Fine line black tattoo of a curling wave with a script word beside it, on the outer side of a bare foot near the ankle, in black and white.

Wave and script tattoo on a foot

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a bare foot resting on a wooden floor, with a woven friendship-style bracelet on the ankle. A thin black fine line tattoo of a curling wave runs into a cursive script word on the outer side of the foot. The shallow focus and low camera angle keep the tattoo sharp while the background stays soft and dark.

Fine line Lettering Ankle Wave Script Foot Bracelet

Find an artist for this

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

Nell had the bus timetable folded into her apron pocket, the coast run crossed out in her father's hand. Every Sunday the pit whistle went quiet at noon and the whole row of terraces seemed to breathe out at once. She walked the long lane down to the cliffs with her brother's dog trotting ahead, and the wind off the North Sea smelled of salt and coal smoke at once.

Keep reading

Her brother Tom had gone to Australia in the spring on money saved from three years underground. He wrote from a place with a name nobody in the Co-op could pronounce, and on the back of the last letter he had drawn a wave, one long curl that ended in a loop like a rope. Underneath he had written only: ohana. Nell asked the schoolmaster what it meant. He said it was a word the islanders used for family, and that nobody ever left it behind, even when they went far.

So she sat on the cliff edge where the grass gave way to shale and took out her pencil. She copied the wave onto the back of the rent book, then the word, slowly, the way you would write a name on a plate. Below the headland the old winding wheel was rusting into the sand. She thought about the men who had come home black to the elbows and the men who had not come home at all.

When the tide turned she posted the page to the far side of the world with a stamp that cost more than her week's bread. Inside she wrote only that the sea was still there, and the village, and that she had put a little of the water in a jar on the windowsill for him. Six months later a parcel came back with a wave drawn across the brown paper in fresh ink, and beneath it, in Tom's careful capitals, the one word he had decided to keep.