Pencil sketch of an abstract geometric design with overlapping angular planes, a spiral and small circles, drawn in black and grey as a possible tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric pencil sketch of an abstract animal head

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of an abstract, angular figure built from overlapping triangles, squares and curved lines, with a rough outline suggesting an animal head. Small circles, a spiral curl and feather-like strokes sit at the edges, and soft shading gives the sheet depth. The drawing is in black and grey on a plain white background.

Geometric Geometric shape Spiral Circle Feather Animal head

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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

By the third week of the lift being out, you have stopped counting the stairs as a punishment and started counting them as a way of seeing who else is climbing. Fourteen floors. On the eleventh landing a boy called Teodor sits with a biro and the back of a council letter, drawing the same bird over and over, its head cut from triangles and squares, a spiral curling off its crown like smoke that has learned manners.

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He says it is an owl that hasn't decided yet whether it is a fox. You tell him owls don't have foxes' faces, and he says that's the point, that the building is full of things nobody has finished. He shows you the little circles he puts at the corners, two eyes that are also the bolts holding the plywood his nan has nailed over the broken window on twelve.

The council sends a man in a fleece to measure the lift. He stands on your landing with a clipboard and a tape while Teodor watches him over his pencil, squinting, folding the set of the man's shoulders into angles. The man laughs, signs something, and goes. Nobody mentions the lift again for a fortnight.

In April it starts up on its own one morning, humming like it has been holding its breath. You take it to the roof for once instead of the stairs, and the doors open onto gulls and washing lines and Teodor, already up there, sketching the city as a heap of hard edges. He doesn't look up. 'Watch,' he says, and a pigeon peels off the parapet with its wings fanning out in pale feathers, and for a moment the whole estate looks like a drawing that somebody has lifted off the page.