Flash sheet of twelve awareness ribbon tattoo designs in purple pencil, some with the words Hope, Survivor and Faith, and others with wings, hearts and flowers.

Awareness ribbon tattoo flash sheet

Colour · Flash

A sheet of twelve awareness ribbon designs drawn in purple pencil on a textured pink background. Several ribbons carry script words such as Hope, Survivor and Faith, while others are decorated with wings, a heart, a butterfly, a bow or flowers. The shading is soft and the layout is a loose grid of separate designs.

Ribbon Awareness ribbon Hope Faith Love Heart Wing Butterfly Flower Bow Script

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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

Tuesday, and the wind has got under the tarpaulin again. I spent the morning on the kiosk board at Westgate, gilding HOT TEAS for the third time this month, when Mr Pruett came up the slipway with a sheaf of drawings under his arm. His cousin does them in purple pencil for a parlour in Ramsgate, he said, and would I letter the words across the ribbons so the printer could copy them. I told him a sign is not a tattoo. A sign has to be read from the far end of the promenade by someone who is not looking for it.

Keep reading

He laughed and spread them on the bonnet of his van. Twelve ribbons, each looped the way you would tie a bow in wet rope, some with tails that curled off the page like offcuts from a shop counter. The wings were the thing. They came up out of the loops as though the ribbon had been hung on a hook and had decided to fly. One said HOPE across the middle in a hand so fine I could hardly believe a needle had made it. Another said FAITH on a tail that ran down past the flowers. I took the pencil from behind my ear and wrote, very small, on the back of his sheet: Love, and then the time of the next tide.

By four the light had gone grey over the water and I had lettered nothing I was proud of. Mr Pruett came back for the drawings and I handed them over without a word. Then I took the gilt brush and, on the kiosk board where HOT TEAS was still wet, I painted a small ribbon at the end of the line, looped and double-tailed, and in the tail I wrote the name of my father, who sold teas from that hatch for thirty years before the sea took the pier. Nobody will read it from the promenade. That is rather the point.