Small black fine line tattoo of wildflowers in a glass jar on the side of the ribs, with a black lace bra visible.

Small flowers in a jar on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a glass jar holding a small bunch of flowers and sprigs of leaves, drawn in a single thin black outline. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading, so the design relies on line alone. The image is in black ink only, and the small motif sits on the side of the torso against a plain grey background.

Fine line Botanical Ribs Jar Flower Leaves Foliage Wildflower

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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 jam had set wrong again, and Marjorie Penhale stood over the stove wiping her hands on a tea towel while the kettle ticked behind her. Her son Dennis had brought the jars up from the allotment in a wicker basket that morning, rattling, and she had found the wildflowers wilting in the bottom of it, cow parsley and a few stalks of bird's-foot trefoil he had picked at the gate without asking. He was nine. He thought a jar of weeds would cheer her up.

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She had not said so. She had gone out to the back step with the basket and sat there in the sun, turning the glass jar over in her lap, the one with the blue lid from Mrs Ashdown's shop that she had been saving for something she could not name. The flowers had gone limp at the neck. She filled the jar from the tap, cut the stems on a slant with her kitchen scissors the way her own mother had taught her, and set it on the windowsill above the sink where the light came through the glass and laid a pale line across the draining board.

Dennis came in later with mud to his knees and stood beside her, looking at the jar as though it were a thing he had built. Neither of them said anything for a while. Then he reached past her and shifted the jar a half inch to the left, so the light fell on the leaves rather than the lid.

She left it there. The jam could wait until the morning, and so could the letter from the council, folded under the teapot. For the rest of that week the window stayed full of weeds, and nobody thought to throw them out.