Black and grey photo of a geometric tattoo on the inner forearm, a vertical stack of triangles, circles, a line and dots, with the arm held out in front of a grey jumper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric triangles and circles on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A person's forearm is held out in front of them, showing a vertical column of fine geometric motifs: a solid black triangle, outlined triangles, open circles, a small filled circle and dots, joined by a thin vertical line. The linework is crisp and the solid black fills give contrast against the pale skin. The photograph is black and white, with a grey jumper, dark jeans and sneakers visible against a wooden floor.

Geometric Fine line Forearm Triangle Circle Dot Line Geometric shape

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 sea at Wrackhaven had taken three boats that winter, and every man who went out had been told the same thing by his mother: read the stone before you read the sky. The stone stood at the end of the breakwater, a grey block with a column cut into its face. An old mason had carved it for the first harbourmaster, and the signs ran from the top down: a thin line, a dot, a hollow ring, a black triangle for the spring tide, then two empty triangles pointing down, then rings, then a last small dot sunk at the bottom where the water never went. Nobody living had seen the water reach that dot. People said the mason had cut it as a promise and a warning both.

Keep reading

Ada Lowe kept the lamp for the stone that year, because her father's knees had gone. On the night of the big blow she climbed out along the wet wall with a tin lantern and counted the rings by touch. The water came up the block in long grey shoves, slapping at the triangles, and by midnight it stood level with the second ring. The men on the quay were shouting at her to come back. She did not look at the sky, as she had been taught. She looked at the stone.

At two in the morning the water turned. It drew back over the rings, then over the triangles, and when the wind finally took the lantern the last thing she saw was the black triangle showing wet and clean above the foam. In the morning the boats were all still tied up in the harbour, and the lowest dot was still dry.

Nobody asked her how she had known when to stop watching the sky. Her father only nodded at the stone and said the mason had been a careful man.