Black ink lettering on a forearm in a typewriter-style font, reading so please forgive what i have done, no you can't stay mad at the setting sun.

Four lines of text on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a block of text in black ink across the forearm, set over four lines in a typewriter-style font with mixed capitalisation. The letterforms are solid and crisp with even line weight, and the ink stands out clearly against the warm skin tone. The photograph is taken straight on, with the lettering filling most of the frame.

Lettering Forearm Quote Text Lyric Sun

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 kiln has cracked again, and the master stands in the doorway holding the broken amphora in both hands, as though it might still be persuaded to stand up. You are grey with ash to the elbows. You know what you did. You knocked the best jar in Corinth off the shelf on the last firing, then said the cat had done it, and the lie has sat in your mouth ever since like a stone you cannot swallow.

Keep reading

So you do what your mother taught you on the quay when you were small and had stolen figs from the Phoenician's barrow. You wait until the light goes long across the yard and turns the dust to honey. You fetch two sweet cakes and a jug of wine cut the way he likes it, and you carry them out to the bench under the fig tree, where he can see you without turning his head. You do not speak first. Speaking first is for men who are sure of their ground, and you are not.

He eats one cake slowly. He watches the sun slide down behind the olive terraces, turning the sea the colour of wet copper, and for a long while he says nothing at all. Then he tells the sun, rather than you, that a man cannot stay angry at something that sets so faithfully every evening, and that clay can be remade, though a liar must be made of sterner stuff.

You kneel and gather the shards from the courtyard one by one, while the last of the light climbs the wall and fades. Tomorrow you will mix a fresh batch of clay. Tonight you carry the pieces to the kiln door, where he has already left a lamp burning for you.