Watercolour style semicolon tattoo on the inner wrist, with red, orange, green and blue splashes and small drips.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour semicolon on a wrist

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A semicolon sits on the inner wrist with soft, blended washes of red, orange, green and blue around it. Small splashes and dots spread above and to the side, with a few thin drips running down from the ink. The colour fades at the edges, giving a loose, painted look against the plain skin.

Forearm Semicolon Watercolour splash Dot Drip

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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 vermilion had thickened in the cold, so Mabel Dunn thinned it with a little water from the jar on the step and held the brush up to the light. Teodor stood below the wagon with his hands in his coat pockets, watching her the way he watched the weather. He wanted a full stop painted beneath the name board, a plain black dot to close the Hollis and Crane Travelling Circus once and for all. The last field was already half sold to a developer in Stroud.

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She didn't climb down. She began with red, a wash the width of a thumb, letting it bleed into the damp wood until it looked like the lion's mane that had gone to a zoo in March. Then orange for the old tent canvas, green for the grass they'd never see again, blue for the night sky above the ring. Splashes flicked off the bristles and freckled the wheel spokes. When she finally laid the stroke, a curved tail under a round blot of colour, the paint ran down in thin drips and pooled at the bottom of the plank.

"That's not a stop," Teodor said.

"No. A stop says the sentence is finished. This says there's another clause coming, and we're just waiting on it."

He squinted up at her, then at the wet, bright mark, and didn't argue. Behind him the lorries were already grinding into gear for the last run south. Mabel capped the pot, wiped her fingers on her apron and left the drips to run, wet and unfinished, the way a sentence is left when someone has been called away from the table.