Black and grey botanical tattoo of a large daisy-like flower with dotwork centre and shaded rose partly visible behind it, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black and grey daisy with rose on an arm

Botanical · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A large daisy-like flower fills the frame, with bold black outlines around its petals and a dense stippled dotwork centre. Soft grey shading gives the petals depth, and a partly visible grey rose sits behind the flower at the top right. The photo is taken indoors in a studio setting with a blurred background.

Botanical Dotwork Forearm Daisy Flower Rose

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gerbera had come off the Falmouth carrier with its stem gone soft, and Ada Pell had two days to make it look as though it had never once been cut. She sat at the window of the back room above Quick's chandlery with a fine nib and a pot of Indian ink, working outward from the centre. The disc florets were a crowd of tiny suns, and she would not draw them as lines. Each one was a single dot, placed the way her mother had taught her to count stitches, one at a time and never looking up.

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Behind the bloom, half hidden as always, sat the rose Tobias had insisted on. He had ordered it in pencil before he sailed, a grey ghost of a thing that she had never once wanted to finish. She shaded its petals now only because the plate would not print without a dark edge to hold the daisy against it. Denny, the printer's boy, leaned over her shoulder with his cap in his hands and asked why she did not simply take a photograph. She told him a camera only saw the light that fell on things, whereas she had to see the hand that had made them.

By the third afternoon the petals were black at their edges and grey toward their hearts, and the dotwork had gone so dense that her wrist ached to the elbow. She pinned the finished plate to the board and stood back. The rose behind it looked less like a flower and more like a door left ajar. Outside, the fog was coming in off the harbour, swallowing the masts one by one, and the gerbera, bright in its ink and dots, seemed to be watching the window the way a woman watches for a boat that is already late.