Black and white photo of a small solid black airplane tattoo on a forearm, with a knitted sleeve and an aeroplane window behind it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small airplane tattoo on a forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a forearm resting near an aeroplane window, with a knitted sleeve at the lower left and a wristwatch visible. A small, solid black airplane silhouette sits on the inner forearm, shown in flat black ink with clean edges. The composition is cropped close to the arm, with the cabin window and seat-back screen softly blurred in the background.

Forearm Airplane Aeroplane Watch Window Travel

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

Dora Bell kept the coal dust out of her mother's kitchen by hanging a wet towel under the back door, and every evening at a quarter past six she stopped scrubbing to watch the sky above the spoil heap. The planes out of Newcastle came over the village low and slow, their bellies lit orange by the fires at the colliery, and she could tell them apart by sound before she ever saw them.

Keep reading

Her brother Tommy had gone on one of them in March, to a job on the rigs somewhere with a name she couldn't pronounce. He sent a postcard of a white beach that made the kitchen look like a cellar. Her father read it at the table twice, then propped it behind the clock with the other letters. Nobody said the word strike anymore, not since the new shifts, but the quiet in the house had the same shape.

On Saturday Dora took the bus into the city with her pocket money and bought a biro and a sheet of carbon paper from a stationer near the bus station. At home she traced a small aeroplane from a library book about the Wright brothers, pressing so hard the nib tore the paper, and then she went over the outline again until the shape was solid black. She drew it on the back of her father's wages envelope and left it face down by his tea.

That evening the plane came in low, and her father lifted his eyes from the paper. "That'll be Tommy's," he said, which it wasn't, and she didn't correct him. He turned the envelope over, looked at the little dark shape with its wings out, and nodded as if it had come in the post. Above the spoil heap the plane kept going, a small mark crossing the lit pit wheel, and for once nobody in the kitchen got up to close the window.