Flat-foldability — where it appears
Named by 38 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Crimp it away and ask again
Four conditions decide whether a vertex folds flat, and they decide it exactly at a vertex whose sectors are all different sizes. Everywhere else they over-count: two markings of every tied four-crease vertex, twelve of the degree-six vertex this site prints nine of on one sheet. What decides the case is not a fifth condition but a procedure — fold the smallest sector away and ask the smaller vertex.
The whole alphabet of a grid
Box pleating is defended as a trade — give up packing efficiency, buy creases that land where they should. There is a third thing it buys and it is much stronger than either: on a forty-five degree grid there are exactly six kinds of interior vertex a flat-foldable design can contain, ever. On a thirty degree grid there are thirty.
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.
Nothing slides past anything
A marked strip has several legal stackings and this site has counted them at length. Nobody asked whether a folder holding one can reach another by lifting a flap over its neighbour: five hundred and sixty of six hundred and seventy-two stackings have no such move at all, and whether any exists depends on the parity of the segment count.
A ring and a line
A vertex has a certain amount of paper at it, and the paper either closes round or it does not. Holding the sectors fixed and changing only that: the ring has twice as many letterings to choose from and folds in a quarter of them, the line has half as many and folds in seven-tenths, and cutting a ring open has never once cost a lettering.
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 cut is not local
Cutting one crease of a square twist takes its letterings from sixteen mutually unreachable pieces to two. The cut crease is one of the four that were settled when the pattern was drawn — and it takes two others with it, because the vertices it releases were the far ends of those. Even a cut along a crease that was never settled quarters the count.
Thirty-two rules, thirty-two pieces
The waterbomb tessellation's surviving repeating rules fold to one object — same panels, same places, same areas. Put them in the space of letterings the patch admits and they occupy thirty-two different pieces of a quarter of a million, so no two of them can be reached from one another without unfolding the sheet.
The lettering that folds nowhere
The conditions at a vertex admit 256 letterings of the square twist. Eight of them have a folded state. The other 248 satisfy developability, Kawasaki, Maekawa and the big-little-big lemma at every vertex of the pattern and cannot be folded by anyone — and this site printed one of them for years, at true scale, with instructions to fold it first.
The tiling the unit could not promise
Every twist on this site carries the same caveat: the unit is verified and the plane is not, because deciding a whole pattern is intractable. There is one thing about a whole pattern that costs a single pass over its crease list, and it says no. The square twist tiling was drawn with a lettering that contains a loop of twenty-eight panels, so the patch on this site had no flat folded state at all — and only seven of forty independent redraws avoid one.
The patterns a checker is tested on
This site keeps four populations of crease patterns and runs its checkers over them, which is what makes a claim about typical instances measurable rather than rhetorical. Asked whether the members actually fold, the populations answer: thirteen of thirty-three do, six place and cannot be ordered, five cannot be placed at all, and nine are past what the search will finish.
Taught with a wrong reason
Four mountains and four valleys is what the preliminary base's symmetry suggests and Maekawa forbids it; a twist looks like a twist when its central ring reads as one letter, and no such lettering folds; a tessellation is verified because its unit is, and a forty-nine-panel patch of one had no folded state at all. In each case the conclusion taught is right and the reason offered for it is not, and the site that repeats them is this one.
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.
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.
Two mechanisms at one point
Two creases drawn across each other cannot fold flat — Maekawa's count refuses them at every angle. They move perfectly well as rigid panels, and they move in two ways: bend along one line while the other stays flat, or the reverse. Every other developable vertex of degree four has two ways too, and in both of them all four creases move together at a fixed ratio. The crossing is the case where the two motions have nothing to do with each other.
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 a vertex cannot close
A crease pattern's letters can contradict themselves, and the contradiction is never local. Enumerate every mountain-valley labelling of a single interior vertex at degree four, six and eight — a hundred and fifty pass every condition the subject has — and not one of them sends its panels round in a circle. The one labelling that would is refused by Maekawa, alone: Kawasaki holds on it and so does the big-little-big lemma.
A contradiction is even
A crease pattern's letters can demand a circle of panels each of which lies below the next, which is a proof that the sheet has no folded state. Every such circle found here — one thousand one hundred and forty-nine of them, across every family of patterns this collection draws — has an even number of panels in it, and none has four. Both facts are theorems rather than observations, and they come from opposite ends of the subject.
