as a complaint that paper will not lie flat again; the large half is the opposite. A sheet folded once is no longer blank, so folding a second model into it is folding the union of two patterns — and a union folds flat only where every new crease meets every old one at a right angle.
The fifth thing that is not true
Four idealisations underlie every theorem here and each has had an essay. There is a fifth and it has never been named, because it is invisible in exactly the way the others are not: paper has a grain, no theorem in the subject mentions a direction, and so nothing in the whole apparatus can tell a folder which way up to lay the pattern down.
The patterns nobody owns
This site prints crease patterns at true scale and prints no designer's work, and that has always been stated as a rule applied at the end. Read the printed shelf as a documentary record instead and the rule turns out to be a property of the record: every pattern that carries a date was published as mathematics, every undated one belongs to nobody, and the two silences are one silence.
The pieces without the list
The letterings a pattern folds in fall into pieces no folder can cross, and the count was found by writing every lettering down — which stops at eighteen creases. The Miura has thirty-eight, the Yoshimura eighty-six, and the number of pieces can be read off the drawing without listing anything: four million and two hundred and eighty-one million million.
The symmetry the letters cannot keep
Every pattern in this subject is drawn symmetric and the symmetry is always quoted of the drawing. A folded object is a drawing and a lettering together, so a symmetry survives only if the letters keep it — and the preliminary base loses every rotation while the square twist, drawn with the same eight, loses the other half.
The decision a crumple has taken
A sheet crumpled at random satisfies every condition in the subject, because it just folded. It also wrote itself a lettering — one of very many the pattern admits — and it is now in a piece of that space it cannot leave: at six folds a crumpled sheet carries thirty-nine buried creases, which is half a million million million pieces, and every change it admits stays inside one of them.
A hole is an edge
A folder's first fold has to be specified by aligning things that are already there, and what is already there is the sheet's outline. Cut a square hole in the middle and the outline doubles: one round of alignments reaches nine references on a plain square and two hundred and twelve on a holed one — more than the plain square reaches in two rounds.
The rim lies over less
A folded sheet's boundary is usually discussed as the place the theorems stop applying. It is also visible in the pile: a panel carrying a raw edge of the paper lies over fewer of the other panels than one that does not, on every printed pattern that has both kinds — 18.0 against 21.0 on a Miura, 31.0 against 37.7 on a waterbomb tessellation, and never once the other way round.
The crumple keeps its options
Every crease pattern this site prints has exactly one folded state and not one of its thirty-nine available rearrangements is legal. A sheet creased by folding it at random four times has an average of 2.16 folded states, one of them has nine, and six of three hundred and thirty-five rearrangements are legal. The sheet nobody designed is the one with room left in it.
Twice as thick where it is thickest
A folded leaf's thickness is quoted as an area calculation: so much lamina, so much footprint, so many layers on average. The average is not what has to fit in the bud. Sampling the folded state of corrugated leaf patterns of two to five rows gives a deepest point of eight, twelve, sixteen and twenty layers against averages of 4.15, 6.23, 8.31 and 10.39 — a ratio of 1.926 that does not move at all.
How much line is on the paper
A crease pattern is described by its creases: how many, at what angles, in what arrangement. What a folder spends is length. The Yoshimura this site prints has eighty-six creases and 2,380 millimetres of folding on a sheet seventeen centimetres across; the Miura has thirty-eight creases and 1,049, and the fold-and-cut triangle has six and 258 — and the two counts do not rank the eight printed patterns the same way.
The grid a division makes
Dividing a square into thirds in both directions is a construction: four creases, each exact, each landing on a rational the ladder can name. The object it leaves behind is a three-by-three map of stamps, and how many ways that folds is the oldest open problem in the subject — 1,368 at three, 300,608 at four, and unknown at five.
