Collage of eight sepia photographs of black fine line geometric tattoos with diamond, arrow and circle motifs on the forearm, upper arm, spine, ribs, neck and ankle.

Geometric line tattoos in a collage of eight

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A grid of eight sepia-toned photographs shows black linework tattoos built from diamonds, arrows, nested triangles, radiating lines and small circles. The lines are thin and even, with dotted rays and small dots used as accents, and the designs are shown on different parts of the body. The images are arranged in tiles of varying sizes with no shading or colour ink visible.

Geometric Fine line Forearm Upper arm Back Ribs Neck Ankle Diamond Arrow Circle Geometric motif Triangle Dot Ray Spine

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Put the kettle on, the lamp's failing, and you'll want to hear this before the rain gets in. Silas Dunmore had a diamond on his forearm, inked by a needleman in Hull who took a shilling and a bottle of gin for the work. Four arrows came out of its corners like the points of a compass that had lost its temper. Dots fizzed off the top in rays, and a single ring sat in the middle with a dot for a pupil.

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Every arrow was a town. Silas tapped them with his cigarette end whenever he told it. Barrow, where the lion got loose and ate nothing but the ticket boy's pride. Ludlow, where the bearded lady married a vicar and kept the ring on a bootlace. Thirty-one towns, and the company thinned at each one, a horse sold here, a clown gone home there, until by the autumn of fifty-nine there was only the wagon, the two of them, and a cough that wouldn't shift.

They pitched on a damp field outside Scarborough with the ring at the centre of the diamond. Silas said the eye only opened once you'd finished going somewhere. He sat on the step with his sleeve rolled up and the sea wind on his arm, and for once he stopped tapping. The fourth arrow pointed at the caravan steps, at the girl sweeping them, the cook's daughter who had stayed when everyone else went.

Nobody ever settled whether he meant her or the road. He took the needle out of the tin, pressed it into her hand, and said, go on then, draw me a way home. She did, and the ink took, and the field is a housing estate now, but if you care to look, the arrow is still pointing.