Black fine line tattoo of a leafy branch with small dotted berries on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Leafy branch with berries on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A slender branch with several outlined leaves and small clusters of dotted berries runs diagonally up the forearm. The leaves are drawn with thin black outlines and vein details, with some hatched shading, while the stem and berries use fine dots and lines. The design is rendered only in black ink against pale skin and a plain light grey wall.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Branch Leaves Berry Stem Plant

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 cloakroom at the Palais on Carver Street smelled of wet wool and Brylcreem, and on Thursdays it smelled of rowan too. Walter came in at half eight with a single branch wrapped in newspaper, the leaves already curling at the edges, and asked if I'd mind holding it while he went to find his wife. I said I wouldn't mind. I didn't ask why a man would carry a tree to a dance.

Keep reading

He didn't come back for it. The band played through the waltzes and the quicksteps, and I stood behind the hatch with my pencil and a stack of unused tickets, drawing it because nobody else had asked me to do anything. The leaves I outlined twice, once for the shape and once for the veins that ran out from the midrib like cracks in pavement. The berries I made with dots, because a berry is only a small dark thing that wants to be counted.

By the last waltz the branch had dropped two berries onto the counter and I'd filled the backs of seven tickets. At eleven the caretaker came round with the mop and told me to clear the rubbish. I put the branch in my coat instead, under the lost property tags, and walked it home along the canal.

Walter came to collect it the following Thursday, sheepish, his wife on his arm. He looked at my drawings, then at the sprig, then at the two berries I'd kept in an envelope. 'Keep the picture,' he said. 'The tree's done its job.' I still have the tickets. The berries have gone to dust, but the ink holds, and the leaves still look as if they're turning toward the light.