Colour botanical tattoo on an upper arm showing a pink and purple lily, pink blossoms, dark flowers, green vines and a peacock feather eye.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Floral sleeve with peacock feather on upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A woman in a white sleeveless top shows a botanical tattoo on her upper arm, with her face turned away from the camera. The design includes a large pink and purple lily at the top, pink blossoms, dark flowers and trailing green vines that lead down to a peacock feather eye. Fine linework and soft shading give the flowers depth, and the design wraps diagonally across the outer arm against a blurred outdoor background.

Botanical Upper arm Lily Flower Blossom Peacock feather Vine Leaves Orchid

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

Ida Varley had packed the lilies in wet newspaper three towns back, and by Thursday they were the only things on the fairground still standing up straight. The generator coughed behind the dodgems and the wind kept lifting the canvas of the bloom tent, where she sold cut flowers to couples who had come for the candyfloss and stayed for the smell.

Keep reading

Her nephew Tobias, nine and sunburnt, came running with a dented tin held against his chest. "Someone's bought the peacock," he said. The peacock was the old painted bird that had walked the midway since before the war, its tail folded into a crate under tarpaulin. Nobody had bought it in forty years. Ida followed him behind the coconut shy and found a stranger in a grey coat, lifting the crate lid and studying the feathers as if he were counting them.

"It isn't for sale," Ida said. The man turned. He held out one eye-feather, green and gold, its dark centre as deep as a wet stone. "Your father promised my mother a feather," he said. "Forty years ago, for a lily she never got." Ida thought of the ledger in the wagon with its blank page. She took the feather, and found tucked against its quill a slip of paper in a careful hand: one lily, one trailing vine, to be settled at the next fair.

She went back to the bloom tent and cut a pink lily from the bucket, wound a length of ivy around its stem, and set the feather beside it in a jar. When the fair packed up on Sunday, the crate was empty and the grey coat was gone. On the tent pole, a green vine had curled itself around the wood, and Ida left it there.