Fine line black tattoo of a single-line drawn face and leaf on the inner forearm, with pink flowers in the background.

Fine line face and leaf on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a wrist and inner forearm bearing a small black tattoo. The design is a loose, single-line drawing of a face or figure with a leaf shape beside it, with a wavy line of marks above. The linework is thin and unshaded, and the pink flowers in the blurred background contrast with the dark ink.

Fine line Forearm Line drawing Face Leaf Flower Script

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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

The paint was still tacky when Dad ran the Mary Ellen up the slip, so Nan had to draw the face with her thumb held flat over the wet bits. She wouldn't use a brush for it. She took a nib and a pot of old Indian ink and drew the way she did everything, without lifting the pen: one line for the brow, one for the cheek, one for the leaf she said a boat needed when it was going out past the Stacks.

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Harbourmaster Pell said it looked like a woman waiting on the quay with her hair in a plait, and Nan said that was exactly who it was. Nobody argued with her. She had mended more nets than the rest of Coverdale put together, and she knew which knots would hold and which would slip once the cold got into the rope.

The wavy line above the face went on last, a squall coming in off the water. Dad hated that she did it. He said boats were superstitious enough without a lady painted on the bow, but the Mary Ellen had come home every season for twelve years and he never got round to painting her over. Along the cliff lane the rhododendrons were out, pink as a fistful of wool, and the wind shook petals down onto the quay.

The night the fleet was caught, I stood on the wall counting lanterns. Eleven came in. The Mary Ellen was the last, slow and low, and when she bumped against the steps I saw the leaf still sharp on her bow under the lamp. Nan was already there with her sleeve rolled up. She pressed her inked thumb to her own wrist, the way she did when a knot had held, and said, there, she's been seen.