Colour neo-traditional tattoo on an upper arm showing an armoured woman with a halo, surrounded by flames, above a red banner reading Bigmouth Strikes Again.

Armoured saint in flames with banner on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A female saint in silver armour and a chain necklace is shown with a pale halo behind her head, holding a red object against a background of orange and yellow flames. A red banner across the lower part of the design reads BIGMOUTH STRIKES AGAIN in white lettering with dark outlines. The bold black outlines, saturated colour and flat shading give the piece a classic bold style, and the design fills the upper arm with the figure centred.

Neo-trad Traditional Upper arm Woman Halo Armour Flame Banner Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The night the sign-painters walked out, a woman came to my booth at Pell Bridge carrying a board wrapped in brown paper. She didn't wait to be asked. She unrolled it across the counter and there was a saint in silver mail, a pale ring of light behind her head, something red held close to her chest, and flames climbing the edges as if they wanted in. Along the bottom, in letters someone had clearly enjoyed making, a ribbon read BIGMOUTH STRIKES AGAIN.

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"Declare it," I said, because the form asks.

"It's a painting."

"Then declare it as a painting."

Her name was Odile Harrow. She had signwritten shopfronts in Gateshead for twenty-two years until the firm sold its paint shop to a outfit that printed everything on vinyl. The board was her last job for the chapel on Mill Lane, which had ordered a saint for the porch and then stopped answering the phone. So she had painted the saint anyway, and given her the ribbon, and carried her across the river to see who would argue.

I asked the saint's name. Odile said Joan, same as every other woman who wouldn't sit down when told. I wrote Painting, one board, no commercial value, and stamped it twice because my hand wanted something to do. She thanked me and walked out into the grey morning with the flames held to her chest, and I watched the saint look straight past the barrier, past the lorries, as if the car park were a field she had already decided to set alight.