Thickness — where it appears
Named by 25 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The sheet has a thickness
Every crease pattern describes a surface with no thickness. Everything anybody builds has some, and getting it around a corner is the central problem of turning origami into hardware.
Four things that are not true
Zero thickness, no stretch, creases that are lines, and perfect memory. Every theorem on this site rests on all four, every one of them is false, and the interesting engineering is exactly where each fails.
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.
How many times can it be halved
The folklore says seven, and the folklore is a statement about one sheet of paper. What actually binds is arithmetic: every halving doubles the layers and the paper spent at the closed end grows as the square of the layer count, so the length needed for twelve folds is nearly a kilometre.
The paper had to arrive first
A model with sixty-four layers at its thickest point, folded in ordinary copier paper, is six and a half millimetres of stack. The layer count a design can reach is fixed by the substrate, not by the folder — so the elaborate tradition is downstream of a manufacturing achievement with its own dates.
From a shell to a solar array
The Miura fold was published in 1970 and flew on a satellite in 1995. The gap is not ignorance — the pattern was known, understood and available the whole time — and the same twenty-five year lag appears between every folding result and the hardware that uses it.
The bud chooses the pattern
Nothing in the geometry of a corrugation says how many folds it should have. The container does: too few folds is a strip too wide to fit, too many is a stack too thick to fit, and the window that fits at all is narrow and has a best point in the middle of it.
Nothing in a body folds on a line
A crease in an organism is not a crease. It is a compliant region — a patch of thinner material that bends — and a region has a width. The width consumes surface in exact proportion to the number of folds, which puts a ceiling on how fine a pattern can usefully get.
How much surface fits in a body
An organ whose whole job is to have area — a gut, a gill, a cortex — is solving a packing problem in reverse. Folding buys surface inside a fixed volume, and with a sheet of zero thickness it buys an unlimited amount. With a thickness the curve turns over and then falls to nothing.
Thickness has a sign
Swap every mountain for a valley and back again. Kawasaki does not notice, Maekawa gets the same condition the other way round, the lemma still asks the two creases to differ, and the layers come out mirrored. Every theorem on this site is blind to which side of the paper it is looking at — and a hinge in a panel with depth is not. The fold closes one way and jams at nothing at all the other.
The pile, not the panel
Every technique for building a fold out of panels with depth is drawn, described and priced at one crease between two panels. A folded model has two layers nowhere except at its last fold: the printed patterns here reach eight, sixteen, thirty-two and sixty, and the length a thick panel has to find at those creases is not the published allowance but fifty-nine times it.
Thickness round a closed loop
Real panels have thickness, and every technique for accommodating it works by shifting a hinge off the ideal crease by a small amount. On a flat sheet the shifts accumulate outward and end at the edge. On a closed sheet they accumulate round a loop and have to come back to where they started, which is a condition none of the techniques was designed to satisfy.
The surface has to be supplied
The curve that turns over does so because the sheet's own thickness fills the box it is folding into. A surface in a body has to be reached as well as fitted, and the channel that reaches it takes depth out of the same box on exactly the same terms — so the best fold count and the surface it delivers both fall by the ratio of the sheet's thickness to the sheet and its supply together.
Two surfaces in one box
A body folds several surfaces into one volume and each of them does a different job. Dividing the depth between them looks like a fair split costing nothing overall, and it is not: the area a single surface can reach goes as the square of the depth it has, so m surfaces sharing a depth reach a total of exactly one m-th of what one of them would have reached alone.
A sheet has a size as well
The layer count a design reaches is fixed by how thin the paper is. What size the finished thing comes out at is fixed by how large the sheet is, through a factor the pattern decides: the folded footprint times the mean layer count is the area of the paper, so the linear shrink is the square root of the layer count and a sixty-four-layer model finished at a hand's width wants more than a metre of sheet.
Which ceiling is binding
Two constraints hold a design's layer count down and both are ceilings on the same number. The stack gets better as the paper thins; the grid gets better as the sheet grows, because piling layers needs divisions and a division cannot be finer than a folder can place it. They cross at a sheet size that rises as the paper thins — so on the papers a classical folder had, the substrate really is the limit, and only at tissue weights does the hand take over.
