Black and grey photograph of a woman holding a camera to her face, with a shaded rose tattoo sleeve on her upper arm and forearm.

Rose sleeve on a woman holding a camera

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman with long dark hair holds a camera up to her face, so only her hands and arms are visible. Her upper arm and forearm carry a shaded sleeve of roses with leaves and fine stems, and small marks appear on her fingers. The image is in black and white, with soft grey tones across the tattoo and a plain grey backdrop.

Botanical Realism Upper arm Forearm Hand Rose Leaves Camera Hair Finger

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Thursday, 9th January. Frost on the glasshouse glass again, so thick this morning that I had to breathe on a pane to see the Albertine climbing the back wall. Dad says the cold does the roses good, that they sulk in January and sprout in May, and I have stopped arguing because he has been right about roses for forty years and wrong about nearly everything else.

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He wants the old bed by the orchard gate cleared before the ground hardens. Forty-one bushes, most of them Madame Hardy and a few nameless ones he took as cuttings from a churchyard in Horncastle. I dug out the dead wood with the bow saw while he sat on the upturned crate with the black camera on his knee, the one he bought off a man at Louth market and never once put the lens cap back on. He photographs the bare canes against the sky. He says in black and white you can see the bones of a thing, and it is true. The stems look like wire drawings, every thorn sharp.

Tonight he developed the film in the cupboard under the stairs, red bulb and all, and came out with a print still wet at the corners. The bloom from last June, the one that went brown in the rain before anyone saw it. In grey it looked like an old engraving, every petal shaded darker at the fold. "The colour was never the point," he said, holding it up to the lamp. "It's the shadow that does the work." I think he meant the roses. I am not sure he did.

I've pinned it above the kettle. Tomorrow I will cut the first of the new canes, and in the morning I will go back to the bed while the frost is still on it.