Black and grey geometric dotwork tattoo of hexagons and star shapes covering a forearm, shown in a black and white photo.

Geometric dotwork forearm tattoo

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A forearm is covered with a geometric design of interlocking hexagons, star shapes and triangular points, with a striped band near the wrist. The lines are fine and the larger shapes are filled with stippled dots that create soft shading. The arm is photographed against a dark background in black and white, with the tattoo running from the elbow towards the wrist.

Dotwork Geometric Forearm Hexagon Star Geometric pattern Triangle Stripe Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mabel Gosse had been told the comb was the only honest thing in the Hallam orchard, and she believed it until the morning the squire's agent came to measure the glasshouse floor. He wanted tiles, and he wanted them laid in the old pattern, the one nobody in the valley could draw any more.

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She took a cracked skep out to the wall where the bees had died back in January and sat with her slate on her knee. Hexagons first, each cell pressed flat by its neighbours, then the six-pointed stars where three cells met and a seventh shape squeezed out of the gap. She pricked the slate with a nail, dot by dot, because the workmen could not manage a straight line but could follow a dot. Her hand ached by noon. The dots crowded the big shapes until they looked grey from a distance, like frost on a pane.

The agent came back at dusk with a lantern and a coil of tape. He stood over her slate and said the points were wrong, that a star should close and not spill over its edge. She said bees don't close anything; they stop where the wax stops. He laughed, then pressed his thumb to the dark bands she had cut along the border, the stripes that ran the width of the slate like rings on the old skep, and said those would have to come out.

She let him take the slate. Next morning the tiles arrived from the works, cold and glossy, and the agent's men laid them in a grid of plain squares. Mabel walked the glasshouse once before the bell and found the stripes after all, scratched into the mortar where someone's boot had dragged the old pattern across the bed before it set, a dark band running from wall to wall. She stood in it until the bell rang for dinner.