Script lettering flash sheet

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

A flash sheet of script lettering in black ink on a white background, with five lines of flowing calligraphic text separated by scrolled flourish borders. The phrases vary in size, from a small line at the top to a large word near the bottom, and the hairline strokes and looping capitals are consistent across the sheet. Only black ink and grey-free line work appear, and the layout is arranged for copying as separate designs.

Lettering Script Lettering Flourish Border Calligraphy Scroll

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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

The lamp room smells of paraffin and wet wool, and Mrs Abernethy is holding a sheet of copied lettering out to you before you have your boots off. "Choose one," she says. "The board wants a name on the gallery rail by Friday, and I'm not having the Calder light called nothing."

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You run your thumb down the phrases. Surely the rain will wash over us is true enough, but no sailor wants that on his mind at the rail. History is too grand for a stump of granite. Sparkles and Charms makes her snort into her tea. Lament in B minor is what her husband would have said if anyone had let him speak at the funeral, so you skip it. Washington, the big looping word at the bottom, was the name painted on the bow of the boat he took out the year the swell came in. She taps it twice with one finger and says nothing at all.

You work through the afternoon with a fine sable brush and a pot of gold size. The rain comes in sideways and the paper keeps lifting off the sill, so you weigh its corners down with spanners and a brass polishing cloth. The capitals take the longest. The W loops twice before it settles, and the hairlines are so thin you have to breathe out slowly to stop the gold skipping.

When the lamp lights at dusk, the glass throws every letter backwards across the water. Mrs Abernethy says that is how the boats know it is ours. Go down to the harbour wall, she says, and look back up. You do, and the name reads true at last.