Black and white photo of a fine line treble clef tattoo between the shoulder blades on a person seen from behind, with hair in a loose bun.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble clef tattoo on upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A person is photographed from behind, with dark hair gathered into a loose bun and an off-shoulder top. A thin, single-line treble clef sits between the shoulder blades on the upper back. The soft, blurred background and black and white tones keep the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Back Treble clef Music

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

Sit nearer the stove and mind your cup, the handle's loose. Scarrow Light had a keeper called Ada Quill, and she kept three things in perfect order: the brass on the lamp, the logbook, and a stub of pencil she tucked behind one ear. The pencil was for music. Her father had told her the sea kept time in a key, so she spent her evenings copying the slap of the slipway, the bell buoy off Cormorant Rock and the gulls on the chimney, onto the backs of old tide tables.

Keep reading

That February the fog came down thick as wet wool, and the Mary Agnes, eleven crew and a boy who had never been to sea, went missing somewhere past the Teeth. The coastguard had nothing but guesses. Ada climbed the tower at dusk, wound the mechanism by hand because the motor had seized, and set the lamp turning. She hummed the low figure she'd written in the margin, a long swooping curl that dipped and came back up, and she traced it in the cold air with one finger as she sang, the way someone draws a thing they have drawn a thousand times. The beam went round in that same shape, long and then short, long and then short, and at half past two a horn answered from the dark.

The skipper came up the slip at dawn with his cap in his hands and asked what the signal had been. Ada unfolded the tide table on the bench and showed him the curl, the line through it, and the two dots sitting beside it like eyes. 'It isn't a code,' she said. 'It's where the sea is meant to stand. Listen for the top of the curl and steer for the bottom.' He pinned that page inside his wheelhouse, and it is still there, I'm told, gone soft at the corners from salt. Ada kept the pencil behind her ear until she died, and the sea, so the fishermen say, never once missed a note.