Back view of a person with a fine black single-line geometric tattoo of triangles, arcs and dotted endpoints across the upper back and shoulder blade.

Single-line geometric tattoo across upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is made of thin, uniform black lines forming an abstract arrangement of triangles, a curved arc and straight strokes that end in small dots. It spreads from the top of the shoulder blade down toward the centre of the back, with the lines crossing over one another in places. The ink is solid black with no shading, set against pale skin in a plain, softly lit indoor setting.

Fine line Geometric Back Shoulder Line Triangle Arc Dot Abstract shape Geometric

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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 lodger in the back bedroom had paid three weeks in advance and then stopped coming down to supper, so Mrs Pell carried his tea up on a tin tray and found him kneeling at the window with a ball of tarred string and four brass pins pushed into the sill. He did not look round. He said the bay was lying to him, and asked her to hold the end of the string against the gable.

Keep reading

Folk in Corran Bay know the old way of finding the drowned. A man's last bearing stays in the water, a line running out from the place where he was last seen, and two more lines cast from fixed marks on the headland will cross it somewhere on the sand. Where they meet, the sea gives back what it kept, but only if the lines are drawn true and nobody cheats a pin with a thumb. The lodger's brother had gone over the Ness in February and no boat had found him.

All evening he worked. Pencil lines ran from the pins across the wallpaper, and each time one came out crooked he went quiet and started again. When the third line crossed the first, a small knot of light formed at the joint. He tapped the pin there with one finger and said, that's the place. Mrs Pell wrote nothing down. She had the sense not to ask whose boat.

At low water the next morning the tide went further out than anyone had seen since the storm. On the sand beyond the slip, exactly where the lines had met, lay a single brown boot with the laces still tied. The lodger was already walking down the shingle with his string coiled over one shoulder. Mrs Pell took the ledger from under the counter and, beside the week's rent, wrote the bearing in her own careful hand.