Black ink drawing of an eye inside a triangle, set against a circular mandala and an ornate face, shown as a tattoo design on paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

All-seeing eye in a triangle with mandala

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

The drawing shows an open eye with a heavy brow inside an upright triangle, framed by a circular mandala of scrolls and petal shapes. Below the triangle sits a bearded face surrounded by filigree and leaf-like scrollwork. The work is done in fine black linework and stippled dots on a cream background, with no colour.

Dotwork Geometric Eye Triangle Mandala Face Filigree Scrollwork Leaves Beard

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp in the attic of the Marlow Street boarding house had not been lit since the war, so Edith carried her own candle up the stairs and set it on the sill beside the brass telescope. Below, the sea went on being grey and sensible. Mrs Pryce had let the room to a lodger who paid in advance and asked for nothing but silence, and Edith had given it, the way she gave most things, without being asked twice.

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The telescope had come with the room. It was a long, patient instrument with a dented lens cap and a tripod that wobbled on the floorboards. On the third night she trained it on the harbour wall and found nothing but gulls. On the fourth she turned it to the church spire, and then, because she could not help it, to the tall dark windows of the house opposite, where a man with a heavy brow sat at a desk writing by one lamp. He never looked up. He only wrote, and each time he finished a page he laid it face down under a stone shaped like a closed eye.

On the fifth night the lamp in his window went out, and a second light came on, low and close to the glass, as though someone had set a candle beside a bearded face carved from wood. Edith watched until her neck ached. Then she took her coat from the hook, went down through the sleeping house past Mrs Pryce's snoring door, and let herself out into the cold.

The front door of the house opposite stood open. On the hall table lay a stack of pages weighted with a stone. She did not read them. She only turned the stone over, and beneath it, pressed into the wood, was a single small triangle drawn in ink, with an eye at its heart that had been watching her since the first night.