Black ink drawing of a dreamcatcher with three feathers and trailing ribbons on white paper, beside a hand with small lettering tattoos on the fingers and two black ink pens.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dreamcatcher with feathers drawing

Black and grey · Flash

A detailed black ink drawing of a dreamcatcher with a braided rope hoop, a web of looping lines with beaded dots, and three feathers hung from beads on fine cords with ribbons. The linework is fine and even, with shading built up on the feathers and rope, and the drawing sits on plain white paper. A hand with small letter tattoos on the fingers rests at the left edge, with two black ink pens at the right.

Dreamcatcher Feather Rope Bead Ribbon Web Hand 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

The sports hall smells of floor polish and the sausage rolls nobody has touched, and a sheet of A4 taped to the fire door reads Year 9 Art, claim your work before the caretaker does. You find Dawn beside the radiator with a sketchbook held flat against her chest, as if someone might take it off her. She opens it to the page you drew the summer the bus strike ran for six weeks.

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There it is: a dreamcatcher in biro and fineliner, the hoop braided like rope, the web looped out in lines with a bead at every crossing. Three feathers hang from it on cords so fine you had to go over them twice. You remember Mr Pryce counting the borrowed black pens back into the tin, and you remember telling her, on the wall outside the chip shop, that the web catches whatever frightens you at night and lets the rest drift through to morning.

Dawn says she slept under her gran's real one until she was twelve, and then she moved your drawing above the bed because the real one had gone grey and the paper stayed sharp. It has survived two house moves in a plastic wallet. She turns the page over. On the back, in pencil, is the name the two of you gave your group, the one the teachers hated, and a date she has underlined twice.

Give me a pen, she says. You have only a chewed biro from the buffet table, so you sit on a plastic chair and add the bead you left out in 1998, then the last ribbon, slowly, the way Mr Pryce taught you to finish a line. When you look up the lights are dimming for the slideshow, the old netball team is coming up on the screen, and Dawn is holding the page to the light to see whether the new ink shows through the old.