Colour tattoo of a peacock perched on a blossoming branch across the side of the abdomen, with its feather tail running down onto the thigh.

Peacock and cherry blossom on hip and thigh

Botanical · Other · Mixed · Photo

A peacock stands on a branch of pink cherry blossom across the side of the abdomen, with its long tail feathers extending down over the hip and onto the thigh. The linework is fine and the shading is soft, with grey tones giving the bird its form and bright teal, green and red used for the feathers, eyes and flowers. The subject is a woman in green lace lingerie and a lace robe, photographed from the waist to the thighs against a dark background.

Botanical Realism Other Thigh Peacock Cherry blossom Branch Feather Bird Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had been falling on the Saturday market since before dawn, so the stallholders hung tarpaulins between the poles and the peacock man sold his feathers from under a bent umbrella. Ottilie Marsh had come for the sharp blue quills he kept in a biscuit tin, the ones that shone like oil on a puddle when you tilted them. She was counting coins into his palm when a boy ran past with a bunch of pink blossom snapped from the churchyard tree, petals already browning at the edges.

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The peacock man looked at the flowers and then at her. He said his grandmother had kept a bird like his, a grey hen-bird that never bothered with the tail, and that it had lived fourteen years on a single branch of cherry she had carried in from the orchard in a pail of water. When the branch died, the bird stood on the windowsill for a week, then stopped eating. Ottilie said that sounded like a sad way to be loyal. He said it was the only way birds knew.

She bought the feathers anyway, and a sprig of blossom from the boy, who had a sister to feed. Walking home along the canal, she held the quills under her coat so they would not bend. At the bridge she stopped, untied the string on the tin, and let the rain find the pale green eyes on each feather. By the time she reached her door the stain of blossom on her cuff had run into the blue, and she left it there, because the colours had finally agreed with each other.