Fine black line tattoo of a ringed circle flanked by graduated dots and circles running diagonally along a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Circles and ringed planet on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo runs diagonally along the inside of the forearm. It shows a sequence of open circles and dots that decrease in size, with a larger ringed circle at the centre. The linework is thin and even, in solid black ink with no shading. The wearer's hand rests against their chin at the top of the frame, and a printed graphic t-shirt with a grey and blue background is visible at the right.

Fine line Forearm Circle Dot Ring Planet Line

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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 big top at Harrowgate has three rings left and one working lamp, and you are the only one who still climbs the rigging to check the wires. Mr Okonedo, the ringmaster, says the crowds have gone to the coast for the cheap rides, but you know the real trouble is the orrery. Your grandmother built it years ago from brass and a bicycle chain: a sun on a pole, and a ringed planet riding its arm around it, with a string of glass moons behind, each one smaller than the last.

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Tonight the council man is coming to measure the tent. You spend the afternoon polishing the planet with vinegar and a square of chamois, because the ring has gone green at the join and nobody will look at a tarnished thing. The moons rattle when you turn the crank. Your brother leans in the doorway and says you are wasting daylight on a toy.

The council man arrives in a grey coat and watches the orrery go round without a word. Then he asks what the smallest moon is for. You tell him it is for the one person who has not yet come in, the child who will sit in the front row and leave believing the sky is nearer than it is. He writes something in his notebook. You never learn whether it concerns the tent or you.

At dusk you wind the crank one last time and switch on the lamp. The planet throws its shadow across the sawdust, long and thin, and the smallest moon falls just inside the gate, no bigger than a pea, waiting for someone to step into the light.