Black geometric maze pattern tattooed in a band across a forearm, with dotwork stippling along the top and bottom edges.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black geometric maze band on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows an interlocking geometric maze pattern in solid black lines, wrapping across the inner forearm in a rectangular band. The linework is bold and even, with stippled dotwork edges at the top and bottom where the pattern fades out. The ink is entirely black on pale skin, and the close, straight-on framing shows the full width of the design against a plain background.

Geometric Dotwork Forearm Geometric pattern Band

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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 rain had been coming off the awnings of Sheaf Street since six, and by ten my father's tray of brass compasses had gone green at the hinges. Nobody bought compasses in the wet. I sat on an upturned crate and watched the pigeons queue under the gutter, pretending I wasn't waiting for someone to ask me for something.

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Across the aisle Tomasz sold lino blocks and printed tea towels, and he had a roll of paper he'd bought off a Dutchman's estate sale in Leiden. It was a maze drawn in one unbroken line, the kind that repeats until the eye gives up. He pinned a corner to my table to stop it curling. "Walk it with your finger," he said. "Start anywhere. You'll come out where you began, or you'll swear you did."

I walked it through the afternoon while customers drifted past without stopping. The rain kept time on the canvas. Each time my finger hit a dead end I backed up two turns and tried the other side, and each time the lines seemed to lean towards a centre that wasn't there. By closing I had traced it four times and could not tell you which turn had been the wrong one.

Dad packed the compasses in newspaper and asked if I'd got it. I said I had. I hadn't. On the bus home I sketched the pattern in biro on the back of an envelope, square after square, and when my stop came I found I'd gone round the same corner twice and didn't mind. At the door Dad asked where I'd got to. I showed him the envelope, a single line running out of the page and folding back on itself, and he laughed the way people do when they can't see the joke but trust there is one.