Fine line white ink script monogram tattoo on the inside of a wrist, shown against a pale cream background.

White ink script monogram on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a looping, cursive monogram of two letters, drawn in thin white ink on the inside of a wrist. The lines have a flowing, calligraphic quality with a large swash and curled terminals, and the ink reads as lighter than the surrounding skin. The soft, pale fabric behind the wrist keeps the composition simple and places the small design at the centre of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Other Monogram Script Initial Flourish Swirl

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

Every August the Tallow orchard dropped its windfalls into the long grass, and every August old Hanne Perrin walked the rows with a basket on her arm and a pot of lime wash on a string. She marked the trees that had given fruit worth keeping. On the north wall, where the sun left early, she painted two letters for the tree she meant to graft from next spring, a looping pair with a tail that ran off the bark like a bramble.

Keep reading

The letters belonged to her husband, Edwin Vane, who had planted the first row the year they married and had never once in forty years come home for supper on time. He had gone to the cider presses at Hallow Cross, then to the sea, then nowhere at all. What he left was the orchard, a rule that no tree was cut without a mark, and a habit of signing his name in the dust of the windowsill with one long curl.

The village said the marks were a way of keeping him. Hanne said they were a way of keeping track. Each spring she cut scions from the marked trees and bound them onto young stock, and each winter the new trees bore fruit that tasted faintly of smoke and rain, which she took to mean they were his after all.

In her last year she asked her grandson to paint the letters again when the lime had flaked. He did it with a fine brush, slow, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, and when he finished the curl ran off the edge of the bark onto her own clean sheet. She looked at it a long time, then told him to leave the tail where it was. The tree grew round it, and the fruit that autumn was the sweetest the Vanes had ever picked.