Forearm and upper arm covered in a black and grey ornamental sleeve tattoo with scrollwork and leaf-like motifs, worn beside a digital watch.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ornamental black and grey sleeve on forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A forearm and part of the upper arm carry a large sleeve of ornate scrollwork, filigree and leaf-like floral motifs. The linework and soft grey shading give the pattern depth and a carved, engraved look. The arm is shown against a light patterned shirt, with a digital wristwatch on the wrist.

Forearm Upper arm Ornament Scrollwork Filigree Leaves Flower Sleeve

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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

Dear Tom, I didn't go to the reunion on Saturday, though I sat in the car outside the Swan for twenty minutes with the engine ticking and watched the windows of the function room go gold one by one. Somebody was singing badly through the glass. I think it was Gavin Price, who once set fire to a dictionary in double Latin.

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I've been at Grandad's bench instead. You'll remember the shop above the pawnbroker's on Fargate, the smell of hot brass and pickling sherry. Since the funeral I've been clearing the drawers, and under a pile of pattern books I found a copper plate he'd been working on for years, a border of acanthus leaves that curl back on themselves as if they're trying to get out of the metal. He used to say a scroll has to look as though it grew, not as though somebody drew it. Every cut is a decision, and the decisions have to agree with each other.

So that's how I've been spending my evenings, cutting one leaf at a time with a burin I'm still holding wrong. Last night I got the first clean flourish, a little spiral like a fiddlehead, and I sat back and laughed out loud in the empty shop, because it was exactly the sort of thing he'd have grunted at before pinching off a sliver to make it better.

If you're ever passing, come in by the side door, the one that sticks. Push it with your hip. I'll put the kettle on and show you where he kept the good oil, and you can tell me who got fat and who got divorced, and I'll pretend I don't want to know. Love, Jo.