Watercolour-style tattoo of a row of rainbow pine trees in red, pink, orange, green and blue across the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rainbow watercolour pine trees on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a row of pine trees of varying heights, rendered with soft, feathered edges that resemble watercolour washes rather than solid linework. Colours move from orange and red on the left through pink, green and blue to purple on the right, with the tones blending into one another. The trees form a horizontal band across the forearm, set against a blurred, plain background.

Botanical Forearm Pine tree Tree Forest Conifer

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 colourman's cart came up the glen road the week the larches turned, and Ada Pryce met it at the bridge with a bucket of rainwater and a question she had been saving since spring. Hal Brannock let the mule stop without being asked. He unrolled a cloth on the tailboard and showed her his pans of pigment, vermilion and madder, gamboge the colour of butter, a blue so dark it looked wet even when dry. She asked how to paint the pines on the far hill so they would stop looking like black pegs stuck in the heather.

Keep reading

"Don't finish the edges," he said. "Load the brush, lay the colour down, and let the next tree bleed into it before the first has a chance to dry. A pine is only a suggestion of a shape. The mist does the rest."

She worked at the kitchen table all afternoon with the window open. The red she laid first ran down the paper towards the greens, and the greens crept into the blues, and when the rain came in off the loch she did not close the window. The washes softened and drifted and joined, until the trees on her page had the same frayed outline as the trees on the hill, and she could no longer say where one colour stopped.

Hal was gone by dusk, but he had left the gamboge in a tin on the step with a note in pencil: keep the yellow for the ones that catch the sun. The next morning Ada pinned the painting to the byre door. The red had bled into the green overnight, and from the lane the row of trees looked as though someone had breathed on the hill and the colour had come up through the glass.