Two views of a forearm with a geometric tattoo of outlined and filled hexagons over blue brushstroke shapes, placed on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue hexagon and brushstroke forearm tattoo

Geometric · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo covers the forearm and shows a cluster of hexagons, some outlined in thin black lines and others filled in blue, grey and black, linked by straight vertical and angled lines. Bold blue wash-like strokes run down the inner side of the arm, giving a loose, painterly contrast to the precise geometric shapes. The two photographs show the same arm from opposite sides against a plain pale background.

Geometric Forearm Hexagon Honeycomb Geometric shape Brushstroke Line Abstract

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marjorie Penhale had been drawing the same six-sided shape since Tuesday, and by Thursday the margins of the seed catalogue were full of them. Her husband Col said nothing when the ink ran out. He only set a tin of Prussian blue on the hall table with a jam jar of water beside it, the way he left things out for the bees.

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The hive at the bottom of the allotment had gone quiet in March. Marjorie went down with the smoker and found the comb sound, every cell capped and square at the edges, the honey dark and good. What she could not account for was the blue residue on the frames, a smear as though a river had run through the wax. Col laughed when she wanted to taste it. She tasted it anyway, on the tip of one finger, and it tasted of nothing at all.

Back at the kitchen table she ruled her lines the way her father taught her before the war, straight and true to the edge of the page. Each hexagon touched three others. She filled them in with a dark brown that went black as it dried, and then she laid the blue on with a wet brush, quickly, letting it bleed off the paper, because the bees did not respect the grid and neither, it seemed, did whatever was living in the frames.

By the end of the week she had a chart of something, though she could not have said of what. Col came in from the garden, leaned over her shoulder and tapped the largest cell with a muddy thumb. "That's the hive," he said. "Look where the blue starts." She looked. The stroke ran off the paper and across the table, past the flour tin, toward the back door, where the bees had already gathered on the step in the same six sides.