A sheet of black line-art flower designs, including daisies, tulips, roses and a fern, arranged in a grid on a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black line flower flash sheet

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A grid of around fifty small flower and foliage designs drawn in black ink on white. The designs range from solid silhouettes and bold outlines to fine line drawings, with daisies, tulips, roses, a calla lily and a fern among them. The sheet uses only black and white, with the motifs evenly spaced and no body or background shown.

Botanical Flower Floral Daisy Tulip Rose Fern Leaf Flash sheet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The purser counted the onions twice, as he always did, then sniffed the flour as if it had insulted him. Three lemons short, he said, and looked at me the way the sea looks at a man it has not yet bothered to drown. I told him the lemons had gone to the boy with the bad gums, which was half true. The other half was in my breast pocket, a sheet I had been filling since Valparaíso, when I first saw a calla lily opening in a broken bottle on a windowsill.

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I drew whatever grew where we put in. Daisies on the quay at Falmouth, a tulip the colour of a bruise at Antwerp, a fern splitting a warehouse wall in Cape Town. I did them in pen in the margins of the provision ledger, small and fast, because a galley is hot and a cook's hands want something to do. Pargeter called it wasted ink. He did not see that the drawings were accounts too, a list of everything we had looked at and not been allowed to keep.

On the last night before the Thames I laid the sheet on the chopping board and smoothed it flat. The purser came down with his lantern and put a thick finger on the calla lily. 'That's the bottle from Valparaíso,' he said. He had been ashore that day too, and had kept the windowsill in his head all these years. He said nothing more about lemons. He asked for a clean copy, and whether I could draw a fern, because his mother had grown one by the back door in Deptford.

I drew him the fern in four minutes. He folded it into his coat and climbed the ladder into the wind. In the morning the lemon count was correct, though none of us learned which of the three had found their way back into the sack, or whether the purser had simply stopped counting them.