Realistic shaded tattoo of a film SLR camera with green leaves on the inside of a forearm, beside a real camera on a tripod.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Film camera with leaves on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A detailed tattoo of a 35mm film SLR camera with a lens and leaves sits on the inside of a forearm. The camera is rendered in black and grey shading with fine highlights on the body and lens, while small leaves and a vine add touches of green. A real camera on a tripod sits in the foreground against a navy chest of drawers, mirroring the tattoo.

Realism Forearm Camera Leaves Vine Lens

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 old SLR had sat in the wheelhouse drawer since the spring the Morwenna Bay went out past the Dogger and came back one man short. Nobody touched it. Skipper Tom Abbey kept his charts and his bad tablets in there, and the camera lay beneath them like something that had been told to keep quiet. When Ruth came aboard at Brixham with her father's film still rattling in its tin, she asked for the drawer key, and nobody thought to refuse her.

Keep reading

She wound the film through on the morning run, the deck lifting and dropping under her boots, and pressed the shutter at ordinary things: gulls working the wake, the cook's cracked mug, the net coming up silver and furious over the gunwale. Her father had shot everything at one aperture, a habit she had found fussy until the frames lined up, a year of flat grey light sitting side by side like beads on a string. She kept one eye to the viewfinder and the other open, the way he had taught her on the pier at Paignton.

The tin went to a lab in Plymouth, and the prints came back a week later in a brown envelope. Most were smeared by the swell. One was not. It caught the wheelhouse window at dawn, the sea behind the glass gone the colour of pewter, and in the reflection the open drawer, with the camera's lens turned back towards her like an eye that had been waiting.

She framed it at the chandlery at the head of the quay. The man behind the counter squinted at it, then at her. Ruth paid, walked back down to the boat, and loaded a fresh roll, setting the dial to her father's number before she climbed aboard.