Colour realism tattoo of a brown bear's face with amber eyes and a black nose, placed on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic bear face on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large, detailed portrait of a brown bear's face fills the frame, with dark fur strands on the brow and cheeks. The shading is soft and layered, moving from deep browns to golden highlights around the eyes, which are rendered with a sharp catchlight. Colour is used throughout, and the composition is tightly cropped on the head against a dark background.

Realism Upper arm Bear Animal Portrait Fur Eye

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

Sit closer, the lot of you, because the fire's low and I'm not shouting over the wasps. You want the bear that came down to Pell's orchard the year the Bramley crop failed? Then listen. Old Mother Ashdown had the upper orchard above the brook, forty trees of russets and greengages, and she'd lost her husband to the wet winter, so she was left with the wall, the wind and the one dog that wouldn't leave her alone.

Keep reading

The bear came in the last week of August, when the windfalls lay thick in the long grass and the air smelt of cider already, sour and sweet. Nobody saw him come. Ashdown's dog found him first, at dusk, sitting back on his haunches under the russet tree like a parson waiting for his tea. The dog ran home with its tail between its legs. Ashdown took the lantern out, and she didn't run, and she didn't scream. She stood at the gate and looked at him, and he looked back, and his eyes caught the lamp and gave it back gold, like two coins at the bottom of a well.

She said, 'Those are mine, you know. Every one of them.' The bear, who had eaten a dozen apples and was in no hurry at all, put his great brown head on one side and seemed to consider the matter.

Then she did a thing my grandmother never forgave her for. She sat down on the wall, split an apple with her thumbs, ate half and offered him the other. He came over slow, the way a sum comes out, and took it from her palm as gently as a child takes a sweet. Frost came early that year, and the bear went up the hill before the leaves turned, and the orchard was never robbed again. Some say she gave him the whole crop each autumn. Others say only the bruised ones. I've always thought she kept the best for herself and let him have the rest, which is more or less how a fair bargain works, if you're asking me.