Black and white photo of two clasped hands, each showing a small fine line geometric triangle tattoo with a circle on a finger.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching triangle tattoos on two fingers

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are held together, with a small triangle and circle design tattooed on a finger of each hand. The linework is thin and crisp, with a simple vertical line running through the design, and the tattoos are shown in black ink. The photograph is monochrome, with a sleeve at the top left and lace fabric behind the hands.

Fine line Geometric Hand Triangle Circle Line Hand Finger tattoo Symbol

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

Before the bells of the lower town, old Marta Holt kept the ovens at the Crooked Lane bakery, and her two apprentices kept her honest. The elder was Tom Abernethy, who could fold dough without bruising it. The younger was Ruth Vell, who could not sleep and so always arrived first. They worked in the dark by one lamp, and every morning Marta drew three marks in the flour on the bench: a triangle, a ring set inside its point, and a single line running down the middle to show where the loaves would split.

Keep reading

Nobody asked why she drew them. Ruth asked once, and Marta said the triangle was the mouth of the oven, the ring was the loaf that came out whole, and the line was the cut that let the heat escape. Tom called it nonsense and said so loudly, while he scored his own bread. But he began copying the marks onto the corner of every tray he sent out, and within a year the carters knew Crooked Lane loaves by them.

The winter the river froze, flour ran short and the bakers of the town quarrelled over the last sacks. Ruth and Tom both wanted the same one, and for three days they barely spoke. On the fourth morning Ruth came down early and found the marks drawn fresh in the flour of an empty bench, and beside them a second triangle, pressed by a hand that was not Marta's. Tom had been there before her, and he had run the line straight through the middle of both.

They shared the sack that morning and baked until the window turned grey. Marta, who had heard everything from her chair by the chimney, said nothing at all and only smiled into her tea. The loaves came out split along the line, exactly as drawn, and the carters carried them off into the cold.