Two-panel photo of a Pikachu tattoo on a lower leg: a faint grey outline on the left and a full colour neo-traditional version on the right, with Pikachu painting on an easel.

Pikachu painting on an easel, before and after

Neo-trad · Calf · Mixed · Photo

The left panel shows a small, faded black and grey outline of Pikachu on the lower leg. The right panel shows the same character reworked in bold black outlines and bright yellow, red and green, with Pikachu seated beside an easel, holding a paintbrush next to a paint pot and a green bottle. The shading is soft, and the composition fills the calf with a clear scene.

Neo-trad Calf Pokemon Paintbrush Bottle

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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

Sit down, sit down, the wasps have had the windfalls and we may as well have the shade. You asked about the yellow one who came up the lane in August, the summer the Bramleys dropped early. He had a brush tucked behind one ear and a paint pot knocking against his hip, and he set his easel up under the old pear, where Mrs Ogle used to keep her hens.

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Every morning he drew himself. Just a small creature with two black-tipped ears and a tail like a lightning mark, done in pencil on the canvas. Then he'd sit back and squint at it the way you'd squint at a neighbour who owed you money. The first day it came out grey and timid. The second day he tried red on the cheeks and green for the sky, and the picture looked more like him, which pleased him enormously.

On the last evening of the month a boy from the cider barn wandered up with a dented tin of paint and asked what it was all for. The painter said he was waiting until the picture was finished enough to be sure of it. The boy told him a picture never finishes, it only dries. The painter laughed so hard he knocked over the green bottle, which did not break, and when the church clock struck nine the easel was gone, the hens were back in their coop, and only the paint pot remained beneath the pear, full to the brim.

The boy kept that pot on the windowsill for years. The paint never dried out, and every August, if you go up the lane at dusk, there is a little yellow mark on the bark of that old tree, shaped like a pair of ears.