Black ink botanical drawing of a blossom branch in fine line style, with real pink blossoms and a fine liner pen beside it.

Blossom branch ink drawing

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A pen and ink drawing of a flowering branch with several open blossoms, drawn with fine, even outlines and small hatched lines on the petals and stems. Stamens and centres are detailed with tiny dots and strokes. Real pink blossoms and a branch sit to the left, and a fine liner pen lies across the bottom right on a plain off-white background.

Botanical Blossom Branch Flower Stamen Pen

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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

Sit on the flour sack, love, where the oven breathes. No, don't touch that tray, it'll take the skin off your thumb. Right. My father kept a plum tree in the yard behind the shop on Marrow Lane, older than the shop and older than the lane, and one February it came into flower with frost still lying on the cobbles. People said it was lying to the calendar. A lodger called Ivo Castell, who paid in loaves and sketches, sat under it with a pen no thicker than a knitting needle. He drew one flower for three evenings. Every night he counted the stamens under the bulb in the back room, and every night he got a different number, and he swore at the lamp like it had insulted his mother.

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The frost came back on the third night and took the open blossoms, all but the one he'd drawn. Ivo said the drawing would have to remember the tree for the both of them. He wouldn't sell it. He gave it to my father instead, folded in four, and my father hung it above the proving cupboard where the steam could have it. Every morning after that, the first loaf out of the oven went to Ivo's room upstairs, even after he'd gone off to wherever men like him go, and even after the tree was cut down for the new drains.

So that's why I score the tops the way I do, see? Five quick cuts, petals opening at the same angle. Hand me that razor. Mind the heat. Now listen for the bell at St Aldhelm's, it's nearly four. One, two, three, four, five. There. Count them with me when you open the door, and don't let the cold in before the loaf has had its breath.