Woman seen from behind with a tattooed back, including skulls, a coloured Snow White portrait and script, and sleeve work on her arm in a neo-traditional style.

Back and arm tattoos with Snow White portrait

Neo-trad · Back · Mixed · Photo

A woman with long dark hair is photographed from behind, showing her back, arms and upper thighs covered in tattoos. The central panel on her back is a coloured portrait of Snow White in a bold outlined frame, surrounded by skulls, ornate clock-like motifs and black script. The background is a plain grey wall with soft, even lighting, and the ink is mostly black and grey with colour concentrated in the central portrait.

Neo-trad Back Upper arm Forearm Thigh Calf Skull Portrait Script Clock Bow Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, the stove only warms the front row. Now, you want the story of the Pavilion Ballroom at Saltdean, the one with the clock over the bandstand that ran eleven minutes slow for forty years because nobody dared touch it. I'll tell you the night it stopped altogether.

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Mrs Ivy Tallow kept the cloakroom. She had a bone comb in her hair and a habit of counting coats aloud, and on the night of the Harvest Waltz she counted one more than she had hung. A black coat with a silver bow pinned to the collar, and under it a bench with nobody on it but a shadow that would not stay still. Ivy went to fetch the manager and came back to find the clock behind the bandstand had swung round to face the wall.

The girl said her name was Lenore, though the band called her Snow, because the lamps seemed to shine off her wherever she stood. She carried a gilt-framed mirror in her bag, and between tunes she'd hold it up and ask who was the fairest in the hall. It never answered in words. The dancers only noticed the skulls gathering in the corners and the ticking that grew under the floorboards until every waltz fell a beat behind.

Ivy took the mirror off her and turned it face down on the bar. The clock struck thirteen, the lamps went out, and when they came back the girl was gone. In the frame where the glass had been hung a painted portrait, bold as a poster, lips red as a cherry on a fresh ribbon. Some say that's why the Pavilion keeps its clocks running now. Mind the stairs going out. Ivy's still counting coats.