Fine line geometric arrow tattoo with circles, triangles and dots in black ink on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric arrow tattoo on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small arrow runs vertically across the skin, with its shaft passing through two thin outlined circles, one at the top and one lower down. Solid black triangles and a few small dots sit inside and along the line, and the linework is fine and precise. The ink is black only, shown against pale skin on a plain, softly lit background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Arrow Circle Triangle Dot Line

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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

Tuesday, 14 March. Wet until noon, then clear enough to sight. Gallagher and I set the two benches on either side of the beck, one on the chapel wall at Holme Bottom, the other on the lower stone by the sheepfold. Each is a brass disc sunk in a ring of iron, the way the Ordnance men do it, and between them I ran a line that the boy at the chain calls the arrow, because the flag on its staff points wherever the wind pushes it.

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The trouble is the middle. Mr Ashdown insists the straight line between the discs runs through the old quarry, and I have shown him three times that it passes a yard east of it. He keeps a black lacquered case of drawing instruments that his father left him, and each time he opens it I think he means to produce a second opinion. Instead he lays a set square on my plan and says, 'Then your arrow is wrong, Mr Pell, not my quarry.'

I took the plan home and sat with it under the lamp until the ink went cold. Then I saw it: a dot where the two lines cross, a small dark triangle sitting on the sighting like a foot on a step. I had put the mark too high from the start. I walked back up in the dark with a lantern and moved it by the width of a fingernail.

Thursday, clear. I set the flag again at dawn and sighted from the lower disc. The line sat dead true through the upper ring, the head split and striped as if the hill had agreed with me at last. Ashdown came out in his shirtsleeves and looked for a long while, then said only, 'Well, it's pointing somewhere.' I have written that in the margin so I shan't forget his face.