Back of a person showing a tattoo of a guitar body shape filled with a red and orange sunset, trees and a tent, with a dark treeline forming the neck on the upper back.

Guitar silhouette landscape across upper back

Back · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo fills a guitar-shaped outline across the upper back with a sunset scene, including a glowing sun, a small tent or peak, and bold trees in red and orange. A black treeline and its reflection extend to the right to form the neck of the guitar, with a stippled texture in the dark areas. The palette is mainly reds, oranges and black with some grey, and the design sits centrally on the back with the neck of the figure visible above.

Back Guitar Sunset Tree Tent Sun Reflection Lake Landscape Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

In the high pass above Carrow there was a lake that held the sun longer than any other, and a maker named Tobiah Frell who built guitars from the larches along its shore. He had one rule. He would not finish a body until the light on the water matched his varnish.

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One autumn a woman came up the pass with a fever in her son and a red oak split by lightning in the back of her cart. She asked him for an instrument that could be heard across the water at dusk. He told her the wood was not sound. She said it had sung the night the tree came down. He took it anyway and left it under the eaves for three weeks, and every evening he sat at the lake's edge with a knife and a pot of ochre, cutting shapes into the wood while the sun went down behind the ridge.

When the boy's fever broke, the woman came back and found the guitar finished. Its waist was the shoreline, its neck the black line of firs running out over the water. Turn it to the light and the lake filled the hollow of its body, so the sun sat inside the wood and a small tent of the old shepherds stood beside it. Frell told her it would only play when someone stood at the water and listened.

She carried it down that evening. The first note went out flat across the lake and came back doubled, and on the far bank a boy's voice began to hum the same tune. Frell did not go down to look. He had heard the shape of the sound from his bench, and that was enough for a man who had spent his life in the pass. The sun, the old women say, set a little later that year, as if it had been listening.