Black geometric tattoo of stacked diamonds and arrow-like points running down the centre of a person's upper back, in a Geometric style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric diamond motif down the spine

Geometric · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo of stacked diamonds and arrow-like points runs vertically along the centre of the upper back. The lines are clean and uniform with no shading, and the design is symmetrical. The subject is shown from behind, with hair falling over the shoulder and a striped woven blanket draped across the body against a plain background.

Geometric Back Diamond Arrow Geometric motif Symmetry

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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 name badge has your old surname on it, which nobody has said aloud since the lower sixth, so you spend the first hour of the reunion correcting people with a smile. Mr Pryce is still at the trestle table by the fire door, tapping a biro against his teeth the way he did when he was working out a sum. He spots you and raises his paper cup of squash. Twenty-one years ago he set the whole year a puzzle for the geometry prize: draw a figure that points three ways at once without lifting the pen. Nobody solved it. You did, on the back of a bus ticket, and he kept the ticket in his desk drawer.

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"Still got it?" he asks, and you unfold the photocopy he hands you. Stacked diamonds, arrows at the top and bottom, every line the same thickness. You trace the join with your finger. "It was never a puzzle," you say. "It's a plan. Two diamonds down from the roof bolt, one arrow east." He laughs, a little too loudly, and the people nearest turn to look.

At dusk you borrow the caretaker's trowel and walk out past the cricket nets, which have been replaced by a car park. The grass is patched and the ground is harder than you remember. You count paces the way the diagram counts them, and on the third attempt the trowel clinks against metal. The tin is rusted shut. Inside, folded into a square the size of a stamp, is a sheet from your old exercise book with a single question written in your handwriting: where will you be when the sums stop being kind?

You turn it over. The back is blank, so you take Mr Pryce's biro from your pocket and write an answer in small, neat capitals. Then you fold it back into its square, push the tin under the turf, and stamp the grass flat until the patch looks like every other patch on the field.