Flat-folding

Two conditions at a point

Whether a single vertex folds flat is decided completely by two tests — one on the angles, one on the assignment. They are independent, they are easy to check, and together they settle the case entirely.

Why the difference is two

Maekawa's theorem says mountains and valleys differ by exactly two at every flat-foldable vertex. The constant is not empirical — it is a full turn, and the theorem is about winding rather than about paper.

The smallest sector decides

Two assignments can satisfy both flat-folding theorems and only one of them folds. What separates them is a condition about the smallest angle, and it is the first rule in the subject that is not about counting.

Local is not global

Every vertex can satisfy every condition and the sheet still not fold. Deciding whether a whole crease pattern folds flat is NP-hard, which means no figure will settle it and no algorithm will scale.

Which layer goes on top

The mountain-valley assignment says which way each crease turns. It says nothing at all about which sheet ends up above which, and that second question is a different object with its own rules — and all of the difficulty.

A strip is decidable

Take the same problem down one dimension and it stops being hard. The reason is not that strips are small — it is that overlaps on a line form a chain, and chains cannot contain the cycles that make the two-dimensional question intractable.

One straight cut

Any drawing made of straight lines can be folded so that the whole drawing lands on a single line, and one cut releases it. The construction is a shrinking process, and it explains itself the moment the shrinking is drawn.

How many assignments fold

The local conditions throw away most of the ways a pattern could be creased. They throw away a smaller and smaller fraction as the pattern grows, and what survives grows faster than what is discarded — which is why a strong filter is not a decision procedure.

The gadgets that make it hard

Flat-foldability is NP-hard, and the proof is a construction rather than an obstruction: a machine for turning any satisfiability problem into a sheet of paper that folds exactly when the problem has an answer.

The sheet has two sides

Read a crease pattern as a set of panels rather than a set of lines and a condition appears that no vertex theorem states: the panels take two colours, no crease has the same colour on both sides, and the colour is which face of the paper each panel ends up showing.

The paper is all still there

A folded sheet is smaller than it was and none of it has gone anywhere. How much smaller it is and how many layers deep it is are not two properties of a pattern — they are one number, and their product is the sheet.

Almost every pattern fails

Kawasaki's condition is one equation for each interior vertex, and a drawing satisfies an equation with probability zero. Every pattern on this site folds because it was constructed to, and the fraction that would fold by accident can be measured.

Where the paper stops

Every flat-folding theorem is a statement about a full turn of paper, so a vertex at the edge of the sheet is subject to none of them. Cutting a patch out of a pattern removes conditions rather than preserving them, and a small enough patch has almost none left.

The lengths are free

Kawasaki reads angles, Maekawa counts letters, and the big-little-big lemma compares one sector with its neighbours. Not one condition in the subject mentions how long a crease is — so a single vertex is not a pattern but a whole family of them, every member folding, no two folding into the same shape.

More than one way to lie flat

A crease pattern with its mountains and valleys marked is spoken of as though it named a folded object. It does not. The legal stackings can be counted exactly in one dimension, the count is routinely more than one, and its size is a property of the pattern that nobody quotes.

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.

A near miss is nearly as rare

Flat-foldability is a coincidence of measure zero, which is usually where the argument stops. Measure how far a random vertex is from folding rather than whether it does, and the answer is thirty-one degrees a sector — so the tolerance real paper has does not buy back anything at all, and a pattern that nearly folds had to start near one that did.

The outline is mostly crease

The edge of a folded model is what a reader looks at, and almost none of it is the edge of the paper. Measured across five patterns, the sheet's own boundary accounts for between nothing and a third of the exposed edge; the rest is fold, and on a waterbomb tessellation the raw edge does not reach the outside at all.

Even is not enough

Every vertex theorem in the subject is a statement about one point, and the two-colouring of the panels looks like the exception. It is not — on a square of paper it is a parity at each vertex and nothing more. Cut a hole and the two come apart: a loop of paper with three creases has no interior vertices at all, satisfies every theorem there is, and cannot be folded flat.

Where the lemma says nothing

The big-little-big lemma asks for a sector strictly smaller than both its neighbours, and the word doing the work is strictly. At a vertex whose two smallest sectors are equal the lemma has no opinion at all — and those are the vertices origami actually uses. The count of markings the conditions admit doubles, discontinuously, at exactly the angles everybody folds.

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.

