Black fine line tattoo of a heart filled with swirling scrollwork and two small hearts, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Swirled heart tattoo on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo of a heart outline filled with curling scrollwork and two small hearts sits on the inner forearm. The lines are fine and even, with the swirls flowing from the top of the heart down to its point. The background is a red and pink floral fabric, and the ink appears solid black with no shading.

Fine line Forearm Heart Swirl Scrollwork

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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 big top had lost its red by the third winter, so Mr Ostrander sent me to the back of the painted wagons with a tin of black enamel and a brush worn down to a cat's tail. Every panel wanted a flourish. The lion cage wanted curls. The ticket box wanted curls. I had been painting curls for eleven years and my hand knew them the way a river knows its bed.

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The heart came last, on the ringmaster's own cart, the one with the gilt wheels that had been sold twice and bought back. Bertie Lusk wanted it drawn from the top down, the way you'd pour treacle, so the scrolls spilled out of the lobes and gathered at the point. I did it in one unbroken line, no lifting, because lifting leaves a mark. He stood at my elbow smoking and said nothing for the length of it. When I finished, two small hearts sat low in the belly of the big one, as if they had slipped in to shelter.

The council man came on the Tuesday with the notice. The show was off, the wagons were to be broken for firewood, and Bertie was to go to his sister's in Hull. He climbed onto the cart with the heart and sat there with his hat in his lap until the constable asked him down.

I tried to lift the enamel off with a rag and turn of spirit, but it had gone into the grain too long. Years later I saw the same knot of curls on a plate at a church fête in Leeds, painted by someone who had clearly never met a ringmaster. The price was pencilled in the corner. I didn't buy it. I knew where the two small hearts belonged.