Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tribal shoulder and upper arm tattoo

Blackwork · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A shirtless man in profile shows a large black and grey tribal design running from the shoulder down the outside of the upper arm. The bold, solid black linework has grey shading along the edges that gives the forms depth, and the swirl and spiked shapes are arranged in a vertical flow. The cool blue-toned studio backdrop and soft side lighting keep the focus on the tattoo.

Blackwork Shoulder Upper arm Tribal Swirl Armband

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

Dear Tom, The ice came down the Ouse on Tuesday in grey plates as wide as tablecloths, and by Wednesday the Mary Ann was locked in at Hemingford with her bow crushed like a cardboard box. Father says we will wait for the thaw and not one day before. Mother has the stove going and the cabin smells of tar and onions, which is the nearest thing to home I have had since you went south.

Keep reading

I have been carving again, since there is nothing else to do. The tiller bar split in the summer, so I cut it back and worked a pattern into the wood with Grandad's gouge: a swirl that folds back on itself and then breaks out into spikes, the way the willow roots lift out of the bank below the sluice. Father laughed when he saw it. He said I had made something that would catch on every rope in Cambridgeshire. But he left it on the tiller, and I think he is pleased.

Last night the ice groaned all night like a gate on a rusted hinge, and I went out with the lantern to check the lines. The mooring ring had frozen fast to a coil of rope, and the frost had drawn the same shape across the cabin window, a curl and then a crown of thorns. I stood there a long while with my breath steaming on the glass, tracing the thorns with one finger until they blurred.

The thaw came at dawn. We heard it before we saw it, a crack and then a rush of water under the plates, and when the sun came up the river was moving again, black and quick. Father worked the tiller free and let the wheel swing. The carving stayed sharp under my thumb. I am writing this with the window open so you can hear the water. Come home at Easter and I will show you the spikes in daylight.