Consistent is not foldable
The square twist has 4,096 mountain-valley labellings. Two hundred and fifty-six satisfy every condition at every vertex; two hundred and fifty-two of those have letters that do not contradict themselves; and eight have a folded state. So the cheap proof that reads the letters in one pass accounts for four of the two hundred and forty-eight failures, and the other two hundred and forty-four are refused by a search over orderings that nothing shorter replaces.
Letters that agree get rarer
Two hundred letterings drawn independently from a square twist tessellation patch, and twenty-six of them have letters that do not contradict themselves. On the next patch up it is five, then two, then none, then none. What the share falls with is not the size of the patch and not the angle of its twist: it is the number of independent closed chains its panels form, which is Euler's relation on the drawing and is fixed before a single letter is chosen.
A corrugation agrees with itself
A Miura fold of forty-eight panels and a twist tessellation patch of forty-nine have almost exactly the same number of independent closed chains for their letters to contradict themselves round — thirty-five against thirty-six. Sixty-four per cent of the Miura's drawn letterings are consistent and thirteen per cent of the patch's. A Yoshimura at thirty-three chains manages ninety-three. The room to fail sets the scale; the construction decides where in it a pattern lands.
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.
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.
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 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.
The lettering nobody could draw
Two hundred letterings drawn at random from the rhombille tessellation patch, and not one of them agrees with itself. Two thousand, and still not one. The patch was left as an open question — and it has an answer, found in five hundred and sixty-one steps by a search that tests the arcs while it is choosing the letters instead of after it has chosen them all.
Where a sector crosses sixty
Turn the twist polygons of a tessellation patch a hundredth of a radian further and the pattern goes from having no mountain-valley labelling at all to having one immediately. Nothing about its graph changes across the transition — the same eighty-three panels, the same hundred and forty-two creases, the same four labellings at every one of its sixty vertices. What changes is which sector at a vertex is the smallest one.
Closure is not the identity
Walk a folded state from panel to panel, composing a reflection at every crease, and come back to where the walk started: the composition has to be the identity. That is the rule everybody states, and it is a special case. On a sheet whose edges are glued the walk does not come back to where it started, and what the composition has to equal is the gluing map.
Parity is not enough
A Möbius band needs an odd number of creases round it. Give it three, square across the strip, and it does not fold — nor does five, nor seven, nor any odd number at all. The counting argument is necessary and it is not close to sufficient, and the thing it cannot see is which way the creases point.
The triangle a strip becomes
A Möbius band of paper folds flat into an equilateral triangle, and the shortest strip that will do it is √3 times its own width. The number is not put in: the crease angles come out of a condition on their alternating sum, the positions come out of two linear equations, and the length is where the drawing stops fitting.
An alternating sum of angles
Kawasaki's condition says the sectors round a vertex alternate to a straight angle. A glued band has no vertices and obeys a condition of exactly the same shape: the crease angles have to alternate to a multiple of a straight angle. Two different quantities, two different sheets, one arithmetic — and in both cases what is being said is that a product of reflections came back the right way.
How rare a band that folds is
Almost every crease pattern fails to fold flat, and the usual way of saying so is a count over discrete choices. A glued band fails for a reason that no count can reach: its crease angles have to satisfy an equation, and a set defined by an equation has no volume in the space it sits in.
A cut is surgery
Two cuts that look identical on the paper do completely different things to the sheet. A slit run inward from the rim changes nothing at all; a closed cut in the middle removes a disc and leaves a sheet carrying a condition it did not have before. What separates them is not the length of the cut or how much paper it removes.
Two holes are two conditions
One hole in a sheet of paper gives one loop that cannot be shrunk and one parity to satisfy. Two holes give two, and they are independent: an arrangement of creases can satisfy the condition round one hole and fail the condition round the other, and the sheet refuses on the strength of the one it failed.
A crease with no vertex to belong to
Crease density is measured as length of line per area of paper, and everything else about a crease is measured at the vertex it runs into. A band of paper has creases that run from one edge to the other and meet nothing, so it has density and no vertices at all — and it still refuses to fold.
The sixth thing that is not true
Five idealisations underlie every theorem here and each has had an essay: no thickness, no stretch, creases that are lines, perfect memory, no grain. There is a sixth, it is more basic than any of them, and it is the one nobody has ever thought to name — the paper is a disc.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
AssignmentLayer orderingNecessary conditionCrease patternFolded stateThe big-little-big lemmaGluingBoundaryClosureDecision procedureLocal moveThe Möbius band