Collage showing a multicoloured geometric heart tattoo on an ankle, a vase of irises and daisies, and a heart tattoo with a tribal band pattern on a thigh.

Geometric and tribal heart tattoos on leg and thigh

Geometric · Ankle · Colour · Photo

The left photograph shows a heart filled with angular, faceted panels in yellow, orange, red, blue and purple, outlined in black, sitting on the lower leg above a banner tattoo with Cyrillic lettering. The top right photograph is not a tattoo but shows a vase of purple irises and white daisies beside a mirror. The lower right photograph shows a smaller outlined heart filled with horizontal bands of tribal and zigzag patterns in pink, red and blue, placed on the thigh beside floral underwear.

Geometric Ankle Thigh Heart Geometric shape Tribal pattern Banner Lettering Flower Daisy

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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 van's chains rang on the packed snow as Ilse Marr took the last hairpin below the Kreuzjoch pass, a crate of coloured glass wedged behind her seat with a folded blanket. The chapel at Schattwald had lost its east window in the October storm, and the parish had found her name through a glazier's bulletin in the valley. Forty panes, cut to the old lead lines, waited in the back: blue and amber, and a rose red she had mixed herself.

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At the summit the wind came sideways off the scree, and she stopped by the cairn to check the offcuts. Dunja, her apprentice, had packed the spoil from the cutting bench into a biscuit tin: triangles of yellow, slivers of violet, a wedge of green that had cracked in the cold. Ilse kept every piece because she never threw glass away. Nobody in the valley thought scrap was worth carrying up a mountain.

The chapel was colder than the road. The old frame sat empty, its lead coming apart in her fingers like wet bread, and the priest stood by the door saying the window would have to be a plain one. Ilse said nothing. She laid the scraps on the stone floor, turning them until their edges lined up, and found that a heart could be made from broken things: a dozen facets, the points meeting at the bottom where the green had split.

She cut the last facet herself, grinding the edge against the tin lid until it fitted. When the afternoon sun came through the south glass and struck the flagstones, the shards threw colour across the nave like something spilt, and the priest stopped talking. On the descent the snow softened, and she drove with the window down so the mountain air could reach the glass.