Colour tattoo of a circular Celtic knotwork ring shading from purple and blue through green, yellow, orange and red, placed on the torso.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rainbow Celtic knot ring on torso

Geometric · Other · Colour · Photo

A circular ring of interlaced Celtic knotwork sits on bare skin, with the loops forming a wreath-like shape open in the centre. The linework is bold and even, and each section of the ring is filled with a different colour, moving around the circle through purple, blue, green, yellow, orange and red. The tattoo fills most of the frame against a plain, softly lit background of skin.

Geometric Other Celtic knot Knotwork Ring Wreath Interlace

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The galley lamp swings on its hook every time the swell lifts the bow, and you have learned to time the knife against it. Cook Hollis has left you the potatoes and a lecture about the spice tin, which is the only real trouble aboard the Saint Brannock. Someone has been taking the coloured twine from the sail locker to bind the herb bundles, and tonight the bundles are gone soft with nothing to show for it.

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You find the twine in the bread bin, six hanks of it: violet, teal, leaf green, butter yellow, orange, and a red the colour of the port lamp. Each one is wound round a fistful of rosemary and tucked under the flour sack. Somebody has been plaiting them. The braid starts loose and then closes into a loop, over and under, over and under, until the strands lock back on themselves in a ring you could pass a biscuit tin through.

Hollis comes in at the change of watch smelling of tar and says the ring is his granddaughter's work, a thing she made at the harbour school in St Ives before she went off to nurse in Leeds. He never mentions the twine. You ask him what the knot is called and he says it has no end, which is the only reason anyone trusts it to hold a boat together. You wonder who has been tying it on the night watch.

You hang the ring above the range, where the heat keeps the rosemary dry. By morning the lamp has turned it into a slow wheel of colour across the whitewashed bulkhead, and you see that the hole in its middle is exactly the size of the flame. You chop the onions in the light that comes through it, and for once the galley is lit from the inside out.