How little the conditions decide

Local is not global is a statement about sufficiency: every vertex can pass and the sheet still fail. There is a sharper complaint available, and it is about strength. Fix one crease of a tessellation and propagate every condition the subject has to a fixed point: three creases out of a hundred and fifty-eight follow, and sixty-six vertices are still holding more than one answer.

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.

One marking, many objects

A crease pattern with every mountain and valley written on it is spoken of as though it named a folded model. At four creases it does. At six it need not, and at the eight-crease vertex in the middle of the first base anybody folds, a single marking can be folded into four genuinely different objects — same creases, same letters, four answers.

The order does not name it either

A photograph of a folded model carries an outline and a layer count, and that is not enough to recover the pattern. Hand the observer the layer order as well — everything the object physically is — and most of the ambiguity goes. Most. What is left are pairs of genuinely different crease patterns that fold to the same object, which no better photograph reaches.

A tie is not a decision

The crimp reduction decides a vertex by folding its smallest sector away, and where two sectors tie for smallest it has no forced move and must try each of them. That search is not rare — on the vertex at the centre of the first base anybody folds it happens for fourteen of the sixteen letterings — and it has never once changed the answer.

The order decides the count

Ask how many mountain-and-valley letterings a vertex admits and the answer looks as though it should depend on the angles. It does not. Three of the four conditions never see an angle at all, and the fourth asks only which sector is smallest — so the count is a function of a combinatorial arrangement, and a walk round the cycle that never looks at a vertex reproduces it exactly.

Which side is showing

Two earlier rungs asked what a folded object records about the pattern that made it, first from its outline and then from its complete layer order. Neither observation is one anybody can make. A photograph of duo paper carries the outline, the thickness and the colour showing at every point — and over the whole census the colour separates nothing at all.

The vertices nobody checks

Every figure on this site is gated on four conditions evaluated at every interior vertex, and the word interior has been carrying the whole sentence. On the printed patterns there are 105 vertices on the edge of the paper against 92 inside it, not one of them has ever been examined, and the condition that decides them has been available since the second phase of the collection.

Walking between two foldings

The letterings a vertex folds in are always counted and never navigated. Counting says a generic degree-six vertex has eight of them; navigating says that changing any two creases turns any one into any other, and that changing two neighbouring creases does not — and that the vertices which come apart are the ones with no coincidences in them, which is the opposite of what every other measurement here would suggest.

The creases that cannot move

One vertex's foldings are always joined up. A pattern's are not, and the number of pieces they fall into is exactly two to the power of the number of creases with an interior vertex at each end — four on a square twist, six on a hexagon twist, none at all on a preliminary base. The creases a local change cannot reach are the creases that never reach the edge of the paper.

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.

No height to swap

A folded strip is a permutation of segments, and the smallest change a hand can make to it is a swap of two heights: 672 stackings, 560 of them isolated. A folded sheet has no height. Its layers are ordered by statements about which panels share ground, and on every printed pattern the search can finish, the answer is one stacking and no way out of it.

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 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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Which condition does the refusing

A search for a lettering carries five conditions: developability, Kawasaki, Maekawa, the big-little-big lemma, and the demand that the arcs the letters force have no circle in them. Run it on five tessellation patches and count what makes it take a letter back. The four everybody checks refuse nothing at all. Every single backtrack is the fifth.

One solution of a search nobody ran

A crease pattern arrives with its letters already on it, and they look like part of the drawing. They are not. Every construction here ends in a propagation, a propagation ends wherever its first guess took it, and the lettering that comes out differs from the one a search finds on between a half and three-fifths of the creases — on patterns whose own letters are perfectly good.

Every move leaves the verdict

The only change a folder can make to a lettering without breaking it is to push one vertex through, flipping two creases at once. Try every such move on five tessellation patches, from two different letterings each: nineteen of two thousand nine hundred and sixty-four survive the conditions, and not one of the nineteen turns a lettering that agrees with itself into one that does not, or the other way about.

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.

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.

The difficulty was in the coin

One tessellation patch, one search, one test at every node — and a cost that runs from eighty-six steps to fifteen thousand depending on nothing but the starting seed. The heavy tail is real, it was measured carefully, and it was made by a single line of the search that nobody had thought of as a choice at all.

The order that is its own mirror

Trying a mountain first and trying a valley first are two different searches, and on a hundred and forty-two crease patterns they cost the same number of steps — not on average, not nearly, but identically, pattern for pattern. The reason is a symmetry of every condition the subject has, and it is four lines long.

