Grid — where it appears
Named by 25 essays across 7 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Dividing without measuring
A square can be divided into any whole number of equal parts by folding alone — exactly, with no ruler, and with no error to accumulate. The construction is one fold and a theorem nobody expected.
Designing on a grid
Box pleating gives up the efficiency of a free packing and buys creases that land where they are supposed to. For a design with hundreds of folds that is not a compromise — it is the only thing that makes it foldable.
The crease has a radius
A fold does not go through a line. It goes round a small arc, and the arc uses more paper than the stack advances by — a fraction of a millimetre per crease, and several millimetres across a grid, which is why an ambitious tessellation comes out short.
What the grid settles
Box pleating is usually defended as a trade: give up efficiency, buy creases that land where they should. There is a second thing it buys and nobody quotes it — on a lattice the best possible packing is a finite question with an answer, while off the lattice nobody knows the best packing of six circles in a square and probably never will.
Spelling a tree on a grid
Box pleating asks every limb of a design to be a whole number of grid squares, which sounds like rounding and is not. Rounding each limb to its own nearest whole number is one way to choose the numbers, and at most resolutions it is not the best way — the best whole-number version of a subject is often a coarser one, with fewer squares and a shape twice as close.
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 other grid
Box pleating is drawn at forty-five degrees, and the twenty-two-and-a-half-degree grid is usually described as the same thing done finer. It is not a refinement, it is a different alphabet: five kinds of vertex become fifty-six, and the share of letterings whose decision needs a search falls from 60 per cent to 22. A finer grid is a larger vocabulary and a less ambiguous one.
The cost is in the coincidences
How big an instance is, is what a hardness statement is about, and it is the weaker predictor of what deciding one costs. Hold the degree fixed and vary only how many of a vertex's sectors are equal: the work of deciding it rises by a factor of nearly three, against a factor of two for doubling the number of creases. The expensive instances are the ones a designer draws on a grid.
What a grid costs in circuits
Box-pleating puts every crease on a square grid, and a square grid is the shape with the most short circuits per panel that this collection draws. On the sixteen-by-sixteen grid a designer actually works on, one mountain-valley labelling in a hundred agrees with itself. A search still finds one in two hundred and sixty-one steps.
A corrugation never backtracks
As a box-pleating grid goes from two divisions to sixteen, the share of random letterings that agree with themselves falls from a hundred in a hundred to one. The cost of finding one that does stays at exactly one step per panel — four, nine, sixteen, twenty-five, and two hundred and fifty-six — with not a single wrong guess anywhere in the family.
Ninety-nine in a hundred pass
A designer checks a box-pleated pattern the way every text teaches: vertex by vertex, counting mountains and valleys, watching the smallest sector. At sixteen divisions that check passes a hundred letterings in a hundred, and one of them folds. The check that separates them costs a single sweep over the crease list and is in no recipe anywhere.
One step per panel is a table size
Four families of crease pattern search at exactly one step per panel — a grid at nine sizes, a leaf, a Miura, six crumples — and it was read as a law about patterns that fill their own sheet. It is a number: the conditions at each of their vertices admit eight labellings. Where the conditions admit four, the cost is half. Where they admit thirty, it moves again, and the same pattern at two proportions demonstrates it with everything else held still.
The designer's grid is the dearest thing here
Two hundred and fifty-six panels of box-pleating grid take two hundred and fifty-six search steps to letter — exactly one per panel, at every size from two divisions to sixteen, with not one decision withdrawn. That is the most any pattern in this collection costs per panel of paper. A twist tessellation costs half of it, and a tilted corrugation a quarter.
A grid that will not close
Take the simplest crease pattern there is — a square grid — and join a cell of it into a torus. With an even number of squares across it folds. With an odd number it has no flat folded state at all, and the obstruction is a parity that has nothing to do with the pattern being difficult, because a grid is not difficult.
A map with no edges
Counting the ways a rectangular map folds is the oldest open problem in the subject, and every version of it assumes the map has an edge. Join the map's opposite edges and the question changes shape: half the sizes have no folded state at all, and the ones that do have no bottom layer to count from.
The tube a map makes
Join one pair of a map's edges and the result is a tube — a real object, foldable in the hand, and neither the strip's problem nor the torus's. It has one loop that cannot be shrunk instead of two, it keeps its bottom layer because it keeps half its rim, and half its sizes are refused by a parity the flat map does not have.
A grid glued
Box pleating is the designer's grid: every crease on a line, every angle a right angle or forty-five degrees, and a whole design method built on the convenience of it. Roll the grid into a tube and half the column counts stop folding, on a pattern whose whole selling point is that it always works.
The helix chooses the lattice
A strand can cross to the next helix only where its backbone faces that helix, and a double helix turns about 34.3° a base. Three neighbours a third of a turn apart are faced exactly every seven bases. Four neighbours a quarter of a turn apart are never faced exactly by any whole number of bases — the nearest miss by 4.3°, and the misses do not average out, they add: 17° over thirty-two bases, 137° over two hundred and fifty-six. The lattice a design is drawn on is decided by the molecule before any shape is chosen.
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.
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 spacing costs one plus the other side
Rounding a grafted strip up to a whole number of grid spacings is the standard remedy for a width the grid cannot hold, and with strips in one direction it costs the rounding times the cut. With strips both ways it costs more, because the crossing term is the product of the two families' totals: a spacing added across is charged once against the sheet and again against every strip running down. The same arithmetic makes the bill uneven in the grid — ten divisions beat every grid from eleven to eighteen on one design — and puts two families exact on their own grids at their least common multiple.
A grid chosen before the features
A designer fixes a box-pleating grid before knowing what will be grafted into it, so the question is what a grid costs in expectation. For widths nobody chose — spread evenly over many spacings — rounding up costs exactly half a spacing a strip on every grid, prime or composite: the sawtooth of any one design averages away, and the familiar bound on the rounding bill is twice its expected value. Divisors earn a discount only when the widths are themselves simple fractions of the sheet, and then 24 and 48 beat 16 and 32. A latitude changes the question entirely. Allowed to fall short by δ, every strip saves exactly δ on average, so the grid 1/(2δ) holds features at no expected cost — but a particular design keeps its sawtooth.
The grid belongs to the subject
Rounding a subject's limbs to whole grid units trades shape for size, and on any one grid the cheap-direction rounding is the largest. Put every rounding on every grid from three to sixteen units side by side and only a handful are worth having. For the bird, nine of 121 roundings are beaten by nothing on both counts; they come from seven grids, starting with the exact spelling on sixteen and buying size at about a quarter of a per cent for each point of worst-limb error. Eight, twelve, eleven, four and three units contribute nothing — every rounding on them is beaten by one on another grid. For the lizard, eight and twelve are on the frontier and six, ten and fourteen are not. No grid is good in general; a grid is good for a subject.
The split that is worst on a rectangle
Two families of grafted strips share an allowance of shortfall, and the bill is a product of two sides whose sum the allowance fixes. So where the allowance goes is a question about a rectangle with a set perimeter: its area is largest when level and smallest when lopsided. On a sheet that may be any rectangle the split that levels the sides is the dearest there is, and it is barely dearer, because the gap enters squared. On a square sheet the same split is the cheapest, and the gap enters to first order, ninety-four times as heavily on five features. On a grid the first answer dissolves — the strip nearest a line decides, not the family — and the second does not.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Box pleatingAssignmentDesign techniqueGraftingSearch costCrease patternDesign constraintDesign costEnumerationError propagationGluingParity