Collage of small black fine line tattoos: two triangles on the wrists, a deer head on the back of the neck, a tiny mark on a finger, and a palm tree on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small fine line tattoos: triangles, deer and palm tree

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

This collage shows five close-up photographs of small tattoos. The subjects are two triangles on the wrists, one filled and one outlined, a deer head on the back of the neck, a tiny mark on a finger, and a slender palm tree on the upper arm, with a partly visible mark on a finger at the bottom left. The linework is thin and crisp, and the ink is solid black with no shading or colour. The tattoos sit small on plain skin against soft, light backgrounds.

Fine line Geometric Botanical Forearm Neck Hand Upper arm Triangle Deer Palm tree Bird Wrist Finger

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

By the third day the sun had bleached the chalk line from your forearm, so you redrew it from memory with a reed pen. Corvinus said memory was what a surveyor was paid for and ink was only the receipt. You were eighteen, sent up from Londinium to learn the groma, the cross of plumb lines that turned a wet hillside into a grid. Every sight you took came back as a triangle: three points held in the mind until they closed.

Keep reading

On the fourth morning a hind stepped out of the alders below camp and stood watching your staff as though someone had planted it there to be admired. Corvinus wanted her fixed in the sight and written down as a boundary mark. You wanted only to let her go. She went, unhurried, into the mist over the river, and you drew her anyway in the margin of the sheet, a small head with branching antlers, because Corvinus had once told you that a map is honest only where someone has looked up from it.

The palm came last. A trader called Aurelia Scaeva had walked the eastern road for two summers and returned with a seedling wrapped in wet cloth, and she asked you to set it on the sheet where the known world gave out. You drew it as one slender stem with a crown of strokes no wider than a thumbnail. Corvinus frowned at it, then at the triangles, then at you.

He rolled the map tight and tied it with your own cord, saying that a line you cannot measure is still a promise that someone came back.