Close-up of a woman's hand and wrist with metallic silver and gold dotted temporary tattoos and a small black chevron tattoo on one finger, Forearm and Hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Metallic dot and chevron tattoos on hand and wrist

Dotwork · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A close-up of a woman's hand and wrist shows a row of metallic silver dots running across a finger and a band of gold and silver dots on the wrist. A small black chevron is inked on another finger, and the fine dotted lines are stippled rather than shaded. Stacked bangles, rings, pink nail polish and denim shorts sit around the hands against a pale paved background.

Dotwork Geometric Forearm Hand Dot Chevron Arrow Bracelet Ring Hand Wrist Metallic

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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

By the third week the chalk had worn off the curtain wall, so you took the silver pen from your breast pocket and dotted the line again, one point every hand's width, the way your grandfather taught you to mark a survey. Below you the keep stood open to the sky like a cut loaf. Nobody had lived in it since the Gunnersby siege, and the council wanted it stabilised before the autumn gales brought another chunk of masonry down onto the car park.

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Marta from the trust found you at the gatehouse with two mugs of tea that had gone cold. She looked at the chevrons you had painted on the stones, all pointing upward, and asked what they meant. You told her they were for the masons, to show which way the weight ran. That was true. It was not the whole truth. Your grandfather had used the same marks on the hay bales at Dunmere, pointing the way back to the barn when the snow came in sideways.

On the last afternoon the scaffold came down and the light lay flat across the courtyard. You walked the dotted line one final time, counting under your breath, and found that the points had kept their shine where the rain had not reached them. Gold and silver, the old draughtsmen called it, when they mixed powdered leaf into the ink for the grander plans. Marta had kept her promise and left the chevrons in place. The next visitor would follow them up the stair and never think to wonder who had pointed the way.