Black and grey fine line tattoo of a torso in a square frame, with a hand on the hip and black underwear, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Line drawing of a torso in a square frame on a thigh

Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A single square outline frames a simple line drawing of a torso, showing a navel, a hand resting on the hip and black underwear bottoms. The linework is thin and uniform, with the black underwear left as solid fill. The tattoo sits on the outer thigh against pale skin, with dark denim shorts visible above it.

Fine line Thigh Torso Hand Line drawing

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

Dad built the frame from ash the winter before he went, and he cut the corners so true you could sight down them like a rifle. I carried it on the back of the lorry from Hull to Skegness, wrapped in a tarpaulin that smelt of diesel and fairground sugar, and each night I unwrapped it to check the joints had not shifted.

Keep reading

At the Michaelmas fair on the Lincoln road I set up beside the Waltzer with a folding stool and a bottle of Indian ink. Nobody wanted oil paintings by then. They wanted a quick line drawing to post home, something to show a sweetheart or a mother. I drew whatever came in front of me, always inside the same square, and I never lifted the nib until the thing was finished. Mr Abernethy from the coconut shy asked once why I bothered with the box at all. I told him a line is only a line until something stops it.

The woman who came on the Sunday asked for a sketch of a single ring on a windowsill, a tin cup beside it, and a pair of gloves folded like a letter. She didn't say why. I kept my eyes on the paper and worked slowly, the rim of the cup, the thread of light through the glass, the little crease where the gloves met. When I handed it over she held it at arm's length and laughed, not unkindly, and said her husband would never believe she had sat still long enough for a portrait.

I packed up at dusk and found the frame empty of everything but its own square, the paper inside still white. Dad always said a border is a promise to keep something in. I hung it over my bunk in the lorry and left the middle blank for the next town.