Colour realism style tattoo of a galaxy with pink, purple, blue and teal nebula clouds and white stars across the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Galaxy and nebula on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A forearm covered in a galaxy scene with swirling nebula clouds in pink, violet, blue and teal. Bright white star points and small glowing dots are scattered across the dark blue and purple areas. The soft, blended shading gives a painterly, smoky finish, and the design wraps around the arm from the top edge to the wrist.

Realism Forearm Galaxy Nebula Star Space

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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 master never let me touch the lapis until my hands stopped shaking. For three winters I ground the blue stone on the slab in the back room of Hollis and Daughter, colourmen, in Lambeth, and for three winters he took the pestle from me and said the powder was still too coarse to hold light. I believed him. Ultramarine was the most expensive thing in the building, and once I had dropped a thimble of it on the floor and cried into the sweepings.

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That March a painter called Ferris Quaye came in asking for a night sky he could believe. The master was out at the bank, so I was sent to mix it myself: violet madder for the cloud, a smear of ultramarine for the deep part, and a little verdigris for the green that lives under water. Ferris stood at the counter tapping his pencil and said he wanted stars that looked like they were falling through smoke. I said nothing, because I had been thinking the same thing for three winters.

When he had gone, I carried the wet mixture out to the yard, where the streetlamp didn't reach, and tipped a spoonful onto the flagstones to see how it would dry. In the cold it went dark, then bloomed, pink where the madder pooled and teal where the copper had settled. I pressed a fingertip into it and lifted, and the paint kept the print of my finger, a soft smudge of light. Then I saw that the dust I had stirred in was catching the lamplight, a hundred specks scattered like salt across a table.

The master found the spoon in the sink the next morning and said nothing about it. Ferris collected his canvas on the Friday, and I never learned where it hung. But I still go out to the yard after closing, and I still look for my fingerprint somewhere in the dark.