Black and white photo of two people seen from behind, one with a black anchor tattoo on the upper back and the other with a small black anchor on the upper arm, in front of a wall of traditional

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching anchor tattoos in a studio

Traditional · Back · Black and grey · Photo

Two people are photographed from behind, with their backs to the camera, in front of a wall covered with framed traditional flash sheets. A bold black anchor sits on the man's upper back, and a smaller anchor is inked on the upper arm of the person whose arm rests across his shoulder. The image is black and white, with solid black linework and a shallow depth of field that keeps the wall of designs softly blurred behind them.

Traditional Back Upper arm Anchor Flash sheet Couple

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 rain came off the fish market roof in ropes that morning, and Sid had his flash sheets pegged to the back of the stall anyway, because a man who sells ink in Grimsby learns to sell it wet. I ran the tea urn beside him. Nobody came for tea in that weather, but they came for the sheets: swallows, compasses, roses gone soft at the edges, and the anchor, which sold more than anything, because every second man on the quay had a dead uncle who would have wanted one.

Keep reading

Ray Corran came in off the trawler Marigold just after eleven, water running from his sleeves onto the lino. He had a girl with him called Bea, who stood half a step behind him with her hands in her coat pockets, watching the rain like it owed her money. Ray pointed at the wall. Sid didn't look up from the paper he was smoothing. "Anchor's for holding fast, son, not for setting out," he said. "Which do you want?" Ray said he wanted something that would still be there when the boat wasn't. Bea laughed at that, the first time all morning, and Sid took it as a yes.

He drew the big one freehand on tracing paper, a stem as thick as my thumb, flukes curled like a pair of cupped hands. Ray took the bigger design across his back, and Bea a little one for her upper arm, the stock small enough to sit under a sleeve. It took most of an hour. Sid told them the sea didn't care what you carried, only that you kept hold of the thing. When they left, the rain had eased to a drizzle, and Ray put his arm across Bea's shoulders as they went out under the arches. Down at the quay the Marigold's bell rang once, and I thought about the two small anchors, each no bigger than a ferry ticket, holding on to the same ground.