Colour tattoo of two sunflowers, a black arrow and pink angular panels on an upper arm, in a neo-traditional style with geometric elements.

Sunflowers and geometric shapes on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

Two large sunflowers with yellow petals and dotted centres sit over angular pink and red panels, with a black arrow and dark ink splatter across the upper arm. The outlines are bold and black, with softer pink wash and green leaves filling the shapes. The design runs diagonally across the arm, with the person's face and head cropped out of frame.

Neo-trad Geometric Upper arm Sunflower Arrow Geometric shape Splatter Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dilys had pegged out the boundary string the Tuesday before the frost, and by Thursday the sunflowers had already turned their heads toward it, as if someone had told them where the sun was supposed to sit. Her father would have laughed. He had surveyed the valley for forty years and believed land only belonged to people who wrote it down in the right ink, with the right angles, and signed at the bottom.

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The pink square behind the wall was the old chapel's cloth, dyed in a vat that had soured long before she was born. She had painted over the cracks with a wash of it, thin as breath, and the damp came up through the brick and took the colour where it liked. The arrow she had drawn herself, pointing north, because north was the only direction her father had ever trusted. The ink she spilled that afternoon ran off the bench in a black fan and dried across the soil like a weather chart nobody had asked for.

When the council man came with his clipboard and his measuring wheel, she walked him down the allotment and showed him the flowers, each head as wide as a dinner plate, the seed in their centres set out like the holes in a sieve held up to the light. He measured the square. He measured the pink. He wrote the word garden on his form and underlined it twice, and he looked at her as if she had made a mistake in the arithmetic.

That evening Dilys hung her father's brass compass on the nail by the back door. The needle swung, lost its nerve, and then settled, not on north at all but on the nearest flower, bright and round and facing the last of the light.