Black and grey fine line and dotwork tattoo of interlocking triangles forming a star shape on the inner wrist and forearm.

Nested triangle geometry on a wrist

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small geometric design of interlocking triangles forms a star-like shape with a single dot at the centre. Solid fine black lines are combined with dotted lines in the outer layers, giving a layered, open effect. The photograph is black and grey and shows the tattoo centred on the inner wrist and lower forearm against a blurred grey background.

Geometric Fine line Dotwork Forearm Triangle Star Sacred geometry Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp at Carrick Nab had been dark for three nights when Morag Ewen climbed the iron stair with a stick of chalk in her apron pocket. Her father's great lens had cracked in the gale, and the chandler on the mainland was too ill to cross. Below her the sea was grey and loud, and somewhere out in it were four boats that had gone out before the wind turned.

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Her grandmother had left a pattern on the back of an old tide table, a star made of triangles folded inward, one inside the next, until they gathered at a single point. Some of the lines were solid and some were only dots, because her grandmother said the dotted ones were the lines that held only when you trusted them. Morag had never understood that until she knelt on the cold boards and began to draw the star across the broken glass, pressing hard on the solid edges and lightly on the rest.

She worked until her fingers were white with chalk dust and her knees ached through her skirt. Whenever the wind rose and rattled the shutters she stopped and called down the stair to her father, who was sitting on the bottom step with his hands around a cup of tea gone cold. He answered every time, so she kept going.

At first light the boats came in one at a time, and each one steered for the centre of the star, the place where all the lines met. Dougal Reid's boat came last, low in the water, and he lifted one hand to the lamp room as if he had seen the light after all. Morag wiped the chalk away with her sleeve that afternoon, but the dot at the centre stayed where her thumb had pressed it into the brass, and her father would not let anyone polish it off.