Coordinates of Disappearance
Jack came in with a clear image in mind: a leopard fish.
This leopard fish tattoo was made fThis leopard fish tattoo was made for the sailor @jackhro at Visions of Ecstasy Studio in Berlin.
Jack arrived with a very clear image in mind: a leopard fish. A creature built for disappearance. A body defined not by a single outline, but by fragmentation — stripes, textures, filigree patterns, and almost tentacle-like extensions that blur where one form ends and another begins. It is a fish that survives through excess, through detail, through camouflage so complete it becomes its own language.
From the beginning, the animal carried meaning. Not decorative meaning, but functional meaning. This is a creature that does not dominate its environment. It adapts to it, hides inside it, and stays alive by becoming difficult to read.
The request was to merge this fish with the trident of Neptune. At first, I went for the obvious solution: the trident placed clearly and centrally, asserting itself through the body of the animal. But every sketch failed in the same way. The trident always took control. It became a symbol placed on top of the fish rather than something emerging from within it. The image became hierarchical, and the animal lost its voice.
So the approach had to change. Instead of forcing the trident into the composition, I allowed it to dissolve into the fish’s own logic. The three points were absorbed into the patterning, broken down, and redistributed across the surface. What remains is almost secret. You only notice it if you are paying attention. It appears on the upper left, emerging slowly — a weapon disguised as ornament.
The form echoes the rhythm and restraint of the trident found on the flag of Barbados: precise, measured, and controlled. Not aggressive, but unmistakably present. A symbol of power that does not need to announce itself.
The numbers came later: 00°00′00″ / 0°00′00″. Zero latitude and zero longitude. The point where the Equator and the Prime Meridian meet. An invisible crossing inside the ocean, created by systems of navigation rather than by anything the eye can see. For sailors, coordinates are not abstract. They describe position, direction, distance, and orientation. They are how the sea becomes readable.
That detail mattered because Jack is a sailor. He spends months at sea, moving between Germany, Taiwan, Singapore, and other ports by cargo ship. From a distance, that life can appear romantic, but up close it is something else: hierarchy, discipline, repetition, responsibility. A floating system that functions almost like a factory. Time stretches differently there. Space becomes routine. Movement becomes work.
This was not our first tattoo together. Years ago, he travelled from the far north of Germany to get tattooed by me. His first piece was a small beach chair flash, discreet and almost hidden in my portfolio. Not because I do not like it, but because the photograph never really did it justice. His skin reacts quickly and turns red immediately, and at the time I did not yet have the tools to translate that into a strong image.
This time, he came back before heading to sea again and asked for red. That mattered more than it might seem. I do not often get the chance to push red in the way I want to. Black and red together demand trust. They leave very little room for hesitation. He did not hesitate.
The session itself was slow and generous. We talked about life onboard, about routines, boredom, discipline, and the limits of what can and cannot be done at sea. It became clear very quickly that this was not freedom in the romantic sense. It was precision. Responsibility. Endurance. A life organised by invisible lines, fixed routes, and long periods of repetition.
That is why the different parts of the tattoo felt connected. A fish that survives by disappearing. A trident hidden inside pattern. Coordinates marking a point that exists only through navigation. A sailor carrying months of ocean on the body.
Everything stayed where it belonged. Nothing needed to dominate. The trident remained hidden. The fish kept its camouflage. The coordinates stayed exact. The red entered the image like a signal, visible but controlled.
For me, the tattoo became less about the sea as fantasy and more about the systems that make life at sea possible: camouflage, hierarchy, direction, endurance, and the ability to move through enormous spaces without losing position.
A body carrying a fish, a weapon, a map, and a line no one can see.
Text by noTATTOO Berlin.or the sailor @jackhro at Visions of Ecstasy Studio in Berlin.
Jack arrived with a very clear image in mind: a leopard fish. A creature built for disappearance. A body defined not by a single outline, but by fragmentation — stripes, textures, filigree patterns, almost tentacle-like extensions that blur where one form ends and another begins. A fish that survives through excess. Through detail. Through camouflage so complete it becomes its own language.
From the beginning, the animal carried meaning. Not decorative meaning, but functional meaning. This is a creature that doesn’t dominate its environment. It adapts to it. It hides inside it. It stays alive by becoming unreadable.
The request was to merge this fish with the trident of Neptune.
At first, I went for the obvious solution. The trident placed clearly, centrally — asserting itself through the body of the animal. But every sketch failed in the same way. The trident always took control. It became a symbol placed on top of the fish, instead of something emerging from within it. The image turned hierarchical. The animal lost its voice.
So the approach had to change.
Instead of forcing the trident into the composition, I let it dissolve into the fish’s own logic. The three points were absorbed into the skin, hidden inside the patterning, broken down and redistributed across the surface. What remains is almost secret. You only notice it if you’re paying attention. It appears on the upper left, emerging slowly — a weapon disguised as ornament.
Elegant. Rounded. Balanced.
But still sharp.
The form echoes the rhythm and restraint of the trident found on the flag of Barbados — precise, measured, controlled. Not aggressive, but unmistakably present. A symbol of power that doesn’t announce itself.
The numbers came later:
00° 00′ 00″ / 0° 00′ 00″
Latitude and longitude at absolute zero.
The Equator.
A line you can cross, but never see — unless you know how to read the sea. For sailors, it’s not abstract. When you reach that point, there is no ambiguity. No north. No south. Just position. Exact. Unarguable.
That detail mattered.
Jack is a sailor. Six months at sea at a time. Moving between Germany, Taiwan, Singapore — not by plane, not by choice, but by cargo ship. A floating system that functions like a factory: hierarchy, discipline, repetition. Romantic from a distance. Demanding up close. Time stretches differently out there. Space becomes routine.
This wasn’t our first tattoo together.
Years ago, he traveled from the far north of Germany just to get tattooed. Something I still remember clearly. His first piece was a small beach chair flash — discreet, almost hidden in my portfolio. Not because I don’t like it, but because the photograph never did it justice. His skin reacts fast, turns red immediately, and at the time I didn’t yet have the tools to translate that into a strong image.
This time, he came back before heading to sea again — and asked for red.
That matters more than it sounds. I don’t often get the chance to push red the way I want to. Black and red together demand trust. They leave no room for hesitation. He didn’t hesitate.
The session itself was slow and generous. We talked about life onboard. About routines. Boredom. Discipline. About what you can’t do at sea as much as what you can. It became clear very quickly: this isn’t freedom in the romantic sense. It’s precision. Responsibility. Endurance.
A fish that hides a trident.
Coordinates that mark an invisible line.
A body carrying months of ocean.
Everything stayed where it belonged.
nOT
