Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Sun tattoo on the ribs
Ribs · Black and grey · Photo
A black and grey sun with a sunburst of rays and a stylised face sits on the side of the torso, with a small tattoo visible on the upper arm. The shading uses dark solid areas and lighter grey fills, with clean outlines. The image shows a woman with long blonde ombre hair and daisy hair clips, her face turned away from the camera, against a pale wooden wall.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Nell Pargeter had painted suns for thirty-one years, and she still mixed her black by hand, lamp black ground with a drop of linseed, because the shop-bought tins went grey in the sun. The Harvest Glory was due at Wetherby by Friday, and its ride board had a crack down the middle where the frost had got under the paint. She sat on an upturned crate with the board across her knees and worked the face in first: two eyes shut to slits, a mouth turned up at one corner as if it knew a joke about the crowd.
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Her nephew Danny held the storm lamp and complained about the cold. "Who's it meant to be?" he asked. "Nobody. It's the sun." "It's the sun that's looked down on every ground this fair has ever pitched," she said, and fanned the rays out from the face in long grey strokes, lighter as they reached the edge, so the whole thing seemed to shimmer like heat over a tarmac road.
On the last night, when the generator coughed and the Waltzer lights went out one bulb at a time, Danny found her still at the board with a rag in her lap. The face was finished, but she had not signed it. "You always sign," he said. She dipped the brush, leaned in, and painted a small crooked daisy in the corner instead.
"The sun doesn't need a name," she said. "Somebody has to keep the ground."
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