Small black treble clef tattoo in a simple outline style on the wrist of a hand resting on a dark background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Treble clef tattoo on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black treble clef sits on the inner wrist, just above the hand, with a ring visible on one finger. The linework is smooth and bold, filled in solid black with no shading, and the clef stands out clearly against the pale skin. The plain dark background keeps the focus on the tattoo and the hand, which is shown from the back.

Forearm Treble clef Music

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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

Nine floors up, the lift at Hollins House had stopped again, so Maureen Okafor climbed the concrete stairs with her tuning fork in her coat pocket, counting landings the way she counted bars. The piano in flat 14B belonged to a widower called Dennis Pryce, who had not lifted the lid since his wife died. He wanted it tuned before the removal men came on Thursday, and he wanted it done quietly, as if the instrument might object.

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The keys had yellowed like old teeth. When she lifted the lid to check the hammers, she found a pencil drawing on the underside of the wood: a treble clef, badly made, its curl pulled too tight and its tail trailing off the edge of nothing. Dennis leaned in the doorway and said his daughter Lorraine had drawn it at seven, copying from the hymn book at St Aidan's, and had been furious when the teacher said it looked like a question mark that had been sat on.

Maureen worked through the afternoon. Each A rang true against the fork, and each true note made the flat feel a little less like a room where somebody had stopped. Dennis hummed along, always a semitone adrift, and when she stopped to wind a pin he asked her to play something, anything, so he could hear the thing properly. She played the hymn. Halfway through he began to sing the wrong words, then the right ones, and his voice cracked on the line about the morning.

On the stairs going down, she struck the fork on the banister and held the stem to her ear. The whole stairwell hummed back at her, perfectly in tune, and somewhere below a door opened and a child started practising scales.