Right now there are five lines defining my page.
First, there is Horizon. A line where earth and sky meet. A junction of heaven and earth. Normally, I don’t think too much about this line, because it’s waaaay out there. Somewhere in an undetermined distance that has very little relevance on my day-to-day nose-in-the-stuff-of-life existence.
But, on this page, the horizon line runs smack dab through my house! Or rather the leaning rectangle representing my house. This little fact makes intersection of heaven and earth a lot more personal. Perhaps too close for my comfort. Almost, how shall I put it, intrusive?
I like to run my own earth-bound life and leave the domain of heaven to the management of those much more qualified than yours truly.
It turns out, it gets even more intrusive than that. But, I don’t know that yet.
I unpause the video, ready for the next step. The disembodied hand of the anonymous YouTuber leads me to a place I will later realize I am not ready to go.
He picks a spot – a tiny dot – a point – on the horizon’s continuum. This little dot is the ‘point’ part from the one-point perspective.
This tiny dot on the horizon line where heaven and earth mesh together – or crash together – depends how you look at it - determines my perspective.
I notice that the dot, or rather - the point – isn’t inside my house. It’s outside.
I realize my point of perspective doesn’t fit my 8 1/2 by 11 sheet. I hesitate a bit and decide I must squeeze it in, I must make it fit. I go as far as I could to the edge and pick a point that still fits my little drawing pad.
It makes sense. I see no harm. What could possibly go wrong by moving your point of perspective to fit your page?