Realism black and grey rose sleeve on a woman's arm, with a rose on the chest and script lettering on the ribs.

Black and grey rose sleeve with script on ribs

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman lies with her arm across her chest, showing a black and grey sleeve of realistic roses on the forearm and upper arm. A large rose is also visible on the chest, and a script word sits on the ribs below it. The shading is soft and smooth, with strong highlights on the petals, and the image is warm toned and shot close up.

Realism Botanical Forearm Upper arm Chest Ribs Rose Script Lettering Sleeve

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 cuttings sat wrapped in wet newspaper on the passenger seat, and Tomas had stopped checking them at the cattle grid thirty miles back. The Tarrin Road ran pale and straight through the scrub, heat lifting off it in sheets, and the radio had given up somewhere past the dry lake. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the damp bundle, as if it might slide off the seat on the bends.

Keep reading

The roses had come from his grandmother's yard in Halsey, a bush nobody else in the county could keep alive. She had grown them in the shade of a water tank, feeding them ash from the stove and scolding them in Basque. When the yard was sold she made him promise to take a cutting to Dora Saenz in Ashgrove, who could graft anything. The address was written on the back of a feed receipt in pencil, and the pencil had smudged to a grey ghost by the time he reached the town limits.

Dora's workshop was an old petrol bay with a tin roof that ticked in the afternoon heat. She unwrapped the cuttings on the bench, turned them to the light, and said the blooms would come up darker than they had any right to, the way shadows do when you press too hard. Then she asked what name the roses should carry. Tomas said his grandmother's name, Ines, and Dora wrote it on a strip of masking tape and stuck it to the pot. By evening the tape had curled in the dry air and the letters had faded to the same soft grey as the leaves.