November 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie
In the early days of video gaming, when the very first 3D games were coming onto the market, the processing power of the consoles was often not enough to allow fully real-time rendering of the scene. As one moved the avatar through the virtual environment walls would suddenly pop into existence as their encoded information was realised on the screen. Quick movements particularly were likely to leave one’s avatar in a surreal incomplete landscape of gravity-defying buildings, roofs hovering above non-existent walls, bodies without legs or other visible means of support, and pixelated trees that blossomed before one’s eyes as the resolution increased. Improvements in chip and circuit design has meant that the rendering speed within a modern video game can keep up with the speed of the game easily; dropping of frames and the weirdness of incomplete environments is largely a thing of the past. This is, of course, a good thing. However, this limitation on the construction of a realistic environment on the NES, the Megadrive and the PlayStation 1 offers an interesting metaphor on the sensory construction of reality outside of the world of gaming.
Imagine a video game, a first person shooter perhaps, in which we, the player, are operating the avatar from the traditional position in such games, which is slightly above and behind the in-game character. We can see their body from the back and can control the direction in which they travel, their speed, and also have some control over their gestures and use of objects (typically weapons, but we could extend that to tools of all kinds). Usually in games of this kind we can also see quite a large amount of the environment through which they are moving and, assuming this is a modern console, this environment is seamlessly rendered for us. However, this game is different from others in that the environment is not rendered in its totality. Like games of yore, parts of the scene are rendered in detail, some are partial, and some parts do not appear at all. In this game the extent to which a part of the scene is rendered and therefore visible to the player is equivalent to how it would be visible to the avatar. The resolution of the onscreen environment is mapped according to the resolution that the eyes of the avatar would achieve.
The human visual system, including the eye, does not simply resolve the visual world as a uniform, flat image. There is a large variation between the centre of the gaze, typically occupied by the focus of one’s conscious attention, and the periphery of the visual field, to which one is giving very different attention and may not even be conscious of at all. The centre of vision, or fovea, has a high resolution and good colour determination; the peripheral vision on the other hand has greater sensitivity to motion and to small variations in light and shade, as well as to the discrimination of very faint light sources (which is why astronomers traditionally located stars by looking not directly at them but slightly away from where they were suspected to be, such that their peripheral vision might pick up what their focal vision could not).
Returning to the video game, what the player sees is therefore dependent upon what the character is doing and where they are looking. Parts of the environment, that which corresponds to the focal point of avatar’s point of view, is rendered in high resolution and full colour. Other parts of the scene, which would appear only peripherally within the character’s field of vision, are in monochrome and lack detail. At the extreme edges of avatar vision there may be only a grey mist. Significantly, whilst the action at the centre of the point of focus is well resolved it may be relatively static, whilst the grey mist would be seething with potential. Shadows would form in the mist of the peripheral vision demanding that the avatar pay attention and move them more central by turning in their direction, almost like dreams and phantasms emerging from the subconscious.
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