Small black silhouette tattoo of an electric guitar on the inner forearm of a hand gripping a guitar neck, in a black and grey style.

Small guitar tattoo on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black silhouette of an electric guitar sits on the forearm of an arm that grips the neck of a guitar. The tattoo is a filled shape with no visible linework or shading, and the ink is clean and dark against the skin. The muted, warm-toned background and soft focus on the guitar body give the photo a vintage feel.

Fine line Forearm Guitar Music Silhouette

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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 train to Hereford had gone when I found the guitar case behind the counter at left luggage, wedged between a pram and a crate of unclaimed umbrellas. Mrs Oyelaran, who ran the kiosk with a radio tuned to the cricket, said it had been there since April. The man who left it had paid three months in advance and never come back for the receipt. She wanted it gone by Friday, so I said I would see what it needed.

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Inside was a hollow-body electric, cherry lacquer worn to pale wood at the lower bout, strings gone green at the wraps. A luggage tag was tucked under the scratchplate with a platform number and the word Sunday in pencil. I took it to the railway arches where I mend instruments under one bulb, between the milk depot and a tyre fitter, and spent two evenings with lemon oil and fine wire wool, hunting the buzz that lived in the pickups.

On Saturday the buzz was gone and the man still hadn't come. I carried the case back to platform four at dusk, just as the last southbound pulled out, and set it down on the empty concourse, where a cleaner was pushing a grey mop under the clock. I opened the lid and played one open chord, low and bright. The note travelled the length of the platform and came back off the glass roof a half-second late, like someone calling my name from the next county.

A figure in a rain jacket stopped at the barrier. He didn't speak. He looked at the guitar, then at my hands on the neck, then he nodded and walked out towards the taxi rank as if that chord was the only ticket he had been waiting for. I shut the lid and left the tag where it was, in case he came back for the receipt.