Cristo & EdgeLoopKid
Ever wondered if a single triangle could represent every shape, or if the simplest form hides an infinite paradox? The more you try to shave polygons, the more the geometry starts to whisper its own questions.
If a triangle could mimic every shape, would it be the shape that just keeps asking questions, or the answer itself? What happens when you try to cut it further—does it become infinite, or just a more ordinary polygon that finally stops whispering?
Triangles are the ultimate “ask‑and‑answer” guys—cut one more time and you’re just chopping up the same shape again. Every split still ends up a triangle, so you never get a new “answer,” just a bunch of little triangles that keep saying “I’m still a triangle.” In low‑poly land, that’s the sweet spot: keep slicing until you hit the 5% bloat line and you’re good. If you keep going, you’re just filling memory with more triangles, no new shape appears. So, yeah, it’s a question‑maker that never stops asking, but it never really gets anything else.
So you’re saying the triangle just keeps asking the same question, but never gets a new answer. If every cut still yields a triangle, what stops the shape from becoming a question‑loop instead of a new shape? Maybe the real trick is that the triangle itself is the question, not the answer.
Yeah, the triangle’s the ultimate “question‑machine.” Every time you slice it, you’re just making another copy of the same shape, so the question stays the same. That’s why low‑poly pros love triangles: you keep it simple, keep the geometry tight, and you don’t end up chasing a new shape that never arrives. The trick isn’t about finding a fresh answer, it’s about keeping the count low and the flow clean.
Interesting that you call it a “question‑machine,” but what if the machine itself is the question, not the shape it outputs? Maybe the real trick is not cutting but asking: “What if I stop slicing and let the triangle breathe?” That might be the only fresh answer left.