Greyscale tattoo of a smiling, bald, laughing Buddha with an ornate patterned robe, covering the stomach.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Laughing Buddha tattoo on stomach

Other · Black and grey · Photo

A large seated figure of a smiling, bald, laughing Buddha fills the abdomen, with a rounded belly, navel and hands resting at the sides. The figure is rendered in grey shading with fine hatching and a patterned robe with ornate detailing along the arms and lower edge. The image is composed straight on, with the subject filling the frame and skin tone visible around the edges.

Other Buddha

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

The flour was still settling on the sill when the old man let himself in through the back door, the bolt I had forgotten to shoot. He did not apologise. He sat down on the sack of rye as though it had been kept for him, patted his great round middle with both hands and laughed at my ovens, which were cold and which I had been cursing for ten minutes already.

Keep reading

I asked him who he was. He said the children on Hallows Lane called him when they wanted sweets, and the fishermen called him when they wanted luck, and nobody thought to call him when they wanted bread. He had a cloth sack over one shoulder, empty and rather dusty. He looked at the tray of yesterday's loaves cooling by the window and said they were two days stale and still too proud to be given away. I told him that was a foolish thing to say to a baker. He laughed again, and the tins on the rack rattled.

So I gave him the loaves, all eleven of them, because my hands wanted something to do and because he was sitting on my flour. He put them in the sack one by one, and each time he set one down the sack seemed to take it without complaint and without any sound of bread against cloth. When he stood up he thanked me and went out into the lane, and I thought that was the end of it.

At six the shutters went up and the queue was already round the corner, the fishermen in front of the schoolchildren, every one of them asking for the warm rye. My ovens had been lit for a quarter of an hour. The sack lay flat on the sacks of flour, its cloth still faintly creased where a great, contented belly had pressed it down.