Black and grey fine line tattoo of a smiling sun with a face and long pointed rays, placed on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sun with a face on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A black linework tattoo of a sun with a face sits on the side of the ribcage, with the rays spreading outwards from the round centre. The lines are thin and even, with some light shading in the rays and the face. The photograph is black and white, and fabric is draped over the skin at the left edge of the frame.

Fine line Ribs Sun Face Ray

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Day forty-one, and the sun has not once come up behind the clouds since Tristan's Rock fell astern. Cook Hester Vane says it is the Atlantic sulking, but I have kept this log long enough to know the difference between weather and temper. The sun is still up there, round and bright as a brass plate, only it has gone shy of us. Mr Abbott swears he saw its face turn away at dawn, and nobody laughed, because we have all been looking at the sky the same way.

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The captain ordered the chronometer wound twice a watch and the sextant brought out of its box, though there is nothing to shoot but grey. I spent the afternoon mending the jib with Pell, a boy from Plymouth who sings when he thinks nobody is listening. He stopped mid-verse when the sun broke through for a minute, flat and gold across the swell, and he swore it winked at him. I told him that was salt in his eye. He told me to look properly. I did, and it was there, a face in the glare, not unkind, only tired, the way a man looks when he has been carrying something too heavy for too long.

Tonight I sat up with the lamp and drew it on the back of this page, rays and all, the way my mother drew suns on the kitchen wall in Penryn. The ink is nearly gone from the pen. Tomorrow I will ask Hester whether the sun ever comes back to a ship that has lost its way, and she will tell me the sea is not a place you can be lost in, only a place you are still on.