Black and grey realism portrait tattoo of a smiling man with swept back hair and a hand resting beside his face, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black and grey portrait of a smiling man

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a large portrait of a smiling man with swept back hair, shown from the shoulders up with one hand resting against his cheek. Shading is smooth and detailed, with soft grey tones on the face and hair and darker tones along the hair and collar. The portrait fills most of the frame against plain, lightly lit skin.

Realism Upper arm Portrait Man Face Hair Smile Hand

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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

Sit yourself down by the stove, the kettle's only just gone off, and the wind won't let the boat in before dark anyway. You'll want the tale of Ned Halloran's smile, for that's what they still call it on Inishbrack, though the chart says otherwise and nobody's ever argued with the chart. Ned came over on the Tuesday ferry the summer the pier was half built, with a cardboard case, a tin of brilliantine and a face like he'd just been told a joke he meant to keep.

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He took the room above Breda's shop, and every morning he'd lean on the harbour wall with one hand against his cheek, the way a man does when he's listening to the sea and doesn't want to miss a word. Folk thought him soft in the head. Then old Teague, who painted the boats, took a fancy to him, and for three weeks Ned sat on an upturned creel while Teague worked a face the size of a door onto the seawall, grey on grey, so the tide would take the edges first and leave the grin till last.

The winter gales came in February. The sea took the lower courses of the wall, the lime washed out, and by March the boats had shifted their moorings twice. But when the fishermen went down with their lamps they found the smile still there, pale above the wet line, and Ned long gone on the Tuesday ferry with the case and the brilliantine and nothing in his pockets but a return ticket he never used.

Breda says he'll be back for it. Teague said the wall was never his to keep. I think the man simply left the thing he was listening for, and his hand's still on his cheek, waiting for it to finish. Mind your cup, it's hot.