The vertex the list does not have
Every condition this collection checks is asked at a vertex of a crease pattern, and a crease pattern is handed to the checker as a list of points and segments. A reader is handed ink. Read the same patterns the second way and eight printed sheets gain nothing at all — while four tessellation patches gain 12, 18, 12 and 5 vertices that nobody wrote down, every one of them a place where two creases were drawn across each other.
Two creases that cross
A crossing is four creases at a point, so the four conditions of the subject apply to it — and three of them can be satisfied. It is developable at every angle, it satisfies the big-little-big lemma whenever its two lines carry different letters, and it satisfies Kawasaki's condition when the lines meet squarely. Maekawa's refuses it always, at every angle and under every lettering, because a crossing's four spokes belong to two creases and can only be four and none, two and two, or none and four.
Cutting a patch out of a plane
A tessellation is infinite and a sheet is not, so every picture of one is a decision about where the paper stops. Assembling whole twist units on a square and running the outstanding pleats to the rim puts 12, 18, 12 and 5 creases across other creases on four of five tilings; generating the pattern over a larger region and clipping it puts none. The panels then place exactly — and what is waiting behind the repair is a different refusal that could not be asked about before.
Most of a patch is edge
Between 34% and 91% of the vertices in the crease patterns drawn here sit on the edge of the paper rather than inside it, and on the tessellation patches — the figures that are meant to show what a repeating pattern looks like — it never falls below a third. A boundary is one unit deep whatever the unit is, so the share falls like one over the number of units across and reaches nothing at any size a page can carry.
The paper a pattern asks for
A Miura of c columns and r rows at a slant α wants a sheet whose proportion is (c + tan α) / r — one equation tying the two counts, the angle and the shape of the paper. A square is the case where it comes to one, which needs the tangent of the slant to be a whole number: 45° for a pattern one row taller than it is wide, 63.43° for two, and nothing at all for the slants anybody draws.
One cut for a star
The fold-and-cut construction here could reach a triangle, a pentagon and a house, and refused everything that turned back on itself, because shrinking an outline with a reflex corner needs an event the shrink did not implement. With split events it reaches a five-pointed star — ten creases through one point, four hundred and twenty letterings that fold, and every edge of the outline landing on one line to a part in 10^16.
How deep is a crossing
A crossing is a verdict with no middle: two creases either pass through one another or they do not, and the first makes a pattern unfoldable while the second leaves it untouched. Measured on the patches where they occur, the shallowest crossing runs 0.16 mm past the end of the crease it meets, on a sheet 150 mm across. Five of the forty-seven are under half a millimetre, which is thinner than the line a pencil draws.
Drawn by the same hand
Two straight segments dropped on a square cross about 23% of the time; four of them cross 74% of the time; twelve cross with certainty, about fifteen times over. Every crease pattern in this collection's four test populations has none — not because the checkers were catching them, but because the same rules that drew the patterns were incapable of producing one, and nothing looked until a construction finally did.
Where the length sits
A pattern's folding length is a total, and a total says nothing about where the work is. Divide each printed sheet into bands by distance from its own edge and the answer separates the patterns by kind: a traditional base carries five times its share of folding in the middle 4% of the paper, a tessellation carries between 0.9 and 1.4 everywhere, and a twist unit carries none at all at its centre. On all eight, the outermost band carries less than its share.
A file has no paper
The field's interchange format is three arrays — where the vertices are, which pairs of them an edge joins, and a letter for each edge — and that is exactly the object every computation on a crease pattern starts from. A list of edges cannot say that two of them must not cross, because crossing is a property of the drawing and the list has no drawing in it. So a pattern that no paper could carry is a perfectly well-formed file, and four of this collection's own were.
The reader decides the junction
Five of the eight patterns printed here have places where one crease ends on another — four on the preliminary base, eight on the square twist, twelve on the hexagon twist, nineteen on the Yoshimura, three on the fold-and-cut triangle. At each of them a reader has to decide whether two lines meet or pass through one another, and no notation, caption or teaching text in the subject mentions that the decision is being made.
