Black and grey fine line geometric tattoo of an eye, cross and drops of water on the inner forearm, shown against a dark background.

Geometric eye and cross on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A symmetrical geometric ornament runs down the inner forearm, topped by a small cross and framed by scrolls and diamond shapes. An open eye sits at the centre beneath three drop shapes, with dotted accents and a fine, even single-needle line. The tattoo is in black ink only, photographed in black and white against a dark background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Eye Cross Drop Ornament Diamond Scrollwork Symmetry Dot

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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

Mind the step, it's worn in the middle where a hundred years of boots have gone up and down. Aye, that's the lamp room. Don't touch the glass, the salt gets in your fingers and you'll smell it for a week. My father kept this light before me, and his father before him, and there was a rule written in pencil on the inside of the door that nobody was to look straight into the beam after dark. Nobody ever said why. You learn not to ask questions of a lighthouse.

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The winter my brother Tom went out on the Maudlin rock was the winter the sea came up over the causeway three nights running. He had a sheaf of drawings in his coat, all squares and scrolls and little drops like rain falling upward, and he said the pattern would keep a boat off the rocks if you cut it into the bow. He'd learned it from a drowned man's sea chest, or so he claimed. I told him to stop talking nonsense and bank the stove. He went out anyway, with the drawings and a fishing knife and a lamp of his own.

He came back at dawn with no boat and a cut on his forearm, long and straight, that he said he'd made himself so the sea would know him. I still have the drawing. The eye at its centre is the only thing on it I've never been able to bring myself to copy. When the fog comes in, I climb up and turn the wick and I keep my own eyes on the light, never on the water, and I count the drops under my breath until the morning comes.