Black and grey dotwork portrait of a woman's face framed by bold black outlines and a solid black band on the upper arm.

Stippled portrait face on an upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A stippled black and grey portrait of a woman's face fills the centre of the design, with her gaze turned towards the viewer and her hair rendered in fine curved lines. Bold black outlines and solid black fields frame the face, creating a split, geometric composition across the upper arm. The shading is built entirely from dots, giving soft tonal gradation in the skin.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are on your knees in the back room of the chandlery when the shutter gives way, its nails coming loose from the damp wood like old teeth. Behind it, where Mr Ferris always said there was only blank wall, a woman looks out at you. Her face is built from thousands of dots, so fine that from a yard away she seems lit from somewhere inside the plaster, and the hair above her ear falls in curved grooves like the lines a tide leaves on sand.

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Nobody in Porthallow will say who painted her. The harbourmaster's widow thinks it was a sailor who came back from the Baltic with a box of pens and no money. The postman swears the shutter went up the year the boat was lost, which makes no sense, since the boat was lost in spring. You photograph her on your phone and send the picture to your sister in Plymouth, who replies with only one line: she's looking at you. You are not sure she is wrong.

The black paint on the shutter is still tacky at its edges, so someone has been covering her again, or has been doing it every few years for a reason nobody wrote down. You scrape a fingernail along the board and find a second layer, then a third, each one a slightly different black, like the ledger of a man who could never quite decide.

By dusk you have cleared the left half of her face. The right half stays under the paint, a black field with one clean edge, and you decide that part is hers to keep. You lock up, leave the shutter propped against the wall, and walk down the quay as the lamps come on, feeling her gaze settle between your shoulder blades the way the harbour settles at slack water.

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