Colour tattoo of a featureless female silhouette with red and orange flowing swirls and a purple outline, on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman silhouette with flowing swirls on thigh

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a female figure with a blank, silhouetted head and long dark hair, wearing a tan or ochre garment. Red, orange and purple swirling lines wrap around the figure and trail across the thigh. The shading is soft and painterly with mostly solid colour fills, and the figure sits across the upper thigh beneath grey fabric.

Thigh Woman Silhouette Figure Swirl Ribbon Hair

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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 ferry to Inishmor stopped running the winter the sea took the slipway, so Oonagh Dellow walked the cliff road every evening to the headland to watch for her husband's boat. Nobody on the island thought he would come back. Her neighbours brought her bread and told her the sea keeps what it takes. She thanked them and kept walking.

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One night a woman stood at the edge of the path in an ochre shawl, her face turned away so that Oonagh could not tell her age or her kin. Her hair fell long and black down her back and out over the water. Red and orange ribbons came off her shoulders like smoke from a peat fire, and a purple ribbon ran down past her hip into the grass. She said, without turning, that the boat was not lost but turned, and that the turning would take a year and a day. Then she said that the wind would bring nothing to shore until Oonagh had woven her a length of thread from her own hair. Oonagh asked what she would do with it. The woman only lifted her hand, and the ribbons lifted with it.

Oonagh cut her hair that night with the kitchen shears and spun it on the old wheel until her fingers bled. Each morning she walked out and laid a hank of the thread at the stone where the woman had stood. In the spring, the thread was gone, and in its place lay a single strand of driftwood-coloured rope, wet and new, running out toward the rocks. She followed it down to the water's edge, and there was her husband, sitting on the slip with his oilskins torn and his hands raw, asking her why she had let her hair grow so short.