Small black ink compass with crossed arrows, N E S W letters and the reference Phil. 4:13 beneath, tattooed on a wrist in a geometric style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Compass and arrows with scripture reference on wrist

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo on a wrist shows a compass rose made from two crossed arrows, with the letters N, E, S and W placed at the points. Below it, the text PHIL. 4:13 is set in a bold, simple typeface. The ink is solid and crisp against pale skin, and the wrist and hand sit against a light wooden floor in a warm-toned photo.

Geometric Forearm Compass Arrow Letter

Find an artist for this

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

Nell had redrawn the north point three times before the lamp guttered, and still the rose sat wrong on the vellum. Her father's rule was that a compass rose was never drawn from memory. You set the brass instrument down, let the needle settle, and trusted only what it said. Tonight the needle said one thing and her hand kept saying another.

Keep reading

The shop bell rang at half past four, which meant Mr Tofts from the fishmonger's, who came in every morning with the tide and a question. 'Still fiddling with that thing?' he said, shaking rain from his cap. 'Nobody sails by arrows, Nell. They sail by the stars and a bit of luck.'

'Then they can sail by my arrows,' she said, and sharpened her pencil with a penknife until the shavings curled onto the floor. She had drawn the letters last, the N at the top, the E on the right, the S below, and the W on the left, each one small enough to hide behind the fletching. Her father had never put letters on his roses. He said a sailor should know where he was from the sea itself. She had put them there anyway, because a girl alone with a shop and a debt needed something to hold that was not the wind.

When the sky over the Humber began to grey, she turned the vellum to the window. The arrows crossed exactly where the needle pointed, their heads turned not outward toward the ports but inward, toward the small ink dot at the centre where the two shafts met. Mr Tofts would say it was backwards. She let the light come through the paper and decided he could say what he liked. Everything worth finding, she thought, was where you already stood.