Lustre against the tolerance that defines it
The specular area of plain, 2/2 twill, satin 5, satin 8 in sheeting, against how near the mirror direction has to be to count. Every curve rises with the tolerance, because a wider acceptance takes in more of the arc either side of each crown, and the curves are very nearly proportional to it — the width is b·sin ε and a sine is its angle at these sizes. The ordering does not change anywhere in the range, which is the point of drawing it: the ratio between a satin 8 and a plain is 22.4 at two degrees and it stays there, so nothing that follows depends on where the line is drawn. What the tolerance *does* decide is the absolute number, and no absolute number is quoted anywhere without it.
8 essays call
shine-curve. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever
member of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the weave its essay
argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is drawn from this one rule.
A figure shows by its shine, not its step
A damask is one cloth in one colour and its pattern is plainly visible. This collection attributed that to the step in its surface — fifty micrometres of relief, computed from the interlacing rates. The step is real and returns almost no light. What makes the figure visible is that its crowns run at right angles to the ground's, so the two trade places when the cloth is turned.
Lustre is a length times a width
The specular area of a cloth factors exactly: a length of crown line, which the draft supplies, times a width of section within the tolerance, which the yarn and the finish supply. Neither factor knows anything about the other, and over the four-by-four catalogue the first alone spans a factor of sixty.
A calender buys the width
Press a cloth and its lustre multiplies by twenty-four. None of that comes from the length of its crowns, which moves by six per cent; all of it comes from their width, because a flattened section has a plane on top of it and a plane has one normal rather than a fan of them. The arithmetic refuses to put any of the gain in the other factor.
Turn the cloth and the shine changes hands
A warp crown's normals all lie in the plane across the warp and have no component along it, so a warp float can only mirror light that arrives from across the warp. Turn the cloth a quarter turn and the weft takes over. That is the whole of shot silk — a geometric effect with no dye that changes and no interference in it.
No cloth shines under a sky
Every specular figure on this account is drawn at a tolerance of two degrees, which is a stand-in for how wide the source is. Sweeping it says something the account has not: the contrast between a floated weave and a plain one is inversely proportional to the source's angular size, exactly, because a float keeps a crown line as the source narrows and a plain weave has only turns. A satin outshines a plain weave by 177 under the sun's disc, by 22 under a small lamp, and by exactly nothing at sixty degrees.
A room lights a satin at the harmonic mean of its lamps
A satin outshines a plain weave by a factor inversely proportional to the width of the light, which is a clean law for one source and says nothing about a room. A room has a lamp and a window at once. Sum each source's highlight and the average falls out by itself: the room behaves as a single source whose width is the harmonic mean of its sources' widths, weighted by the power each supplies. The harmonic mean is ruled by the narrowest source, so a small lamp carrying a tenth of the light more than doubles the contrast a large window gives.
A lamp off the mirror lights a satin only across its floats
Every source in the account of a room was a source the viewer sees mirrored in the cloth. A lamp off to one side lights the cloth too, and which facets it reaches depends on which way it is off. Displaced across a satin's floats it is caught by the float's own curve and adds contrast like any lamp on the mirror; displaced along them by more than twice its own width it reaches only the turns, and the satin comes out a quarter as bright as plain weave.
A satin mirrors the top of the sky
A uniform source sixty degrees wide leaves every weave reflecting the same share of its face, and that was read as saying no cloth shines under a sky. A real sky is not uniform. An overcast one is three times as bright overhead as at the horizon, and it stands over a ground darker than itself. Every facet of a cloth mirrors one direction, and a satin's facets mirror the top of the dome while a plain weave's mirror the horizon and the ground — so seen from above, under cloud, an eight-end satin still sends back a third more sky.