Abstract tattoo of black, red, green and blue shapes, circles and fine lines covering a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Abstract colour shapes on a forearm

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo covers the forearm with abstract forms, including outlined and solid shapes, concentric circles, dots and thin curved lines. Black linework and black fills sit alongside red, green, blue and yellow shapes, arranged loosely across the arm. The photograph is taken straight on, with the design filling most of the frame against a dark background.

Forearm Abstract shape Circle Dot Line Arc

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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 rye had gone flat again by four, so I stopped fighting it and pressed the dough out with the heel of my hand until it looked like something a painter might leave on a windowsill to dry. Dad always said the oven wanted listening to, not shouting at. So I listened. Beyond the glass the milk float rattled over the setts of Tanner Street, and I counted the gaps between its wheels the way he used to count rising times.

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Above the proving cabinet hung Mum's drawings, a row of dinner-plate circles inked in red and green, each one a little off true. She copied them from a gallery postcard she never had framed. A loaf is only a circle that decided to rise, she used to say, and I thought it was one of her jokes until the morning I found her tracing a currant bun with the point of a compass, drawing rings inside rings, then sprinkling poppy seed into the gaps like punctuation.

By five the sky over the bins had gone the colour of weak tea. I took the black tray down from the top shelf, the one with the burnt edge nobody would throw away, and laid out the morning's rolls in a loose scatter: a green-glazed one, a red one, a few sesame flecked like stars. Mrs Okafor came in at quarter past for her Sunday order and stood a long time looking at the arrangement before she said it looked like a map of somewhere she'd been meaning to visit.

I didn't tell her I had arranged them to match Mum's postcard. I bagged her rolls, took her coins, and watched her go out under the shop bell, one hand already dipping into the paper. When the shutters rolled up the street was pink, and I lifted the last dark dot of seed from the board on a wet fingertip and pressed it onto the glass for luck.