Three views of a forearm tattoo of a pocket watch in black and grey with turquoise accents and loose brushstroke splashes, placed on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch forearm tattoo in three views

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The photograph shows the same forearm from three angles, with a pocket watch as the central subject, drawn with a shaded grey dial and case. Loose black brushstrokes, splatters and fine linework extend around the watch, with turquoise washes behind it that add a second colour. The composition places the watch at the centre of the forearm, with the hand visible at the bottom of each view.

Forearm Pocket watch Clock face Brushstroke Splatter

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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 signal box clock at Hallam Cross had run fast since the spring, and nobody had got round to fixing it, so you carried your father's pocket watch instead. You wound it each night at the kitchen table while your mother dried the cups, the steel case warm from your palm and the dial gone the colour of old pewter under its glass. On the Tuesday the fog came off the moor so thick that the platform lamps looked like smudged thumbprints on a window.

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Mr Pryce, the stationmaster, wanted the eight-fifteen held for the milk tanker that was late from Keighley. You stood in the doorway of the lamp room with the watch open in your hand and listened to the second hand ticking against the quiet. Beyond the cutting the rain came down the hillside in loose black strokes, and the ditch below the embankment swelled like a held breath. You had seen the tanker's lamps through the murk at ten to eight, sliding past the gate at the bottom of Cutler's Lane, so you told him so.

Pryce didn't believe you. He took the watch from your hand, held it up to the lamp, and said that a boy with a dead man's timepiece could not tell him where a lorry was. But the hands said what they said, and the tanker was already across the river, its driver waving at nobody on the far bank. The eight-fifteen left on time, and Pryce kept the watch on the desk afterwards, face up, as if it might still be wrong about something.