Fine line black outline of a small triangle tattoo on the nape of a woman's neck, shown from behind with her hair up in a bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small triangle tattoo on the nape of the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A woman with her hair pinned up is photographed from behind against a dark grey wall, wearing a cream dress with white embroidered panels on the back. A small, thin black outlined triangle sits on the nape of her neck just below the hairline. The tattoo is in black ink only, and the soft natural light and centred framing keep the focus on the mark.

Fine line Geometric Neck Triangle Geometric shape Outline Hair bun

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

Dear Nell, the new keeper came across on Tuesday's boat with a brass theodolite under one arm and a tin of peppermints in his coat, and I have decided to forgive him both. Every morning he climbs to the gallery with his notebook and sights the church spire on the mainland against the ridge of Scarrow Head, then writes figures in a column that never comes out the way he expects.

Keep reading

Yesterday he showed me why. He had cut a small triangle from sheet tin, no wider than my palm, and hung it on a nail by the lamp room door. Three sightings, three points, and the light, he says, is never quite where the chart puts it. Father always said the sea shifted the rock a finger's breadth each winter. The new man insists the sea shifts nothing and it is the charts that drift. I told him I would believe whichever one kept the gulls fed.

Last night the fog came in thick as wool and the horn sounded every half minute. I sat on the stair with the tin triangle in my lap, turning it over, while he called bearings down to me through the trapdoor. Seven, he called. Seven and a half. Then nothing, only the horn and the drip from the glass and my own breathing, and I thought of you on the far bank with the kettle on.

When the fog lifted at dawn the spire stood exactly where the chart said it would. He wrote the figure down and underlined it twice. He wanted to pin the triangle to the mantel for luck, but I told him it belonged on its nail where a body could find it in the dark. Come at Michaelmas, sister. Bring the good tea, and I will show you the triangle and the man who measures everything but the weather.