Black and white photo of a person in a leather harness showing a rose tattoo and an ornate framed cameo on the thigh, with a snake and star sleeve on the upper arm and forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rose and ornate cameo tattoos on thigh and arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph is cropped from the neck down and shows a person wearing a black bra, black briefs and a leather harness. On the left thigh is a shaded black and grey rose beside a larger ornate oval frame containing a figure, with fine linework and soft shading. The left arm carries a sleeve of snakes, stars and foliage in grey tones, and the high-contrast monochrome composition centres on the torso and legs.

Upper arm Forearm Thigh Rose Cameo Ornate frame Figure Snake Star Floral Sleeve

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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 last tent still smelled of sawdust and rain when you found the cameo in the wardrobe trunk, wedged under spangled leotards nobody had worn since the autumn the Corvinos sold the elephants. Its oval frame had gone green at the hinges. Behind the glass, a woman in a feathered headdress hung from a painted crescent moon, her hair falling loose like a rope someone had forgotten to tie off.

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Mrs Abernathy, who had kept the ledgers for thirty years in pencil, said the portrait was Marguerite Vane, who had flown without a net at Blackpool in 1931 and never flown again. The rose stamped on the lid beside it had come from an old fair poster, pressed there by a thumb that had long since stopped coming to the ground. You asked whether the family had kept her picture for luck. She said luck was the first thing they had sold.

Three weekends later the council man arrived with his clipboard and the Dorchester field turned to mud under the lorries. You packed the trunk at dusk and lifted out the cameo last. On the card backing, in ink gone brown, someone had written a date, the night of Marguerite's final flight, and beneath it a shakier line: Catch me if you can.

You hung the frame from the van's rear-view mirror. On the A35 the wind through the open window turned her slowly until she faced you, and you kept your eyes on the road ahead.