Traditional style colour tattoo of a cabin beside pine trees, a red sun and clouds, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cabin, pine trees and red sun on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A small wooden cabin with a scalloped roof sits at the centre, framed by tall pine trees, a red sun behind them and a few clouds in the sky. Bold black outlines define the shapes, with flat colour in red, green, brown and yellow and some soft shading on the walls and grass. The design fills the forearm, with a dark background behind the skin.

Traditional Forearm Cabin House Pine tree Sun Cloud Grass Star Landscape

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 sun was already sitting on the pines when Dorrie hauled the last tent pole onto the lorry, and I knew then the Halloway Brothers would not see another winter on the road. We had nine wagons, four ponies and one clown who still believed in the act, and the cabin at the back of the field, the one with the scalloped roof Father built from old fence slats in 1948, was the only thing on the lot that never pretended to be anything but what it was.

Keep reading

Father used to say a man could live in a cabin the way he lived in his own skin, plain and honest, with the door always open to the weather. We kept the cabin as an office for the ringmaster, then as a store for the tickets, and when the money dried up it became where I slept. Red paint on the door, a window box Dorrie insisted on filling with marigolds nobody would see from the stands. Every evening I sat on the step and watched the pines go black against the red sun behind them, which was the only show we had left that never cost a penny.

The offer came in the post, the way bad news does. A supermarket chain wanted the field for car parking. The council wanted the cabin gone by Friday. I wrote back that the field had been a circus field for ninety years, and I did not hear back.

On Friday morning the lorry pulled out and the cabin stood alone with its door propped open. I took the marigolds, the bolt from the door and the ringmaster's brass bell, and walked down the lane towards the coast, where I had heard there was an old fishing hut with a view of the sea. I left the door open. Father would have approved of that.