Neo-traditional tattoo of a woman in profile with blue skin, purple hair and a yellow fan detail, on a leg in a purple-tinted bath.

Blue-faced woman portrait on a calf

Neo-trad · Calf · Colour · Photo

A woman in profile with blue skin, flowing purple hair, a yellow and orange fan-like accent and a green beaded ornament, drawn with bold black outlines. The shading is soft and smooth, and the vivid colour stands out against the pale skin. The tattoo fills the leg diagonally, with the legs crossed in a bath of lilac water behind it.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp had gone dark twice that winter, and both times Mam blamed the wind for leaning on the glass. I didn't believe her. On the third night I climbed the iron stairs with a tin of paraffin and found the lantern already burning, and a woman sitting on the gallery rail with her back to the sea. Her face was the blue of skimmed milk in candlelight. Her hair, long and violet as foxglove, lay over her shoulders and spilled down the rail like wet silk.

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'Light's meant to be kept,' she said, without turning round. Her voice had the grind of shingle going out with the tide. 'Your father kept it. Then the sea kept him, and nobody came to tend the wick, so I did it myself.' She lifted one hand and I saw a painted fan of yellow and orange opening behind her ear, and strings of green beads looped at her throat, clicking when she moved. 'I'm not asking for thanks. I'm asking for a turn.'

I offered her the paraffin, which was foolish, since she had no mouth to drink it. She laughed anyway, and the sound fanned out over the water like sparks. We agreed on something I still don't tell Mam: I would climb every night until spring, and she would sit the watch from dusk to first light, combing out her hair with a bone comb and watching for boats. In the mornings the fishermen said the beam swept clean as ever.

In April I climbed the stairs and found the rail empty, with only a loop of green beads wound round the iron and a single violet hair caught on the glass, catching the sun. I left it there. The lamp burned on, and on the rocks below, where the tide had dragged her shape back to the sea, the water was the colour of her face.

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