Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a hand holding a sprig of flowers and fern-like leaves, with the words Hello Lovely beneath, on the forearm.

Hand holding flowers with Hello Lovely

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand grips a bundle of stems with two open flowers and feathery fern-like foliage, with the words HELLO LOVELY in block capitals below the wrist. The hand and cuff are shaded with fine dots, while the flowers and leaves use solid black outlines and fill. The image is a close, straight-on photograph of the arm against a dark background.

Dotwork Botanical Forearm Hand Flower Fern Leaves Sprig Lettering

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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

By four the wind has found the gap in the Bwlch and is shoving snow sideways across the road, and you have stood in the hut doorway long enough that your fingers have stopped complaining. Below, the gritter's amber light climbs the hairpins one bend at a time. On the stove sits a dented kettle. In the window sit jam jars of bracken and heather you cut from the banks in September, because the hut has always kept something green where stranded drivers can see it.

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Nobody climbs up here for the view. They come for the kettle and the roof. The first lorry is a Scania with a Polish plate, and its driver stares at the sprig you press into his hand as though you have handed him a letter he did not expect. You tell him to hold it low, stems together, the way your gran held a bunch of sweet peas at the chapel door. He laughs, and the laugh loosens something in his shoulders. By five there are six of you crowded round the paraffin heater, steam rising off wet coats, each of you holding a little sprig of fern like a passport.

The last to arrive is a council man in a hi-vis jacket, sent up to decide whether the pass stays shut until Thursday. He takes off his gloves, looks at the heather in his palm and asks, not unkindly, why you bother. You shrug and tell him the words you always say, the ones you had painted on the sign outside the hut years ago because the paint was cheap and the sentiment was not. He reads them aloud under his breath. Hello, lovely. Then he pockets the sprig, closes his notebook and says the road will open at first light.