Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Feather dissolving into birds sketch
Colour · Flash
A feather drawn in teal, pink, purple and green fills the centre of an open sketchbook page. Its right edge breaks apart into a cluster of small birds that drift away towards the top right. The soft, blended shading and bright palette sit against a plain white page, with two hands holding the notebook at either side.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The feather came down the chimney of the boarding house on Carrick Strand the winter the sea froze at its edges, and Mrs Ilse Grady found it in the coal scuttle with the ash. It was long as a forearm and coloured like the inside of a mussel shell: teal near the quill, then pink, then a bruised purple, then green at the tip where the barbs went loose and fine. She put it on the windowsill to dry, meaning to give it to the lodger who painted pictures of the harbour.
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The lodger was a thin man called Mr Tennant, who kept a sketchbook under his pillow and would not let anyone see inside. When he saw the feather he went quiet, then asked if he might draw it. He sat at the kitchen table three evenings running, the book open flat, his hands holding the pages down while he worked. On the third night the wind came off the water and rattled every sash in the house, and when Mrs Grady looked over his shoulder the feather had grown a little wider than it had been, and along its right edge small dark birds were coming loose and lifting away.
She said nothing. In the morning the windowsill was empty and the sketchbook was on the kitchen table, open to the page. The feather was there, drawn true, and the birds were drifting up the margin towards the corner where the page was torn. Mr Tennant had gone down to the harbour before light. Mrs Grady still says the gulls that week would not land on the boarding house roof, and that every bird she saw over the strand that spring had one feather too many in its wing.
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