Three photographs of a forearm tattoo of black hexagons and dotwork shading that wraps toward the elbow, with red and blue splashes above.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hexagon and dotwork forearm tattoo

Dotwork · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo covers the forearm and wraps toward the elbow, with a honeycomb of solid black hexagons along the lower arm. Stippled dotwork shading fades into the hexagons, and thin red and blue ink lines radiate upward from the elbow area. The three photographs show the arm from different angles against a plain indoor background.

Dotwork Geometric Blackwork Forearm Hexagon Honeycomb Dot Splash Abstract

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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

The flare went up over the Marrow Bank at ten past four, and I watched its red light climb through the spray the way you watch a bad decision from the wheelhouse window. Skip Dunmore had the wheel. He'd said the weather would hold. Behind us the other four boats of the Skerrow fleet were strung out like beads, their deck lamps smeared in the rain.

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Cal Ferris was our engineer, a man who counted everything. In the fish room he kept the boxes stacked in honeycomb rows, each cell a wet crate he could find blind. When the net came up heavy that morning he stood with his hand on the winch and said, "Six hundred stone, give or take," and then the sea came over the rail and took his count with it.

We found the blue flare an hour later, burning sideways on the swell beside the wreck of an old coaster. Nobody was in the water. Someone had cut a hexagon of cork from the wheelhouse board and tied it to the rail with twine, the way Cal tied his tally cards, and the blue light sat on top of it. Skip said the men had gone across to the Lantern Rock boat. We radioed and got only static, coming in short bursts like dots.

I still have Cal's tally book. Every page is ruled in tiny hexagons, and on the last one, in pencil, he wrote the number of boats we had left. Some mornings I count the cells instead of the fish.