A leaf ends its pattern
A hornbeam leaf's corrugation does not stop at the margin by being cut off: the pleats narrow until there is nothing left of them, and the margin is where the pattern reaches zero rather than where it was interrupted. The same is available to a drawn pattern and costs nothing — a corrugation tapered by a factor of eighty-two across its columns folds with a Kawasaki residual of 4×10⁻¹⁶, exactly as an untapered one does, because the column widths never enter the condition.
A proof in one pass
Deciding whether a crease pattern has a flat folded state is hard, and the search that decides it gives up at twenty-four panels. One line of the same machinery does not search at all: each crease says which of the two panels it joins lies above the other, and a circle in what those statements demand is a proof that no folded state exists. It costs one pass over the crease list, and on a tessellation patch of a hundred and fifty-seven panels it answers in milliseconds.
The loop is not the tangle
A search that finds a contradiction in a pattern's letters reports the first circle it meets, and on a tessellation patch that is eight to twelve panels of forty-nine. It reads as a local fault. Decompose the same arrows a second way and the set of panels that lie on some circle is thirty-five of forty-nine on the square patch and ninety-nine of a hundred and fifty-seven on the rhombille — which is why the smallest available repair does not reach it, and cannot be tried on most of the creases at all.
The refusal that reads the list once
There are five ways of saying no to a crease pattern here, and their costs are two hundred and eighty-two, a hundred and twenty-six, a hundred and fifty-seven, thirty-nine thousand six hundred and twenty-one — and a search that is refused outright. On the largest patch the four cheap tests together do less work than one of them looks like it should, and the fifth cannot be started. A refusal that reads the crease list once is the only kind that scales.
A population that cannot fail
Thirty-three crease patterns are kept here to run the checkers over, and every one of them has letters that agree with themselves. That is not a property of the patterns. It is a property of how they were made: each came from a construction that returns a lettering, so a test looking for letters that contradict themselves has nothing to fire on. Reletter the same thirty-three and the failure is available at once — on one member, four of sixty redraws.
The letters a crumple was given
A sheet creased by folding it and folding it again arrives with a mountain-valley labelling that cannot be wrong, because a folding produced it. Nothing about the pattern protects it: reletter the same creases and the share of labellings whose letters agree falls from every one of forty at eight panels to eleven of forty at forty-one. The foldability of a crumple is a fact about its history, not about its drawing.
One cut removes one arc
A crease pattern whose letters contradict themselves has, in principle, an obvious smallest repair: cut one crease and the statement it was making goes away. Cut every crease of four tessellation patches in turn — four hundred and seventy-four cuts — and sixteen of them leave a sheet whose panels still land anywhere at all. A cut gives the paper a freedom, and a sheet with a freedom in it has no folded state to order.
A tree cannot argue
A molecule fills a polygon with creases taken from its straight skeleton, and a straight skeleton is a tree. So a molecule's panels have almost no closed chains for its letters to contradict themselves round — one to three, against thirty-six on the smallest tessellation patch. Two hundred and eighty independent letterings across seven outlines, including an L and a five-pointed star, and not one of them disagrees with itself.
The file records no verdict
A crease pattern file records vertices, edges and letters. Every one of the square twist's two hundred and fifty-six admissible letterings makes a perfectly valid file, and two hundred and forty-eight of them describe an object that does not exist. The format has a field for the layer order — the one thing that would settle it — and nothing fills it in, so a file is a drawing rather than a claim, and the field exchanges them as though they were claims.
The taper decides nothing
A leaf's corrugation narrows toward its margin, and the taper is what the pattern is for. It has no effect whatever on how often the pattern's letters agree with themselves: four width profiles from perfectly even to strongly tapered give a hundred and seventy-four consistent letterings of two hundred, identically. What moves the number is the count of rows, and on that measure a leaf tracks a Miura rather than the corrugation it most resembles.
