China makes its mark on the world of tattoos

THE ARMS are those of a tall young man, his muscles toned and skin firm. One is covered in thick sweeps of black Chinese calligraphy from shoulder to wrist. That and the other limbs—around ten in all—are piled in a disembodied heap on Wu Shang’s desk. They are models that he commissioned, made of silicon rubber that looks and, crucially for him, feels like real skin. Wu Shang is a tattooist in the coastal city of Wenling. Having seen hundreds of his carefully inked pieces of art walk out of his studio door, he wanted to keep a few to decorate the walls. “Otherwise, all I have is imperfect pictures,” he says.