Back and shoulder of a person with a white and pink botanical scrollwork design across the shoulder blade, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

White and pink floral scrollwork across a shoulder

Botanical · Shoulder · Colour · Photo

A pink and white floral design with curling scrolls and tendrils sweeps from the upper back over the shoulder. The linework is fine and detailed, with pink flower heads and dotted accents on a white outlined scroll structure. The design looks temporary or decorative rather than permanent, and the shot is taken outdoors on a bright street with trees and a stone pavement behind.

Botanical Fine line Shoulder Back Flower Scroll Swirl Floral Tendril Ornament

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The whiting was already going to paste when Mary Dunn carried the bucket up the back lane, and she had to work fast before the Sunday sun dried it to chalk. Her cousin was getting married at the Methodist chapel at two, and the pattern had to be on her shoulder before the bell. Nobody in Hetton Lane had a pattern like it. Mary had found it in a lace book from a Bishop Auckland jumble sale, a fern of scrolls and tendrils with a five-petalled rose at each turn, and she had copied it onto brown paper until the corners went soft.

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Her hands were not steady. Her father had been on the night shift at Eppleton since the fire in the spring, and he sat on the step with his pipe unlit, watching her dip the feather. 'You'll not get that done in an hour,' he said. 'Then I'll do it in forty minutes,' she said, and he laughed for the first time in weeks, a short cough of a laugh.

The pink came from a paper of cochineal her mother had hidden in the tea caddy, mixed with a spoon of rosewater. Mary dotted the centres of the flowers the way the lace-maker in Durham had shown her, one bead at a time, and each dot sat on the skin like a small hard thought. By half past one the design swept from the blade of the shoulder up over the top of the arm, curling and doubling back on itself like a bine looking for something to hold.

The bell started. Her cousin stood in the doorway in a dress the colour of milk and turned so Mary could see the work. 'Don't rub it,' Mary said. Outside the rain came thin and sudden, and by the time the bridal party reached the chapel gate the scrolls had run into pale pink ghosts. Her father took her hand and said nothing, which from him was a speech.