Pencil sketch of a raven head in a geometric dotwork style, with fragmented triangles and circle construction lines, drawn in a spiral sketchbook.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric raven head design in pencil

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a raven or crow head in profile, with its beak pointing right and its plumage broken into angular triangular facets that fade into scattered fragments. The feathers and facets are filled with stippled dotwork and fine hatching, and faint geometric construction lines of a circle and a triangle run behind the head. The image is entirely black and grey on a white sketchbook page.

Dotwork Geometric Raven Crow Bird Triangle Circle Geometric shape

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Mags, you'll think I've gone soft, but I drew the bird again last night while Stan's band packed up. The Palais was empty except for the cleaner and a man asleep under the cloakroom hatch. They'd taken the chandeliers down in March, so the only light came from the exit sign over the fire door, half of it dead and the other half buzzing like a wasp in a jar.

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I'd been lifting the sprung boards all week for the surveyor. Underneath, the joists sat on a grid that Mr Halloran from night school would have wept over. He used to say a circle and a triangle will hold up anything if you measure them true. So I drew those first, a ring round the head and a long shallow triangle cutting through, and then the bird came out of the paper as if it had been waiting. Every feather was a tilted plane, and where the planes met the floor they broke off into fragments, stippled with a pin until the grey looked like frost on a window.

Edna was still in her housecoat from the morning session, sweeping up splinters. She said the floor had been coming apart since the war and nobody noticed because we were all too busy turning round. We waltzed once on the bare joists where the tiles had been, which the council would never allow. Her shoes kept catching in the gaps. Nobody was watching except the sleeping man, and he snored straight through the Blue Danube.

I've kept one of the offcuts, a little triangle of painted oak no bigger than a biscuit. It's in my coat pocket now, so I can feel its corners every time I reach for my gloves. Come and see the bird when you're up in April. I'll bring the pencils, and you can tell me where the circle goes wrong.