Colour tattoo of a feather in blue, purple and black with curling swirls and small birds on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Feather with swirls and birds on the ribs

Ribs · Mixed · Photo

A feather runs diagonally down the side of the ribs, with its barbs shaded in black and grey and tipped with blue and purple wash. Curling black and grey swirls trail from the base of the feather, and a few small birds in silhouette fly off the upper section. The tattoo is photographed close up against a dark background, with the skin tone and soft lighting showing the colour washes clearly.

Ribs Feather Swirl Bird

Find an artist for this

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

Dear Nan, the boat came in at four with the tide already turning and the gulls so thick over the harbour wall you couldn't hear the engine. Davy Lowther pulled a feather out of the net that morning, as long as my forearm, grey at the root and blue at the tip where the sun caught it. He wanted to throw it back to the water. I kept it. I'm posting it to you with this letter, so mind the bend in the quill and don't let Tom near it with his scissors.

Keep reading

Let me get the rest down before the kettle boils. We were out past the Dogger Bank three days and the small dark birds never left us. Starlings, Skipper reckoned, though nobody believed him. They lifted off the rail one at a time as if someone out of sight was calling them home, and every time one went the sea seemed to rise a foot. He said it meant weather. It did. By Wednesday the water had gone the colour of slate and the feather was still stuck to the wheelhouse ledge, curling at its edges like wet paper.

The curls at the base of the quill, the little whorls the wind leaves on the back of a wave, are what I keep looking at. You'd think a feather would just lie flat, but this one had decided otherwise. Davy says it's a sign we'll make the Humber by Friday. I told him the only sign I trust is the flour tin, which is nearly empty, so tell Mum I'll be home Sunday with the fish and the rest of my wages.

Keep the feather somewhere dry. If the birds come back to your windowsill, don't shoo them. They've been following us since Lowestoft and I'd like to think someone at home is watching them too. Love, Eddie.