Full-colour tattoo of Edvard Munch's painting The Scream covering the upper arm, with a swirling orange and blue sky behind the figure.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

The Scream tattoo on upper arm

Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo reproducing Edvard Munch's painting The Scream, showing the central figure with hands raised to its face and an open mouth, set against a sky of swirling orange, yellow and blue. The linework is bold and the painted brushstrokes are rendered with smooth colour shading that follows the swirls of the original. The design fills the upper arm and shoulder area, with the figure centred and the sky wrapping across the top of the arm.

Upper arm Figure Face Bridge

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dolores Ashdown had been the night caretaker at Harrow Point for nineteen years, and in all that time she had never seen the sky do what it did on the Tuesday the lifts stopped. The city below went the colour of a struck match, orange bleeding into lemon and then into a bruised cobalt, and the clouds above the estate stretched into long wet ribbons as though someone was stirring them with a spoon.

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She found the boy on the fourteenth-floor walkway, leaning on the rail with both hands clamped over his ears. Kenji Mavros from flat 1411, the one who fixed bikes in the bin store. He wasn't screaming, not out loud. His mouth was open in that square shape people make when the sound is inside them and has nowhere to go. Behind him the wind pushed at the mesh fence, and the lights of the bridge road below smeared into long gold lines.

"The lift's still broke," she said, because it was the only ordinary thing she could think of. "Forty minutes, I reckon, before they send someone." He lowered one hand. "Does it always look like this?" "Only when the sky's in a mood." She leaned on the rail beside him, and they watched the colours turn over each other like paint in a jar nobody had bothered to stir properly.

After a while he laughed, a short surprised sound, and said his nan used to claim the sky was just showing off. Dolores pulled two Polos from her cardigan pocket, offered him one, and they stood there until the orange thinned to pale blue and the lift doors finally groaned open behind them.