Twelve creases a micrometre long
A patch this collection has drawn for a long time carries a hundred and forty-two creases and a hundred and thirty arcs, and nobody had asked what the other twelve were. They are fragments left where the clip caught a pleat almost exactly at a corner — between one and nine micrometres long on a printed sheet, at one turn angle out of four, and it is the turn the collection prints.
Rare is not hard
Crumple a sheet deeper and the share of its labellings that agree with themselves falls from thirty-four in forty to eleven. The number of steps a search needs to find one of them does not move at all: it stays at about one per panel, with no backtracking, the whole way down. How often an answer turns up at random and how much work it takes to find one are different quantities, and a crumpled sheet is where they come apart.
The crease the drawing cannot show
Twelve creases on a printed crease pattern are eight millionths of a sheet long. They are in every count the collection takes of that patch, they pass every theorem, and no printer resolves them and no hand folds them. They are also the only thing holding the folded sheet together.
A patch on a knife edge
The tessellation patch this collection prints has twelve creases nobody can see. Move the pitch of its tiling by five thousandths and they are gone — and so is a whole ring of twists. The patch sits exactly on the moment a ring of the pattern passes through the edge of the sheet, and the blemish is what that moment looks like.
The dial and the tiling that is not alike
Four of the five tilings a twist tessellation can be built on behave identically under every dial the construction has. The fifth has two kinds of vertex, and everything about it is different: it is the only one whose search has a tail, the only one whose shallow patches take minutes to draw, and the only one where a distance has to be solved rather than assumed.
The shortest crease is not a crease
A crease pattern's density is usually quoted as total crease length over sheet area, which treats a metre of folding as a metre whether it arrives as one long line or ten thousand short ones. Reading the lengths individually instead finds twelve creases on a printed patch that are shorter than a wavelength of light.
A crumple has no tail
The least structured crease pattern this collection can produce is a sheet folded at random and flattened. Its consistent letterings get rarer as it deepens — thirty-four of forty down to eleven — and finding one costs one step per panel from beginning to end, with no wrong guess anywhere. Disorder and difficulty turn out to be unrelated quantities.
The edge is what makes it hard
Grids, crumples, leaves, corrugations and fold-and-cut patterns all give up a consistent lettering at one step per panel with no wrong guess anywhere. The one family that does not is a tessellation clipped to a square, and what separates it from the others is not disorder, not size and not irregularity. It is having a rim.
A sheet with no edge
A twist tessellation repeats, so a rectangle of it is a description of the whole plane rather than a piece of paper. Joining the rectangle's opposite sides makes that explicit and produces an object every gate in this collection can read: twenty-five drawn panels become sixteen, forty crease pieces become thirty-two, sixteen vertices are all interior, and the three counts add to nothing.
Where you cut hardly matters
Slide the same rectangle across one whole period of the same tessellation and every position gives a different patch: different creases divided, different half-panels round the edge, panel counts from forty-nine to sixty-one. The cost of lettering them runs from twenty-five steps to thirty-three. Whether a cut is made changes the answer by three orders of magnitude; where it falls changes it by a third.
Folding it flat is one similarity
Where a cell of paper goes when a twist tessellation collapses is a scale and a turn: multiply the plane's lattice by 0.410373441 and rotate it by 36.62°. That is the answer on the square grid, the triangular grid, the honeycomb, the elongated triangular tiling and the rhombille alike, agreeing to eight figures — while the collection's other answer to how much smaller it gets gives those five tilings five different numbers.
A count is not a length
Cut a rectangle out of a tessellation and it reports fifty per cent more creases than the pattern has, then twenty-five, then seventeen — converging on the truth from above and never reaching it. The crease length per unit area it reports is exact at every size, because the two halves of a divided crease add back up. One measurement survives the cut and the other does not.
