Black line drawing of a lion head built from angular triangular facets in a geometric style, shown on a white background with no body placement visible.

Geometric lion head line drawing

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows a lion's head in profile, facing left, drawn entirely from straight black lines that form interlocking triangles and polygons. The mane is suggested by sharp, pointed shapes radiating down and back from the head. The drawing uses a single uniform line weight on a plain white background, with no shading or colour.

Geometric Lion Lion head Mane Triangle Polygon

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The triangulation men came to Hebden Road in the spring of 1961 with a theodolite in a wooden box and a boy to carry the flags. My uncle Wilf was that boy, though he never let anyone forget he was nearly twenty and had been promised a bicycle. They were laying the new cross-country line, and every bearing had to close, every angle had to meet its neighbour, or the embankments would walk into the valley by the first winter.

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The chief surveyor was a thin man called Aldous Penhale who drew everything in straight black ink and would not allow a curve on his sheets. He said the land was honest only in triangles. Wilf thought him mad until the afternoon they stood on the ridge above the old lime kiln and Penhale sighted a lion in the lie of the hills: the bald crown of Carr Top, the long shoulder of the scarp, the ragged fall of ground down towards the station yard. He drew it on the back of a tide table, then drew it again, joining every peak to the next with a single unbroken line.

Wilf never saw the station finished. He was sent to Carlisle that August, and the lion sheet went to the office in a cardboard tube. Years later, waiting on the platform at Hebden Road for a train that was never going to come, I found a copy pinned behind the ticket hatch, yellow at the edges, every line still sharp.

The stationmaster let me take it. On the train home I unrolled it across my knees and traced the mane with my thumb, down from the crown through the points that once held the rails true. I folded it along Penhale's first crease and kept it in my coat, where its corners still press against my ribs on every journey.