Black tribal tattoo with swirls and triangular patterns running down the outer thigh and over the knee.

Tribal band tattoo on a thigh and knee

Blackwork · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A seated person shows a large black tribal tattoo that runs down the outer thigh and over the knee. The design uses bold curved bands, spirals and triangular infill in solid black ink with some grey shading. The ink is set against warm skin and the frame is cropped to the leg, with white shorts and a dark wall behind.

Blackwork Thigh Tribal pattern Spiral Triangle Swirl Geometric pattern

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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

Your mother says the ferry was late again, so I am writing this on the back of a till roll while the kettle makes up its mind. The road out past the salt flats is as empty as you left it, and the heat has the lorries shimmering as if they are wading out to sea. Mrs Abernathy from the petrol station asked after you. I told her you had gone to the coast to learn boatbuilding, which is near enough true.

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I have been thinking about the spiral on the paddle I carved for you when you were nine. You thought the curl was a wave folding over itself. I meant it as the bend in a road, the way it doubles back so you cannot see the end until you are nearly there. The triangles along the edge are the stones we counted at the old crossing, one for each night we stopped. You never counted them. You always wanted to know how far, not how many.

Last week a young man stopped for petrol with a sketch of a similar design folded in his wallet, bold curves and little black triangles. He laughed when I looked too long and said a friend had drawn it from an old pattern book. I told him a pattern is only a map if somebody walks it. He bought two bottles of water and a packet of crisps and drove off towards the hills.

So come home when the boats are caulked, or do not come at all, but send word. The paddle is hanging by the back door where the sun cannot reach it. I oil it every Sunday. Count the stones for me, love, and tell me how far.