The Tattoo Artist Inking Arabic Script on Skin

Noore Yazigi loves tattooing hands. Her own are marked with light scribbles of permanent ink, Arabic letters that twist along her veins. At work, all but one tattoo disappear beneath her black gloves. Flowing in bold script, فلسطين (“Palestine”) stretches across her wrist, reminding the world of her roots while reveling in its beauty. Whether she’s on or off duty, the word basks in the sunlight streaming through the windows of Monolith Studio in Brooklyn.

The form that Palestine is scripted in on Yazigi’s arm has also become her most sought-after craft. Described by Monolith Studio as “the artist bringing the elegance of Arabic calligraphy to New York City,” she pierces into skin what first filled pages of the Quran and decorated walls of mosques.

For some clients, motifs of Arabic calligraphy or iconography reflect their faith; for others, they’re an ode to the homes that raised them. What better way to define Bilad al-Sham, the “land of the north,” referring to Syria and the broader Levant region, than to scribe it in a craft built on connection, where every letter must join the next. However Yazigi repurposes calligraphy, the sacred law of connection remains.

"I grew up drawing," she told Hyperallergic. "My style was a lot more cartoonish, but I always incorporated Arabic script."

Arabic calligraphy tattoo of “If I Must Die,” (2011) a poem by the late Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer, designed by Josh Berer and completed by Yazigi on Rakan Nimr in 2024 (photo courtesy Monolith Studio)

For as long as she can remember, Yazigi has filled sketchbooks with what would later become inspiration for her first flash tattoos. One early sketch shows a monster-like face spitting out مجنون  (“crazy”). Her creations could belong on the streets of Beirut, where murals and graffiti coil across cracked walls in the neighborhoods of Hamra and Gemmayze, their survival serving as a reminder of Lebanon’s ability to rebuild time and time again.

While Yazigi's home was in Upstate New York, far from her family in Lebanon, she remembers Arabic script showing up in home decor, coffee mugs, and her mother's signature. Raised in a non-religious household, Arabic calligraphy was simply something always around her. Today, working with a large Muslim clientele, she also engages with the script's ties to religion.

"I try to keep religious tattoos as traditionally beautiful as possible," she said. "I want to honor its context."

Arabic calligraphy tattoo reading شكر ("gratitude") (left) and صبر ("patience") (right), both by Yazigi on Reina Sultan in 2025 (photos courtesy Monolith Studio)

Tattoos are often seen as haram (“forbidden”) in Islam, a debate particularly pressing for anyone working with Arabic script. For Josh Berer, the professionally trained calligrapher who often creates the designs Yazigi brings to life, tattoos tied to the Quran are where he draws the line.

"When people come to me with the Quran as a tattoo idea, I immediately push back on that," Berer told Hyperallergic.

Based in Washington, DC, Berer spent eight years training to earn his ijazah (“certificate”), the traditional diploma awarded to master Arabic calligraphers. He describes his foray into tattoo design as “very much off the beaten path.”

A sketch titled مجنون ("crazy") by Yazigi

When it comes to translating his designs onto skin, Berer solely recommends Yazigi. “The fact that she is a native speaker of Arabic puts her above everyone else,” he said.

For clients, that fluency also builds trust. “Noore understood the significance of the tattoo without me having to explain it,” Lebanese journalist Reina Sultan told Hyperallergic.

On Sultan’s shoulders,Yazigi inked sabr/صبر (“patience”) and shukr/شكر (“gratitude”) in flowing script. The tattoos command attention through their placement, turning the graceful words into a striking declaration.

"I just love the balance of gratitude and patience," Sultan said. "Those are two things that are extremely precious to Allah."

Sultan finds the judgment surrounding tattoos meaningless. "Everybody sins, but there's an unfair burden on tattoos because they are visible," she said.

Yazigi marks a stencil on a friend's arm ahead of a tattoo session.

For Rakan Nimr, a Palestinian-Irish consultant, Arabic calligraphy surfaces something that was hidden while growing up in a post-9/11 United States.

"There was a stigma in being proud of Arab culture," he said to Hyperallergic. "I felt that Arabic calligraphy was the best way to exemplify its beauty."

His tattoo, designed by Berer and inked by Yazigi, features the late Palestinian poet Refaat Alareer’s poem "If I Must Die" (2011). The words spin across his forearm, outlining a watermelon. Nimr describes it as a promise to preserve Palestinian culture and carry it forward. A further meaning is clear for anyone who sees the tattoo: No matter how loud the warplanes, the birds will sing.

Whether tattooing a Zulfiqar sword or fitting the words ‎أناديكم  (“I call to you”) onto an olive branch, Yazigi’s practice demands attention to detail. Her tattoos, inked in a style with centuries of tradition behind it, immediately recall their Islamic roots. For some, that is beautiful; for others, blasphemous. For Yazigi, giving her clients the last word is what matters most.