Fine line black outline of a pineapple on the inner forearm near the wrist, beside a black leather strap watch.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pineapple tattoo on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small outline of a pineapple sits on the inner forearm, drawn in thin black linework with simple hatched lines for the leaves and body. The ink is solid black with no shading or colour. The wrist is shown against a dark blue fabric printed with large white pineapple leaves, and a black leather strap with a silver buckle sits just above the tattoo.

Fine line Forearm Pineapple Fruit Leaves Outline

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 crate came ashore on the ebb, three days after the Calliope went onto the Mewstone, and I was the only man on the rock who had ever seen a pineapple. Mr Pascoe from the customs house would have the rest sold by Michaelmas to a grocer in Penzance who would stack them in his window like a crown. I told him I would take one for the log.

Keep reading

I kept it on the sill of the lamp room, where the sun came round at six. Its crown was a fistful of stiff green blades that rattled whenever the wind got under the gallery. Each evening I sat with my pencil and tried to draw it in the log book, between the barometer readings and the entries for oil and wicks, because the skin of it repeated in diamonds like the panes of the lantern, and I wanted the pattern right before it spoiled.

It spoiled on the eleventh day. Dolly, my wife, who had never been further than the quay at Newlyn, cut it open on the kitchen table and wept, not from the smell but because she said it looked like a hull turned upside down. I thought she was mad. Then I saw the golden rings laid in a spiral, and I understood what the sailors had been carrying all that way.

The next morning I drew it again in ink, outline only, and hatched the leaves the way the swell hatches under the cliffs. I sent the page to Mr Pascoe with a note saying the fruit was gone but the shape would keep. He framed it, I hear, above the till. Every night since I climb the stair and check the wick, and the beam goes out over the water while the little drawing stays behind on the sill in my head, black and exact.