Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Profile of a woman with roses and a feather

Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash

A black outline drawing of a woman in profile with closed eyes, wearing a turban-style headpiece decorated with a feather and a cluster of flowers. A large open rose and sprigs of leaves sit in the lower left, with a crescent moon and small birds in the background. The linework is bold and even with minimal shading, and the composition fills a portrait-shaped space.

Neo-trad Botanical Woman Profile Headpiece Feather Flower Rose Leaves Moon Bird

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

The turban had to be finished before the last tram, and Nell was still threading the peacock quill when the lamps along the harbour wall began to blink on one by one. Madame Ruthven had paid in advance, which was the only reason Nell had agreed to work past midnight. Three rows of pearl buttons, a band of dark green silk, and a feather that had cost more than Nell's rent for a month.

Keep reading

Upstairs, the window looked straight out at the moon, a pale coin hanging low over the chimney pots, and a pair of starlings kept landing on the sill to peck at the sugar Nell had left out for them. She pinned the cluster of silk camellias to the crown, stepped back, and found the arrangement sat wrong from the left. It needed weight there. She unpicked two petals and sewed them again, slower this time.

The client arrived at a quarter to twelve in a borrowed coat, too early for anyone's dinner and too late for anyone else's business. She didn't say much. She turned to the glass, lifted the brim with one finger, and asked whether the feather would hold in a wind. Nell said it would, provided it was never carried out in the rain. The woman laughed at that, a short surprised sound, and said that was the trouble with most things worth wearing.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Nell found a single rose petal on the counter, the same dark red as the silk, though she had not used a red rose anywhere in the arrangement. She held it up to the window. The moon had slid behind the roofline, and somewhere down by the water a tram bell rang once, as if it had been waiting for her to finish.