Realism colour tattoo on a forearm showing a woman's face with a glowing nebula, ringed planets and stars across her eyes, shown in three panels.

Galaxy portrait with planets on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A realistic portrait of a woman's face with a glowing red, orange and teal nebula and ringed planets filling the space where her eyes would be. Soft shading gives the skin and lips a lifelike form, while speckled stars and bright highlights add depth to the cosmic area. A checkerboard pattern sits beneath the chin, and cursive script is partly visible at the bottom edge of the frame.

Realism Forearm Woman Face Galaxy Nebula Planet Star Lip Script

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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

Sit down, the lot of you, before the urn boils dry. Yes, you, Marjorie, you can keep your handbag on your knee. I'm going to tell you about Hettie Crane, who sat in the back row of Form 4B and never once looked at the blackboard. She looked up instead, through the skylight, at the sky over the chip works, where the smoke made pictures if you stared long enough.

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Nobody believed her when she said the cloud above the gasworks had a ring around it like Saturn's. Mr Pell told her to stop daydreaming and copy the sums. So she did, every figure in neat columns, and then she drew the sums into a chequered flag on the back of her exercise book, black squares like a finish line. When the bell went at half past three she walked straight out of the gate and didn't come back for thirty years.

Where she went, nobody agrees. Dolly Reeve swears she saw her at the Blackpool illuminations, cheek to cheek with a man in a silver jacket. Ronnie says she took the night bus to Jodrell Bank and asked the dish to tune her in. I know only what came in the post last spring, a postcard with no stamp and no address, just a picture of a woman whose eyes were two small galaxies, red and gold and teal, with planets turning in the places where her lashes should have been.

On the back, in careful copperplate, she'd written: Still counting, Mr Pell. Still counting. Ring the bell at half past three and see who comes out to play.

So drink your tea and mind the biscuits. And if you see a woman in the car park with the sky in her eyes, don't you dare tell her to copy the sums.