Black and grey line drawing of a daisy-style flower with a stippled dotwork centre, shown as a design on a plain white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Daisy flower line drawing with dotwork centre

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A single open flower with a full ring of elongated petals, drawn in black ink on a white background. The petals use fine contour lines and hatched shading along one side, while the centre is built from dense dots that create a textured disc. The composition is centred and isolated, with no body part or colour ink visible.

Botanical Dotwork Daisy Flower Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last greenhouse on the Tessaly ring still had a working light panel, and I spent my first shift on it counting petals instead of checking seals. Forty-one of them, arranged in a single ring around a dark disc of seed, each one ruled with fine lines and shaded down the left edge where the lamp failed to reach. Dr Oyelaran had drawn them by hand on the back of a supply manifest before the grid went down, and she insisted the shading mattered more than the shape. Light comes from one side, she said, even out here. Even in a place with no sun.

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The seed disc was the hard part. You could not render it with a line; you had to stipple it, dot by dot, until the eye read depth where there was only ink. I learned to do it on a cracked slate with a sharpened stylus while the recyclers hummed through their cycle. Each dot took about the time it takes a tired heart to beat twice. By the third week my wrist ached and my dots had become uniform, and she made me throw the slate in the vent and start again.

We planted the drawing's flower in the spring trough, a hybrid Oyelaran had coaxed from a dead seedbank, its petals pale and slightly too long, as though it had been stretched to fit a page. It opened on the morning the relay went quiet. I remember thinking it looked exactly like the sketch, which made no sense, because the sketch had been made from the flower and not the other way round. She laughed at me and said that was how drawings worked: they kept a place open until something arrived to fill it.

When the rescue shuttle finally docked, nobody asked about the trough. I took the manifest with me, folded in my jacket, and the stylus, and the flower I had snapped from its stem without asking anyone's permission. I still have the drawing. The shadows fall the same way on every petal, and the light, wherever it comes from, is never on the side I expected.