Colour tattoo of a blue TARDIS surrounded by swirling blue and yellow clouds in the style of Van Gogh's Starry Night, on a person's upper back and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

TARDIS in Starry Night swirls on the shoulder

Shoulder · Colour · Photo

A blue TARDIS police box sits at the centre of a large back and shoulder tattoo, with its windows, door panels and roof lines outlined in darker blue. Thick, looping brushstroke swirls in blue and yellow fill the sky around it, echoing the painted night sky of Van Gogh's Starry Night. The colour is vivid and the composition is centred on the shoulder blade, with the person's head and hair partly visible at the top of the frame.

Shoulder Back Tardis Swirl Cloud Sky Police box

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, 14 November. The blue box arrived on the slipway at ten past two, which is the hour the tide turns and the gulls stop complaining. Nobody saw it come. Maud Penhallow swears she heard a noise like a cow falling down stairs, but she has been on the sherry since Sunday, so I have written it down as weather.

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By four the wind had gone round to the north-west and the clouds over Porthkennack were lifting into long curls, blue and then yellow, each stroke as thick as a thumb. The fishing boats rode at their moorings under a sky that looked hand-stirred. Young Jory from the chandlery came running up the quay with his cap in his fist, saying the swirls were moving against the wind, and I told him the wind was obviously not consulted. He didn't laugh. Nobody laughs much when the sky starts looking like it was painted by someone in a hurry.

At half past five the door of the box opened and a man stepped out with a brush behind his ear. Ambrose Tregear, who signwrote every boat name on this harbour for forty years before his hands went. He looked up at the sky, shook his head, and said the yellow was too pale for a November night. Then he asked me for a tin of ochre and a bit of quiet. I gave him the ochre. I could not manage the quiet.

He painted for an hour on the harbour wall, and each time he touched the brush to the stone the swirls above us bent a little closer to the box. When the tide was fully out he set the brush down on the wall, walked back inside, and the door closed. The sky went on turning for a while, slow as a cat, and then it simply was ordinary cloud again. The brush is still on the wall. It is still wet.