Colourful geometric fox head tattoo in orange, amber and black on the outer thigh, with denim shorts in the frame.

Geometric fox head on the thigh

Geometric · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A fox head is drawn in faceted, angular shapes with a low-poly look, filled with orange, amber, red, purple and black. The shading is built from flat blocks of colour rather than smooth gradients, and the eyes and nose are picked out in contrasting tones. The fox sits centrally on a bare thigh, with frayed denim shorts and a teal background at the edges of the frame.

Geometric Upper arm Fox Animal Head

Find an artist for this

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 glazier's van idled outside the closed pawnshop on Ashgrove Row at two in the morning, and that was where the fox first found me. It sat on the kerb under the sodium lamp, drawn in hard angles of amber and rust, as if someone had cut it from coloured card and set it down to see what would happen. Its ears were two sharp planes, one black at the tip. Its eyes were the only soft thing about it, and they were watching my hands.

Keep reading

I was there to board up a window the council wanted secured by dawn. Someone had put a brick through the front pane, and the glass lay across the step in a spill of shapes: triangles of ochre, slivers of violet, a long wedge of black. The fox padded across the mess without cutting its feet, lifted one piece in its teeth, and set it down by my boot. Then another. By the time I had my gloves on, there was a row of them leading to the doorway.

I stopped boarding. I pieced them together on the pavement, the way you would a jigsaw with the picture missing, and slowly a face rose out of the wreckage: a wedge of brow, two amber eyes shaded purple, a nose the colour of a plum. Harry who ran the shop had died in January, and his nephew had been selling the stock off in boxes. Harry used to leave a lamp burning in that window every night, and the fox had been his, backlit and proud, waiting under the dust.

I set the panes into the frame myself, flat blocks of colour catching the streetlight, and left the fox looking out across Ashgrove Row. When I came back at dawn the animal was gone. The sun came through the glass and laid its colours across the pavement in long, clean shapes, and for a minute the whole street looked as though someone careful had made it.