Black ink ornamental sleeve tattoo with radiating lines and a central sun-like motif, running from the upper arm down the forearm.

Ornamental geometric sleeve on an arm

Geometric · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink sleeve covers the upper arm and forearm of a person seated against a dark backdrop. The design is built from a central radiating motif with spiked lines, linked by fine vertical filigree and scroll-like ornaments that continue down the forearm. The linework is crisp and uniform, with fine hatching and dotted detail, and the composition follows the length of the arm.

Geometric Blackwork Upper arm Forearm Sun Radiating lines Ornament Filigree Sleeve Scrollwork Geometric pattern

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

Mother has stopped asking when you will come home, so I am asking instead, and you may answer with a single word if you prefer. The gate at Hollin Wood is finished. Master Oakes sent the last of the scrolls down to the forge on Tuesday, and I hammered out the sun myself while he watched from the bench with his pipe gone cold.

Keep reading

The sun is the difficult part. It has twenty-two rays, each one a spike of iron drawn out thin enough to bend if you breathe on it wrong, and they all have to meet the same ring of fine filigree at the same angle or the whole thing looks drunk. I burned through three blanks before the old man grunted and said the fourth would do. Below it the scrolls come down in a column, one curl after another, like a key someone let fall through the trees and forgot to pick up.

The village children have decided the gate is a door to somewhere. Sadie Cole stood in the lane yesterday and insisted the rays were counting down to something, and when I asked what, she said she would tell me when the count reached zero. I told her the count was Master Oakes's invention and she should go home for her tea.

I have kept an offcut in my apron pocket, the last curl of the lowest scroll, still rough at the end. I cannot say why. Perhaps I want one piece of the gate to be mine, the way a thing carried a long way becomes yours. Write back and tell me whether the city has any locks that need opening this badly.