Colour tattoo of a sunset landscape with a tree and birds inside a scalloped heart outline, on the upper arm.

Sunset landscape in a heart on an upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A heart-shaped tattoo framed by a dotted scalloped outline shows a sunset over a green field, with a silhouetted tree on the left and two birds in the sky. The sky shifts from orange near the sun to blue at the top, with soft blended shading. The bold black outline and saturated colours sit on the upper arm against a plain pale background.

Neo-trad Upper arm Heart Landscape Sunset Sun Tree Bird Sky

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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

Mind the third step, it's loose, same as my knees. You want the tale of the biscuit tin lid, and I'll tell it only the once, so pay attention to the bit with the birds.

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Ruth Penhale lived above the chandler's on Gull Stair, and her brother Owen fished out of Porthally on the Sarah Jane. One March he didn't come in for two nights. The fog sat on the harbour thick as wet wool, and the foghorn on the breakwater groaned at nothing. Ruth had an empty toffee tin and a pot of boat paint her uncle had left behind. So she painted the field behind their father's farm up the hill: the big hawthorn leaning left, the sun sitting low on the hedge, the sky going orange at the bottom and blue at the top because she ran out of orange. Two rooks, because two rooks always sat on the far gatepost at dusk. She cut the lid into a heart with the snips and pricked a dotted scallop round the edge with a hammer and a nail.

She hung it in the back window, facing the harbour mouth, and didn't sleep. Near dawn the fog thinned just enough, and there was a light coming in low over the water that wasn't the lighthouse. Owen told me later he'd picked out that hawthorn against the grey like a man reading his own name. He steered by it, nose on the swell, and the Sarah Jane came round the breakwater on the morning tide with her hold empty and her engine coughing.

He kept the lid in his wheelhouse until the paint flaked off and the tin rusted at the corners. Ruth always said she'd only painted what was there. Owen always said that was the trouble with it, because nobody else in Porthally had ever bothered to look that hard. That's the whole of it. Now pour the tea before it stews.