Black and grey realism tattoo of a man with slicked-back hair, a moustache and a suit and tie, placed on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black and grey portrait of a man on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A realistic portrait of a man with slicked-back hair, a thin moustache, a suit jacket and a dark tie, shown in close detail on the forearm. Soft shading builds the face and clothing, with fine highlights on the eyes, nose and hair. Smaller shaded forms of another figure sit behind the portrait at the top of the arm, and the background is plain black.

Realism Forearm Portrait Man Moustache Suit Tie Hair

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 jacket was already pinned when the rain started, and Mr Corran still hadn't come back for the second fitting. Ada held three pins between her lips and tugged the shoulder seam straight while the chalk marks faded on the back of my hand. The ledger said only Corran, Thursday, and a telephone number that rang out in the shop above the baker's on Carr Street.

Keep reading

He had come in once, a fortnight before, and stood at the long glass for so long that Walter asked if he wanted the cloth cut or just admired. He wanted it dark, the lapels narrow, the tie thin enough to lie flat under a waistcoat. He asked for his hair to be left alone, it was already done, he said, and touched it anyway. He said he was after the look of the man in the picture his mother kept above the wireless, the one with the moustache and the steady eyes, and he'd know it when he saw it on himself.

We finished the jacket on the Wednesday. The tie we made from an offcut of the same grey worsted, and Walter cut it on the bias so it would hang the way the old prints showed. On Thursday the rail was empty and the telephone rang out again. On Saturday a parcel came by the carrier from a harbour town up the coast, with no letter, only a photograph of a man in the same jacket standing on a quay, the wind pulling at the wide end of his tie.

Walter says we should burn the ledger and forget him. I haven't. The narrow tie still hangs on the end of the rail, the pins still in its collar, waiting for a man who already knows how he looks.