Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Floral and lace tattoos on hip and side
Dotwork · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo
A bare torso is shown lying on a bed, with a large black floral tattoo on the upper hip and a second tattoo on the side of the ribs. The floral piece uses dense shading and fine dots, while the lower design combines a lace-like grid pattern with fine geometric arcs and lines. The image is black and grey, with soft natural light and a plain pale bedsheet behind the body.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Ada,
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The last of the pattern-plates went down to the foundry floor on Tuesday, and I have not slept properly since. You will laugh, because you always said I drew like a man sketching his own funeral, but Mr Hollis has let me design the whole roof of Millbrook Junction. Forty yards of lattice, cast in iron and hung over the platforms so that passengers stand in a net of shadow when the sun comes through. I took the pattern from the doilies Mother starched every Sunday, then ruled it into a grid so the rain would run off the holes. Between the squares I set dahlias, packed as thick as thumbprints and shaded with a dot punch until they look nearly black.
Then the arcs. I borrowed the dividers from the drawing office and walked them round and round until the circles overlapped like ripples on a millpond. Where the circles crossed I put a small round hole, so the light would fall through in coins. Mr Hollis thought it foolish. The company engineers said it was over-decorated and wanted it plain. Then on Wednesday the first gas lamp was lit under the grid, and the whole platform filled with moving lace, and the stationmaster took off his cap and held it against his chest.
Yesterday a little girl in a red coat stood under the canopy while her father read a timetable. The coins of light lay across the boards in rows, and she went from one to the next without touching the gaps between, counting under her breath. I stood by the ticket office pretending to wait for a train. She reached the end of the platform, looked up at the dahlias, and said, quite clearly, that there were eleven. I had drawn twelve. I did not tell her. I walked home by the long road so I could count them myself.
Write soon, and tell Mother the doilies were not wasted.
Your brother, Tom
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