How many wedges the paper allows
A k-pointed folk star is folded into 2k equal wedges and cut once, so the scissors go through 2k thicknesses of the sheet. The geometry is indifferent to k and the paper is not: at a stack a pair of scissors will shear cleanly in one pass, ordinary copier paper takes a three-pointed star and nothing more, and the five-pointed one everybody knows needs washi or thinner.
A nest pays four a level
A corrugation folded inside the panels of another looks like the arrangement that multiplies surface rather than dividing it. It multiplies the factors and divides the depths, and the depths cancel: a packed level can hold at most its depth over four times what it folds, the thing it folds is as thick as the depth the level below was given, and so a nest of L levels reaches at most the box over 4ᴸ sheet thicknesses. One level with the whole box beats any nest of two by exactly four.
Three kinds of pile
A thick-panel technique is priced at the deepest pile a pattern has, and the depth of that pile says nothing about where it is. Mapped over the folded footprint, the printed patterns fall into three kinds. On a uniform pile the deepest count is the whole footprint — sixty layers everywhere on the Yoshimura. On an island it is a patch and the rest is shallow. On a graded pile it is a sliver — under one per cent of the tapered corrugation — while nearly nine tenths is at least half as deep, and the Miura, the pattern that gets built, is graded.
A panel is not the unit of depth
A thick-panel design gives each panel a thickness, an offset or a taper, so a graded pile could be met panel by panel only if every panel's folded image lay over one depth. On the Miura none does. Every one of its twenty-four panels lies over three or four of the four depths its pile takes, and on the tapered corrugation every panel lies over all four. The uniform piles are the opposite — every panel of the Yoshimura, the waterbomb and the preliminary base lies over exactly one depth — which is why panel-by-panel techniques look adequate on the patterns they are drawn for. On the Miura the steps between depths cross the middle of panels, and they run parallel to the panels' own sides.
Standing up beats lying down by eight
A level that fills its clearance with plies lying flat makes every ply share the clearance, and the sharing costs a factor of four. A level that fills the same clearance with walls standing on the base gives every member the whole height and charges them only for footing. The ratio is exactly eight, at every clearance and every thickness — and it is the difference between a cost charged against depth and a cost charged against the space beside it.
The channel grows with what it feeds
A comb of standing walls beats a stack of plies by eight because its members do not share the clearance that pays them. Supply takes that back, and asymmetrically: a wall's channel has to be sized for the surface the wall carries, so it grows with the wall's height and is charged against the pitch, while a ply's channel is a constant charged against the clearance. The comb then saturates at twice the reciprocal of the channel's share, the stack does not saturate at all, and the two cross at a clearance the model gives in closed form.
Crowding outward costs almost nothing
Placing the tuck starts for equal error crowds them toward the rim, where the gathered paper is already at its thickest, and the obvious worry is that the accuracy is bought with depth. Measured, it is not: on a hemisphere the crowded placement's deepest start sits in 3.37 sheets against the even placement's 3.32, because a start is three sheets of its own and the gathering beneath it is only one and a half.
A paper limits spacing, not density
The density ceiling put a sheet's limit at parallel creases a crease-width apart, 1⁄w of crease a square metre, and claimed no arrangement carries more. Crossing families do: they meet at vertices, which is shared ground, and never come closer than w anywhere else. Measured over every pair of creases that do not share a vertex, density times closest spacing settles at about 1.9 for both the Miura and the waterbomb, so each can be folded nearly twice as fine as the density bound said — 262 cells a side on copier paper for the Miura rather than 139, and 141 for the waterbomb rather than 74.
A vertex creases the paper twice
Two creases that meet share ground near the point, and their bands overlap out along each of them to w⁄sin θ for a sector angle θ below a right angle. Add the overlap at both ends of a crease, and a crease no longer than that is overlap from end to end — a crease only in the drawing. That third bound binds before the spacing does: the finest Miura on copier paper is 135 cells a side by its vertices against 262 by its spacing, and the finest waterbomb 82 against 141. Both land within a tenth of the density bound, which had the wrong argument and nearly the right number.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
IdealisationPacking ratioLayer countConservationCrease radiusScalingTrade-offThe offset-panel techniqueSurface in a volumeSubstrateThickness accommodationCorrugation