Colour realism tattoo of the Joker character's face with green hair, pale blue skin, red eyes and a red smeared smile, on the arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Joker character portrait tattoo on an arm

Realism · Other · Colour · Photo

A large portrait of the Joker, the comic book villain, with green swept hair, a pale blue face, red-rimmed eyes and a smeared red grin. The shading is smooth and painterly, with soft transitions in the skin and hair and strong highlights. Blues, greens and reds dominate the colour palette against a dark, collared jacket.

Realism Other Joker Character Portrait Face Clown

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

Agnes Pollard had painted faces at the Hollin village fête for thirty summers, working from a stool under the chestnut trees at the edge of the wood with a tin of paints and a jar of water gone grey. This year the vicar's son wanted something larger than a tiger on a cheek. He wanted the man from the posters, green hair and all, painted across the boards of a hay wagon so the children could climb up and look him in the eye.

Keep reading

She worked three days. She mixed a blue she called drowned sky, a green from crushed holly leaves she had no business keeping, and a red that smelled of linseed and something sweeter underneath. The face came slowly. Each time she stepped back across the lane the grin seemed wider than the board, as though the man had been waiting behind the paint for someone to finish him.

On the last night the lamps went out early and the wood began to creak. Agnes stayed late with one brush, touching the smear of red at the corner of the mouth. A boy from the lane came to the wagon with a torch and asked whether the painted man was real. She told him no. Then she looked again and saw that the eyes had changed, rim by rim, to a shade she had never mixed.

The boy laughed, and the laugh went off through the trees. In the morning the wagon was gone from the green, and nobody in Hollin could say who had hitched it or where it went. Agnes kept her tins on the shelf, unopened, and on the inside of her cottage door, where no one came to visit, a single green curl had dried on the wood.