Black tribal pattern tattoo with bands, chevrons and curved lines covering a person's thigh and down towards the knee.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tribal band tattoo covering a thigh and knee

Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A large black tribal pattern covers the outer thigh and wraps down towards the knee of a person wearing dark shorts. The design uses bold solid bands, chevron stripes, fine parallel lines and small repeated geometric motifs, with a curved circular shape at the lower edge. The ink is black and grey against lighter skin, and the photo is taken indoors against a cream wall with a red patterned hanging.

Thigh Tribal pattern Chevron Band Geometric pattern Stripe Leg

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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

Right, sit down, all of you, before the urn boils itself dry. Some of you will remember Room Four, with the lino that stuck to your shoes and a radiator that knocked like a drunk wanting in. Above the cupboard there was a strip of paper nobody ever took down. Miss Okafor had copied a pattern from a library book onto it, zigzags and bands and little ladders of hatching, and you all called it the snake, because that was the kind of thing eleven-year-olds called anything they didn't understand.

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She told us it was a border, not a picture. A border keeps the thing inside it safe, she said. Her grandfather had carried a pattern like it, inked down one side of him from the hip to the knee, and every stripe was a voyage he'd come home from. Ridiculous, said Ronnie Pryce, and he got sent to the corridor for it, and I've thought about that corridor for fifty years.

Ronnie stood out there counting the chevrons on the paper through the glass panel in the door. Forty-one, he said when she let him back in, and she said the number didn't matter, only that he'd finished the count. Then she tapped the circle at the bottom, the one that curled off the edge of the sheet, and said that was where you stopped counting and walked home.

When the caretaker painted Room Four cream in the summer, Ronnie climbed the stepladder and peeled that strip of paper off the wall in one piece before the brush got to it. It's in his coat pocket now, soft as an old bus ticket. Ask him nicely and he'll show you. Mind the urn, Pauline, it's still spitting.