Watercolour-style abstract tattoo of orange, pink and blue splashes with black ink lines, running down a leg from thigh to calf.

Watercolour splash leg tattoo

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo covers a leg from upper thigh to lower calf in loose, abstract splashes that imitate watercolour washes. Orange, pink, red and blue wash areas sit alongside thin black linework and ink drips, with a small starburst-like mark near the top of the thigh. The colour is heavy and saturated, and the composition wraps around the knee and runs diagonally down the limb.

Thigh Calf Watercolour Splatter Abstract Ink drip Brushstroke Starburst

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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 paints had come up on the Tuesday boat, wrapped in oilcloth and smelling of the hold, and Mags Penhallow spent the whole afternoon swearing at the cadmium because it would not sit still on the paper. You have to let it run, she told me, the way the tide runs out past the breakwater, you can't coax it back. I said I had never coaxed the tide in my life and she laughed so hard she had to sit on the step.

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She painted the harbour wall that week, the orange of the lamps bleeding into the pink of the evening, and then the black ink she used for the rigging, flicked off the tip of the brush so the drops landed like gulls' droppings on a clean deck. The old men said it looked like something had been thrown at the sky and had stuck. Mags said that was the idea. She had no patience for drawing a thing exactly. A boat is only a boat, she said, but the light on it is a story you tell in a hurry.

When the storm came in from the west in November, the lamps went out one by one along the quay, and the only colour left was what had soaked into the walls. Mags was up on the ladder with a bucket of blue, doing the last splash on the lighthouse, and she didn't come down when the rain started. We found the brush in the morning, still wet, its bristles bent flat like a bird's foot. The wash on the lighthouse had run all the way to the sea, a long streak of blue into the grey, and I have never once looked at that water without thinking she was still stirring it.