Colourful watercolour-style abstract tattoo across the inner forearm, with pink, purple, blue, green and red washes and dark ink splatters.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour-style abstract tattoo on forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo covers the forearm with loose, abstract washes of pink, purple, blue, green and red, with a dark navy burst of splatter near the centre. Soft edges and bleeding colour give a painted, wet-paper look, with a few crisp red and blue lines running horizontally through the design. The colour washes fill most of the visible skin, and the design wraps around the arm beyond the frame.

Forearm Abstract Paint splatter Brush stroke Watercolour wash Splashes

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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 copper at Greave's dye house split in the frost on a Tuesday, and by morning the river below the weir had turned the colour of a jay's wing. Nobody in Kellbeck had seen water do that before. Mrs Ivy Tolland came down with her shawl pinned to her chin and stood on the footbridge counting the boys who ran along the bank dipping their hands in and holding them up like they'd been given medals.

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Her husband Frank had worked those vats for thirty-one years and would say nothing about it except that the red had gone in first, a week before, from the madder tub. The two had met in the middle of the current like people who had been told not to. Where they touched, the water went purple, then a bruise green, then cleared again in long ribbons the children called the ladders. By noon a stripe of pink ran right through the valley, and the sheep in Hob's top field would not drink.

Ivy went home and took down the good tablecloth, the one with the cornflowers that had never once been near the river. She soaked it in the blue with a bar of carbolic and a wooden spoon, then pegged it on the line behind the chapel where the whole street could see. By dusk it had gone the colour of weather coming over the tops, dark at the hem and pale where the rope held it.

Frank came up the lane with his sleeves still wet to the elbow and stood looking at the cloth for a long time. 'Well,' he said, 'that's the first thing this town has ever made that nobody had to pay for.' Ivy didn't answer. Down past the bridge the Carrow kept on running pink towards the sea, and the cloth kept on moving on the line, slow and wet and holding on to its colours.