Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Lace-filled paw prints on a thigh
Blackwork · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo
Two paw prints are the central subject, each filled with dense black lace-like patterns and surrounded by fine outlines. Swirling filigree, a dotted chain with droplet shapes hanging below, and stippled dots frame the paws. The work is entirely black ink in shades of black and grey, placed on the outer upper thigh of a light-skinned person.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Nan pinned the bobbins to the pillow each evening while the lamp hissed on the sideboard, and I learned her patterns before I learned my letters. Sweep, the colliery collie, lay under the table with his chin across my boot. Every shift he walked the three streets to the pit gates and back again, as though he kept the count himself.
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Dad worked the Ashworth Main seam, a mile under the allotments, where the roof dripped without stopping. Nan called those drops the dotted chain and worked them into every edging, little tears of thread hanging from the scallops like water from a cage. Lace, she said, was only patience with holes in it, and she made me unpick a row twice before she let me go out to play.
In November the cage stuck at the four-hundred-foot landing and the men sat in the dark for nine hours. The women gathered at the top gate with flasks. Sweep would not come away from the wire. He pressed his nose through the gap and whined at every bell, so I held his collar and watched the wheel turn with nothing on it. Nan stayed at home with her pillow, because a pattern, she said, was a promise you make with your hands while you wait.
When the cage rose at dawn with Dad on it, black to the eyes and grinning, Sweep went up the steps in two bounds and planted both paws on his chest. Nan had finished a collar in the night, a band of lace with four paw prints worked into it. Dad buckled it on the dog's neck. The prints Sweep left on the back step that morning stayed in the coal dust for a week, and nobody swept them away.
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