Collage of four fine line script tattoos in black ink, on a forearm, a wrist, an arm and the upper back.

Four script tattoos on arms and back

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The collage shows four photographs of script lettering tattooed on skin, on a forearm, a wrist, an arm and the upper back. The lettering uses thin black linework, with flowing cursive strokes in the first image and smaller handwritten phrases in the others. The images are tightly cropped and show only skin, hair and clothing, with plain light and soft backgrounds.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Back Script Lettering Cursive Handwriting Quote Text

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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

Dear Nell, the new board for the chandler's came out crooked again, and Mr Harrow has asked me twice whether I am ill. I told him my hand has been unsteady since your mother's funeral, which is partly true. I have enclosed the pattern book you left on the bench. The gilt from Bristol would not take in the damp, so I sent it back with a cross note.

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The job I want to tell you about is the one on Quay Street. Mrs Okonedo ordered a panel for her husband's boat, the Lark, with his name in capitals and a line beneath in a hand as fine as spider silk: with every tide I come home. I said the line was too long for the transom. She said the boat would need to read it going out, not only coming in. So I drew it three times on card, thin as a thread, and she wept at the second drawing and chose the first.

Here is the turn. On Thursday her husband walked into the shop himself, took the card from my bench and read it aloud in the doorway, slowly, the way men read the tide tables. Then he asked who had made the capital W, because it was mine and he knew my hand from the church notices. I said nobody, it was simply how the letter wanted to be. He laughed and said it was the first honest thing a sign-writer had ever told him.

Come home when the swallows go. The brush is yours if you want it, and the tin of black is where you left it, under the blue rag. Your loving aunt, Ada.