Black and grey realism tattoo on a forearm showing a bear beneath pine trees, a bare tree and a snowy mountain, shown from two angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bear and forest scene on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A bear sits in the lower part of the design, with tall pine trees and a bare tree rising behind it toward a mountain peak at the top. The shading is soft and detailed, with dense dark tones in the trees and lighter greys fading into the sky and mountain. The image shows the same forearm from two angles side by side against a plain, dim background.

Realism Forearm Bear Mountain Pine tree Bare tree Forest Landscape Wildlife

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

The feed sacks had been split again by the time I got down the lane, and the snow in the yard was printed with marks too big to be a fox's. Mum said the bear had come down off Carn Dhu the week the pines went black with frost, which was nonsense, because nothing bigger than a badger had ever troubled Hollin Farm in forty years.

Keep reading

I found him at the back of the cowshed, his shoulders heaving against the hay bales as if he had been there for hours, nosing at a cracked trough. The dog stayed by the gate and would not come nearer. I had a fork in one hand and a lantern in the other, and I remember thinking how small the lantern looked against the dark spread of the forest behind him, the bare birch rising through the pines like a hand reaching for the peak.

He lifted his head and looked at me the way the old ewes do when they have decided you are not worth the trouble. Then he turned and walked back across the field toward the trees, unhurried, and the snow swallowed the sound of his feet. I followed with the lantern as far as the wall and no further, because Dad always said the mountain keeps what it takes.

In the morning there was one track left, climbing the hill in a straight line toward the grey shoulder of rock, and a split sack of barley lay on the stones beside the gate. I did not fill the trough. I left the gate open a hand's width, and every night since I have checked the snow for his prints, half hoping to find them going the other way.