Back of a neck with a purple bob haircut, showing a small black fine line geometric tattoo of a circle above a downward triangle and dots, sitting on the nape.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small geometric triangle tattoo on the nape

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the back of a person's neck below a short purple bob, with a small tattoo at the centre of the nape. The design is a stack of simple geometric shapes: a small ring at the top, a downward-pointing triangle with an inner triangle, and a vertical line of tiny dots and diamonds beneath. The linework is thin and black, with no shading, and the composition is close and centred on the tattoo.

Fine line Geometric Neck Triangle Circle Dot Diamond Geometric shape

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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

Edith Pask measured the chain from Halloway Mill to the sluice gate at Cold Fen, and she measured every link twice, because the Commission had sent a man the year before who measured it once and was found in the reed beds in March with his theodolite still pointing at the sky. She carried her own tripod, a brass ring that had belonged to her uncle, and a notebook bound in oilcloth in which she drew each marker as she set it.

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The markers were not stones. They were the old signs the fenmen cut into posts before the drainage: a ring for the still water, a triangle pointing down for the place where the ground gave way, and beneath them a line of dots, one for each pace a child could walk before the mud took the second foot. Edith copied them faithfully. Nobody had asked her to, but the Commission's maps had lost their meaning, and a sign she could not read was a sign she could not trust.

On the eleventh post the triangle had a smaller triangle inside it, pointing up, and between the dots someone had cut diamonds. Scratched beneath them, in a hand that had pressed hard, was a note: the inner triangle is the dry path, and the diamonds are where a person may stand while the tide turns. She had walked that chain for three weeks and had never once stood on a diamond. So on the last evening she set her tripod on the last one, opened the notebook to a clean page, and waited.

At dusk the mist lifted off the fen like a sheet from furniture, and the path ran out ahead of her, thin and black as a ruled line, exactly where the drawing said it would be.