A raised fist shows a realistic red-toned portrait tattoo of a standing man on the inner forearm, against a plain white background.

Red portrait tattoo on a raised forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A forearm is raised with the fist clenched at the top of the frame, set against a plain white background. On the lower forearm, a photographic portrait of a standing man in a jacket is tattooed in red and orange tones, with soft shading and smooth gradients. The colour is confined to a single warm red tint, and the image has a bright, even light with a hard shadow falling on the left.

Realism Forearm Portrait Man Fist

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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 safelight in the back room at Halden Street was the only red thing Ada trusted. Under it, paper went from white to ghost, and faces rose slowly, as if someone were lifting them out of a bath. Tomas had brought in the negative on Thursday, folded once inside a brown envelope, and asked for a print big enough to stand on a shop counter. He would not say who the man was. He only said the coat was the important part.

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She printed it four times before she was satisfied with the shadow. The light had come from the left, hard and white, the way it does at a loading bay at six in the morning, and it had cut the man's jaw into a blade. She dodged the sleeve by hand, waving her palm over the enlarger and counting under her breath. Tomas sat on the stool with his back to the sink and watched the water run in the tray. Each time she lifted a sheet out with the tongs, he shook his head and said, not yet, not like that.

On the fifth print the man looked past the edge of the frame, as though someone had called his name from the far end of the street. Ada held it up under the red bulb and Tomas went very still. He asked for a second copy, smaller, and paid from a tobacco tin, counting the coins onto the bench one at a time. He folded the first print in half, then in half again, and buttoned it into his breast pocket.

At the door he stopped, as if he had forgotten something. Then he nodded at the sink and said, leave the tap on, it helps the fixer. When the bell rang behind him, Ada switched on the white light, and the room became only a room, the tray still rocking gently with nothing in it.