Solid black treble and bass clef merged into a heart shape on the top of a foot, with two small dots beside the bass clef.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble and bass clef heart on a foot

Other · Black and grey · Photo

A bold black tattoo of a treble clef and bass clef interlocked to form a heart shape, with two dots to the right. The linework and fills are solid and smooth, with no shading or colour. The tattoo sits centrally on the top of a bare foot, with toes and a dark leather surface visible in the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, sit down, the pair of you, and let the soup go cold for once. I was at a wedding in Hebden Bridge the year the mill closed, and the bride's grandmother was the only one in the room who knew the tale of the two clefs, so I'll tell it the way she told it to me.

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The treble clef was a high, quick thing, all loops and rising tails, and he lived above the stave in a brass music case belonging to a schoolmaster called Ambrose Tull. The bass clef was low and heavy, with two round eyes like a grumbling bulldog, and he lived in the cellar of St Michael's, under the harmonium, where the damp got into his ink. They had never met, for the stave kept them apart by rule. One sang above the middle line and the other hummed below it. Every Sunday the organist played the hymns with both hands, and every Sunday the two of them were forced to share a page without once touching.

Then came the winter the church flooded. The hymn books floated out into the lane, and the wind lifted a single sheet and pressed it against a gatepost, where the bass clef, drifting in the same gutter, caught hold of one corner. The treble clef, wedged in the hedge, reached down with a curl of its tail. They tangled, pulled apart, and tangled again until the ink ran together. When the sheet had dried by the schoolhouse fire, the two of them had fused into one shape. Mr Tull swore it was a printer's error. The grandmother said it was a heart.

So when the bride's father asked me to say a few words tonight, I told him the two dots beside it are rests, the little gaps where nobody sings, and that a marriage is mostly rests. Now raise your glasses, and somebody fetch the fiddle, for the bass clef has been tapping his foot under the table since the first course.

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