Solid black treble clef tattoo with two dots beside it, on a person's leg, in a bold blackwork style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble clef tattoo on a leg

Blackwork · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A bold, solid black treble clef sits upright across the skin, with two small filled dots to its upper right. The linework is smooth and the ink appears fully black with no shading or colour. The close crop centres the tattoo on the limb, with a fabric edge visible at the top left and a dark background at the right.

Blackwork Other Treble clef Music Musical note Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The score had belonged to Dai Pryce's father, and the treble clef on its first page had gone soft and brown at the curl, as though a thumb had rested there every Thursday for forty years. Tomas Vaughan turned the pages with his cornet balanced on one knee while the others argued over tuning in the back room of the Institute. Outside, the pithead wheel stood still against a sky the colour of wet slate.

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The colliery had shut in March. The band still met on Thursdays because the hall was paid up until December, and because nobody in Caerfelin could think what else a Thursday was for. Dai rapped his stand with the baton. 'Two dots after a note,' he said, tapping the page where the black marks sat beside the clef like a pair of blown seeds. 'The first gives you half as much again. The second gives you half of that. Don't rush what's given you. The tune's been waiting longer than you have.'

On the last Saturday they marched to the head of the old drift with the banner furled on its pole. Men who had gone underground at fourteen stood with caps in their fists while Tomas lifted the cornet and played the hymn they had all been buried to as boys. His breath kept faltering on the same bar, and he could feel the rhythm wanting to hurry. Each time, he let the first dot stretch and then the second, the way Dai had shown him, until the note hung in the cold air like something that had decided to stay.

When the last chord had gone out over the spoil heaps, nobody spoke. Dai folded the score along its soft brown crease and tucked it under his arm. 'Still got the time in it,' he said, and walked off towards the Institute, leaving Tomas to put the cornet in its case and notice that his hands had stopped shaking somewhere around the second dot.