Pencil sketch of a botanical bouquet with magnolia, daisy-style and blossom flowers and curling stems, drawn as a tattoo design with no body placement shown.

Pencil sketch of mixed flowers

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A graphite pencil drawing of a bouquet with two large open magnolia-style blooms, two daisy-like flowers with textured petals, and clusters of small blossoms on thin branches. Fine pencil hatching shows shading on the petals and centres, and loose vine-like tendrils curl around the composition on a plain white background. The layout is vertical and tapered, which suits a design for a forearm, calf or similar placement.

Botanical Flower Magnolia Daisy Blossom Bouquet Tendril Bud Sketch

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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

Sit yourselves down, the lot of you, and mind the cake on the trestle. You've all heard how the Pryce girl got married in a hailstorm, but I'll tell you about the flowers, because the flowers are where the trouble started.

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The florist from Tenbury had promised a bouquet of white lilies, and on the Friday night a van went into the ditch at Cold Ashby with the whole order in the back. So on the Saturday morning Nell Pryce walked up to her mother's garden with a pair of kitchen scissors and no plan at all. She took the two big magnolias off the wall, cream as cups of milk, then the daisies from the lane verge, the ones with frilled edges that look crimped with a hot iron. She cut blackthorn blossom from the bank where the hedge had run wild. The curling tendrils she pulled from the bindweed her father had cursed for forty years, and she wound them round the stems like ribbon.

Her husband-to-be, Tom Garrow, a man who had never once in his life been early, stood at the church gate and stared at what she carried. 'That's a hedge,' he said. 'It's a hedge with a wedding on it,' she said, and pushed it into his arms. The bindweed caught on his sleeve and would not let go, and it took her laughing to unpick him.

Afterwards they hung the bouquet head down from the rafters of the barn to dry. The petals went papery and brown, but the curls at the ends never straightened. Tom still swears that every June the barn smells of cream magnolia and bindweed, and that the tendrils are still turning, very slowly, towards the door where they came in.