Red and black painterly Mandalorian helmet tattoo with brushstroke splashes on the upper arm, shown in a studio setting.

Mandalorian helmet on upper arm

Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A stylised Mandalorian helmet emblem sits on the upper arm, with its bold red crest bar and black central shape. Loose black brushstroke trails and splatter run around the helmet, giving a painted, watercolour-like finish. Red and black ink dominate against plain skin, with a studio chair and tiled floor softly blurred in the background.

Upper arm Helmet Star wars Brushstroke Splatter Abstract

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

Sit down by the roses, child, and mind the wasp at the hive. I will tell it the way my grandmother told it to me under this same pear tree, when the garden wall still held the heat of the day.

Keep reading

There was a smith in the hill town of Corran who made helms for men who did not care to be remembered by their faces. He worked with a bar of red-hot iron that no apprentice was allowed to touch, and each evening he drew it out along the anvil until it sang. One summer a stranger came up the goat track with a commission and no name, only a scrap of cloth the colour of dried plums and a request for a crest that could be seen from the far side of the valley.

The smith hammered the red bar true across the brow of the helm, then turned to the dark body and was not satisfied. He took his brush of goat hair, dipped it in soot and rainwater, and flicked it hard at the metal again and again, until the black trails ran down like rain on a kitchen window. The stranger watched and said nothing, but he came back every week to see the helm grow ragged and strange. "A perfect helm is a lie," the smith told him. "Let the marks show the hand that struck it."

When the stranger finally came for it, he turned it over in his palms, studied the splatter for a long time, and laid a single coin on the bench worth more than the forge itself. He walked back down the goat track without a word, the smith put his brush away, and the swallows came back to the eaves.