Three views of a realism forearm tattoo showing dark pine silhouettes, a pink-brown mountain peak and a single yellow autumn tree on the inner forearm.

Pine forest and mountain on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a forest of dark pine silhouettes in front of a pale pink and brown mountain peak, with the lower forearm filled in solid black. A single yellow autumn tree with green highlights stands in the centre of the middle view. Soft shading on the mountain and fine detail in the foliage give the piece a painterly, photographic finish, shown from three angles.

Realism Forearm Pine tree Forest Mountain Landscape Silhouette

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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

The onions had gone soft in the pan and I was still scraping the bottom of the stockpot when Tomas came down the ladder with the post sack under one arm. He didn't say anything. He just held up a folded square of paper the colour of weak tea and tapped it twice against the rail.

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It was from my brother Ansel in Hallstead, a logging town up the valley I had not seen in eleven years. He wrote the way he always had, in capitals, as if the ink cost him money. The crews had cut the high slope above the lake down to stumps, and the fire that followed had blacked whatever they missed. Only one stand was left standing, a young aspen by the old chimney, and it had turned gold a fortnight early. He wanted me to know. He said the rest of the hill looked like a burnt wick, but that tree didn't seem to care.

I read it twice over the stove, then tucked it into my apron and went back to the pot, because twenty-six men do not eat on sentiment and the bread would not bake itself. By the third bell the galley smelled of thyme and I had decided I would write back. I would tell Ansel that the one tree on that slope worth looking at was the one nobody had thought to cut, and that a man who had felled half a mountain ought to be the one to leave the rest alone.

Two months later we raised the Horn in sleet that peeled the paint off the rail, and the first thing I did when the anchor dropped was pin Ansel's letter to the galley wall, above the spice rack, where the steam could not reach it. Its corners curled. I left it there anyway.