Fine line black tattoo of wildflower sprigs and a rose on the side of the ribs, shown on pale skin against dark fabric.

Fine line botanical sprigs on the side ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A small botanical design of wildflower stems, leaves and a rose-like bloom, drawn in thin black outlines that form two sprigs angled towards each other. The linework is delicate and even, with little or no shading, and the ink is black on pale skin. The design is centred on the image against a dark top, with the skin area filling most of the frame.

Fine line Botanical Ribs Flower Sprig Wildflower Rose Leaves Stem Bud

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

You want to know about the bed of lupins my mother kept behind the chapel wall, and I'm telling you it's the same story as the wall itself, so sit down and let me get my breath. The chapel was pulled down the summer I turned nine, and the men who did it left the flint wall standing because nobody could be bothered to shift it. Mother went out with a trowel and a paper bag the very next morning. She came back with her apron full of seed heads, rattling like a pocket of dried peas, and she spread them along the foot of the wall where the sun lay longest.

Keep reading

You'll think I'm making it grander than it was. Maybe I am. But she had a way of talking to things that grew, low and bossy, the way you'd talk to a dog that had got into the pantry. She'd tell the sprigs of thyme they were getting above themselves, and the old rose that came up through the path that it had no business being so pink in October. Dad said she was daft. Dad also planted her rosemary the spring he left, so I don't know what he knew.

When she died, I went round to the wall with a bag of my own. Nothing had come up that year but a few bramble runners and a sulky stalk of bindweed. I knelt there feeling a fool, pressing seed into the cracks with my thumb, saying her daft words under my breath because they were all I had. The next May there were two sprigs leaning towards one another across the gap in the stones, as if they'd had words about it and made up. I've not told anyone that. You're the first.