Black and grey realism tattoo of a bearded face with long hair, labelled Jesus, on the inner forearm.

Jesus portrait on forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey portrait of a bearded face with long hair framing it, shaded to show the features in detail. The word Jesus sits above the portrait and a second line of lowercase lettering sits below it, both in plain black script. The tattoo fills the centre of the forearm, with a blue top and a wooden floor visible at the edges of the frame.

Realism Forearm Portrait Face Beard Long hair Lettering

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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

Sit yourselves down by the range, the pair of you, and don't go touching the kettle. I'll tell you about Ezra Pascoe and the face in the seam. Nobody at Wheal Tressa believed a word of it until the cage came up with the dust still on him.

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Ezra was a tommyman working the four-fathom level alone that winter, his brother having sailed for Pennsylvania on a ship with a cracked hull. Each morning he took his tallow and pick down the shaft, and each evening he came up grey as a gravestone. On the back wall of the north drift, where the lode pinched out, there was a face in the rock. Long hair fell either side of it, the beard came down to the chest, and the eyes were heavy, like a man who has carried other folk's troubles all day.

He tried to chip it away the first week, and the rock would not give. The second week he brought a lamp and sat with it instead, eating his bread and talking to it about the price of tin and his mother's cough. He swore afterwards that the face grew clearer when he talked, the nose sharpening, the mouth turning a little at one corner, the way a face does when someone is listening.

Then came the roof fall in Lent, when the timbers groaned like a ship and the north drift folded in. The captain said it was a shame, a good man gone. But the rescue crew broke through on the third morning and found Ezra sitting upright on a ledge of clean stone, dust in his beard, lamp still lit. Asked how he had lived, he said only, 'I was keeping company.' When they turned the lamp to the back wall, the face had gone. Only a pale shape remained, like a man walking out of a room.