Black and grey sketch tattoo of a ballerina in a flowing tutu, arm raised, on the upper arm of a person in a white vest top.

Ballerina sketch on an upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A loose sketch of a ballerina in a full tutu, one arm raised overhead and the other extended to the side, with her weight on one leg. The linework is light and broken, with soft grey shading in the skirt and a few dark accents on the body and raised arm. The design sits centrally on the outer upper arm against a plain white top and pale background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, the 14th. Ruined another pair of shoes on the towpath this morning, the satin split clean across the toe where the cobbles at Brentford lock have been waiting for me all summer. Mother says a proper dancer would have brought a second pair. I told her a proper dancer would have stayed in Kilburn and taken in washing, so we are square.

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The Marigold has moved on to Hanwell and Uncle Tom has got the stove drawing again, though the cabin smells of wet coal and his pipe. Sal from the boat behind taught me to hold the tutu out of the bilge spray by tucking the net into my belt. It rustles like a dress should. I have been practising the arm up and over my head in the wheelhouse, where the ceiling is low and I can't go too far, and I keep catching the lamp with my fingertips. Tom says I'll put it out one day and set the whole boat alight.

Went up to the lock keeper's window tonight to see if he'd let me dance on the lock gate for the bargemen. He said no, but he looked at my arm for longer than a man ought, and then he said the gate would hold my weight if I kept to the middle. So I will. Thursday, if the water's low enough.

Wrote to the company in Sadler's Wells again. Nothing yet. Tom says the London letters take their time, like the canal does with a loaded boat. I think I'll dance anyway, on the gate, with the reeds going grey behind me and my one good shoe on the iron.

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