One witness or forty

Taking the randomness out of a search made it three orders of magnitude cheaper in the worst case and cost it thirty-nine of its forty answers. The compromise everybody reaches for — randomise only the choices that cannot matter — recovers four of the forty on two patches and none on the other three, because the diversity was never where it looked.

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.

A region with no lettering

One turn angle at which a tessellation patch has no consistent lettering was found by sweeping a dial. Sweeping two dials finds nine patches with none, across three tilings, filling a corner of the parameter space — and never touching the square tiling, whose sectors have no sixty degrees to cross.

A loop that goes somewhere

Every crease says which of its two panels lies above the other, and a loop in those statements is a proof that the pattern has no flat folded state. On a sheet with no edge that sentence is false. The loops of a periodic pattern carry a lattice step each, and a loop that ends one cell to the right is not a contradiction — it is a stack of paper with no bottom layer.

The lettering that was proved impossible

A search closed its whole tree on a glued square tessellation and reported that no mountain-and-valley assignment of it is consistent. Written onto ordinary patches of one, four and nine periods and handed to the four vertex theorems and a folded sheet rebuilt from scratch, the assignment it says cannot exist passes every check, on four tilings, up to fifteen hundred creases.

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.

The rim is four letters a cell

Cut a rectangle out of a tessellation and it asks exactly the vertices the tessellation asks, exactly the same questions. What it adds is four free letters for every period of edge — the creases the cut divides, which become two independently answerable creases instead of one. Eight letters on a two-period square, sixteen on a four-period one, and nothing else about the two objects differs at all.

The bottom layer is at the rim

A hundred and sixty-nine panels of folded tessellation, and three of them have nothing underneath. All three touch the paper's edge, and the same is true on every tiling at every size measured. Which panel is at the bottom of a stack turns out to be a fact about where the sheet was cut rather than about the pattern, and the pattern itself has no bottom at all.

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.

Six creases and the same straight line

The one family here whose vertices are degree six was said to break the arithmetic that every other family obeys, on the strength of a single pattern. Built as a family — six sizes from twenty-one panels to a hundred and nineteen — the Yoshimura is exactly as linear as a grid, with no decision ever withdrawn. What degree changes is the constant, and it changes it in both directions depending on one angle.

A knife edge nine decimals wide

Draw the Yoshimura with its rows 1.7320508 half-columns tall and each vertex admits thirty labellings and the pattern costs fifty-seven steps. Draw it at 1.7320509 and each admits eight and it costs nineteen. The number between them is √3, which is the proportion everybody draws — and below it the sectors are unequal and the lemma is still silent, because the small ones sit next to each other.

The seam carries a sign

A loop of paper folds flat when it has an even number of creases round it. A Möbius band folds flat when it has an odd number. The drawing is the same in both cases, the creases are the same creases, and what changed is a factor of minus one contributed by the sheet rather than by anything drawn on it.

The band that needs an odd number

A Möbius band is the first sheet in this collection with one side, and the consequence is sharper than a reversed parity. Mountain and valley are defined relative to a side, so on a sheet with no consistent side a crease has no letter — and Maekawa's condition survives the loss while the assignment it is about does not.

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.

Half a rim

A rectangle of tessellation cut out of the plane has four edges; glued into a torus it has none. Gluing one pair and leaving the other gives the middle of the scale — the same drawing, the same vertices, the same conditions asked of them, and exactly half the rim. What the rim costs turns out to be measurable per edge rather than only at the ends.

The rim adds up

What one glued pair of a cell's edges saves in free letters is what the other pair saves, and gluing both saves the sum. That is a rate rather than an observation, it is the form of the claim two objects could never support, and it is what makes 'the rim costs four letters a cell' a statement about tessellations rather than about one drawing.

Euler counts the gluing

Vertices minus creases plus panels comes to one on a rectangle of paper and nought on any gluing of it. That is the cheapest check that an identification did what it says, it costs three counts already being made, and it is what found a crease running exactly through the corner of a cell — a case the corner search could not see and no other check would have noticed.

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 bottom layer on half a rim

The bottom of a folded stack lives at the paper's edge, which is why a sheet with no edge has an order with no least element. A cylinder has half a rim, so it has a bottom — and the count of panels that could be it falls with the rim, which makes the claim a measurement rather than a boundary case.

The arc that arrived twice

Which of two panels a crease calls its near one is decided by the order a face walk happened to number them, and the mirrored record is the same relation. Except on one sheet, where it is not — and that sheet turned out to be the one whose folded state comes back the other way up, which is how a duplicate in a graph became a diagnosis.

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.