Black and grey tattoo on an upper arm showing a winged cherub above a banner, with clouds, a cross, praying hands and a rosary below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cherub banner and praying hands on upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A winged cherub sits above a scroll banner containing lettering, with soft grey clouds behind. Below, a pair of praying hands holds a rosary and rests against a cross, with a sprig of leaves at the left. The shading is soft and grey-washed with fine outlines, and the composition stacks the two motifs vertically along the upper arm.

Traditional Upper arm Cherub Angel wing Banner Cloud Praying hands Rosary Cross Leaves

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

Dear Tom,

Keep reading

The roof of the chapel came down in the February gale, so Mother Agnes has moved the offices into the old gatehouse, where the wind comes through the arrow slits and makes the candles lie flat. I am writing this by one of them, with my rosary wound twice round my wrist to keep my fingers warm. The sisters tease me that I pray with my hands more than my knees now.

Tell Father Hollis I did not forget the mason's boy. He came up the hill on Tuesday with a slate from the quarry, and he had carved a cherub on the underside of it, the sort that sits on the tomb by the south wall, with his cheeks puffed out like a bellows. Mother Agnes said it was vanity to waste a Sunday on a stone face nobody would see. I told her the cherub is only looking up, and somebody ought to.

The rest of the week has been clouds and cold. The damp has crept over the grey walls and the lichen has gone the colour of old pewter. Every morning I climb the stair to the broken tower and count the ravens that come down out of the mist, and every morning there are fewer of them.

Come home by Michaelmas if the ship allows it. I have kept the cross on the windowsill where the light falls on it at dusk, and there is a sprig of bay in the water jug. Write to me when you reach Leith. I will be the one at the gate with my hands folded, not praying for the weather, only waiting.