Nothing grown was cut out of anything
A leaf's corrugation costs twelve steps on twelve panels, sixteen on sixteen, twenty on twenty, twenty-four on twenty-four — exactly one per panel at every geometry, which is the most any pattern here costs. A tessellation patch costs half that, and the reason is that somebody cut it out of something. A leaf's creases stop at the margin because the plant stopped there.
The drawing does not say what is glued
One crease pattern, four sheets, four different answers to whether it folds — and nothing in the drawing distinguishes them. The identification is data the picture cannot carry, and the picture is the object this collection has been treating as complete.
No format has a gluing
A crease pattern file records vertices, edges, assignments, faces and layer orders. Every one of those is a feature of the paper's interior, and the boundary appears only as a kind of edge — so there is nowhere in the scheme to say that two boundary edges are the same edge, and the sheet a pattern is on cannot be written down.
A graft needs a square line
A strip can be slid into a finished crease pattern only along a line every crossed crease meets square, because only such a crease continues across the strip as itself. Tried on every line between the vertex columns and rows of eight printed patterns, four take no strip in either direction and three take one in a single direction. The eighth, the fold-and-cut triangle, appears to take strips both ways, and every line it admits runs through blank margin. No printed pattern takes a strip across its creases in both directions — and one diagonal crease in a plain grid removes exactly the row and the column it sits in.
Six rectangles and one term
Two grafted strips crossing leave one rectangle both features are charged for and neither uses. Three strips crossing two leave six, and the obvious budget adds them up. It does not have to: the six rectangles sum to the product of the two families' total widths, exactly, so a design with any number of features is priced by two numbers rather than by a double sum — and a family of strips in one direction alone carries no crossing term at all, however many of them there are.
A design that keeps its lines clear
A strip can be slid in only along a line every crossed crease meets square, so a diagonal crease spends the lines it crosses — and the census of eight printed patterns found four taking no strip in either direction. What decides how fast a design spends them is not how many diagonals it has but which rows and columns they sit in: six diagonals on a six-by-six grid leave twelve clear lines when they share a row and none at all when no two do, from the same six creases and the same amount of paper.
The width is charged in grid
A grafted strip may be any width at all and the bill in paper is exactly width times length, with no second term — which is what the first of these essays established, and is a statement about area. The grid is a different property of the same pattern and it is not conserved: a strip whose width is not a whole number of spacings puts every vertex past the cut onto a finer grid, and a width four per cent away from a spacing divides the grid by twenty-five where a width half a spacing away divides it by two. A width nearly right costs far more than one plainly wrong.
A length needs a scale
These essays measure crease length, and a crease length is a length in the pattern's own coordinates. Six of the eight printed patterns are built on a unit square, so their coordinates are sheet widths and the distinction never arises. Two are not — a Miura laid out as six cells of unit width spans 6.37 — and on those two the shelf multiplied by the printed size without dividing by the width. The Miura's folding length was reported as 6,679 millimetres and is 1,049, and the same pattern's printable sheet has carried the right number all along.
A stub is never alone
A crossing is a crease running past another and it has a depth. A stub is a crease that simply stops, and it has one too — how far from the rim it stopped, which is also how much shorter than a crease it is. Measured across a hundred and twenty drawings: sixty-six stubs, from 0.27 mm to 35 mm at printed size, every one of them paired with another at exactly the same distance, and not one on a drawing that did not already have a crossing.
Two faults, not four
A drawing departs from its crease list in four named ways — a crossing, a stub, a junction and a fragment — and a checker tests for all four. Counted side by side on two hundred and forty drawings, two of the tests find nothing the others do not. No crease anywhere ends on another crease: every junction the reading finds is a crease meeting the rim, which is where creases are meant to end. Every stub is on a drawing that already has a crossing. What is left is two independent faults, and the clipped construction, which makes no crossings, still makes the second — creases a thousandth of a millimetre long, in pairs.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
AssignmentTessellationUnit cellBoundary vertexCrossingFlat-foldabilityFolded stateIdealisationInterior vertexLayer orderingPanelBoundary