Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a Yoda-like character with large ears and a wrinkled face, on the upper arm.

Yoda portrait tattoo on upper arm

Dotwork · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a bald, large-eared character with deep wrinkles, a pronounced brow and a wide mouth, shown from the front with the shoulders and neck fading into a dark collar. The design is built from fine stippled dots that create shading across the head, ears and robe, with heavier black areas for the mouth and collar. It is in black and grey only, and the arm fills most of the frame against a plain light skin background with dark fabric at the edges.

Dotwork Upper arm Character Portrait Alien Ear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth,

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The car gave up forty miles past Sallow Wells, so I walked the rest of the Ninety-Nine with a jerrycan and a dead radio. Nobody stops on that road after dusk, which is why the old man in the wooden hut by the cattle grid surprised me by lifting his hand before I'd even reached him. He was small, bald as a boiled egg, with ears out to here, and he sat on an upturned crate as if it were a throne. "Lost, you are not," he said. "Thirsty, you are."

He gave me water from a clay pot and a seat on a tyre. He did not ask my name. He asked what I had in the boot, and when I told him nothing but the spare and a box of Dad's old tools, he nodded slowly and said the tools were the heavier load. I laughed, and he did not. Then he talked until the small hours about how fear is a road with no end unless you turn off it. I thought he was mad until the sun came up over the flats and I saw the wrecks lined along the ditch, each with a dead engine and a man asleep behind the wheel.

Next morning he filled my jerrycan with something that smelled of salt and rain and pointed at my car. It started first time. I did not pay him, and I am not sure I could have. The cattle grid is still in my mirror as I write this from the motel at Carrow, and I keep thinking about the last thing he said, that the road was never the problem, only the stopping.

Love, Dee