Realism tattoo of a man's face with red, blue and black ink splashes across the forearm, with partial block lettering reading CLUB below the chin.

Realistic portrait of a man's face on forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A photorealistic portrait of a man's face with a intense, direct gaze fills the centre of the design, with dark hair rendered in loose black strokes at the top. Red and blue paint-like splashes and drips surround the face, and a block-lettered word reading CLUB sits beneath the chin. The shading is smooth and detailed on the skin, contrasting with the looser, splattered edges of the surrounding colour.

Realism Forearm Portrait Face Man Splashes Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dot had been pulling pints at the Ashworth Social Club for thirty-one years when the sign man arrived, a lanky fellow with enamel under his nails and two tins rattling in a carrier bag. The board over the door had lost its letters to a winter gale, and the committee had voted four to three to leave it bare. Nobody liked a bare sign. It looked like a place that had given up on being found.

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He worked through the afternoon with the radio off, sketching the capitals in chalk first, then mixing a red and a bruised blue on the lid of an old biscuit tin. Dot watched him through the hatch. He flicked the paint rather than brushing it, quick wrists, and where it hit the wet board it spread into little fists of colour that ran down toward the step. "You'll ruin the lettering," she said. "The lettering's the least of it," he said, and kept flicking.

By six the word was up in block capitals with the drips still wet. The committee came in one at a time to look, and nobody said a thing until Stanley from the darts team read it out loud, slowly, as if testing ice on a pond. Then he laughed, and then they all did, and someone bought the painter a half of bitter he never touched.

When the lights went down Dot found a card tucked under the till. It said only: Come back when it rains sideways. She pinned it above the hatch, where it stayed until the club shut for good. The red and blue ran down the board all winter, and every drop of it looked as if somebody had meant it.