Black and grey geometric tattoo of a seated woman within a diamond lattice frame on the outer thigh, with a grey skirt lifted above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric woman figure on a thigh

Geometric · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A seated female figure sits inside a large diamond lattice frame with a circle above and fine hanging lines below. The tattoo is built from fine linework and stippled dotwork shading in black and grey ink. It fills most of the outer thigh, with the skin and a grey fabric skirt visible around it.

Geometric Dotwork Thigh Woman Figure Diamond Lattice Circle Geometric frame

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hall smelled of floor polish and sausage rolls nobody had touched. Harriet had come straight from work in her good coat, and she was already regretting it when Dean Carrow waved a plastic cup across the room at her. "You still do the diagrams?" he asked. She laughed, because she had not drawn anything in twenty years except shopping lists and the odd flat-pack wardrobe.

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He had found Mrs Pascoe's geometry book in a box at his mother's. The back page was crowded with her own work from the summer they were fourteen: a diamond lattice drawn with a compass that kept slipping, a circle hung above it like a moon, and inside the frame a small seated woman, fine as a pencil hair, knees drawn up, her hair falling in stippled dots because the biro had run dry and she had kept going anyway. Across the bottom, in red, Pascoe had written: Show working.

"I got three weeks' detention for that," Harriet said. "She told me the figure had no working at all." Dean grinned and said he had always thought it was the best thing in the book. The hanging lines below the lattice, he pointed out, were plumb lines, the kind you use to check a wall is straight. Harriet had never thought of them like that. She had thought she was drawing rain.

On the way out she asked for the book. Dean looked surprised but handed it over, and she tucked it under her arm beside her handbag. In the car park the wind lifted the pages to the last one, and she held it flat against the roof of her car, reading the red words again. Then she took a pen from her coat, drew a line from the seated figure up to the circle, and wrote beneath it, in her own small hand, the working.