Black and grey realism tattoo of a winged woman holding flowers, covering the upper arm and shoulder of a shirtless man.

Winged woman holding flowers on shoulder and arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo of a woman with long, wavy hair and large feathered wings covers the upper arm and part of the shoulder. She has her arms crossed over her chest and holds a cluster of flowers, and a smaller floral panel sits lower on the arm. The shading is smooth and detailed, with strong contrast between the dark feathers and the softer skin tones, set against a blurred indoor background.

Realism Upper arm Shoulder Angel Wing Woman Flower Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The chapel roof leaked over the north pew that winter, so my mother sat under her brolly and sang louder than anyone to keep warm. Nobody in Hartley had dry boots. Mr Oddie, the joiner, had been commissioned by the lodge to carve a memorial for the four men lost in the fire of 1909, and he asked me to hold the lamp while he worked, because I had the steadiest hands in Sunday school.

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The figure he began was a woman with her arms folded over her chest, the way you hold a shawl against the draught. Her wings were to be pit-wheel spokes fanned out and feathered with soot. He kept stopping. "She's too frightened," he said. "Angels aren't frightened." I told him my father hadn't been frightened either, not once in twenty-six years on the coal face, and that was the trouble with him. Oddie said nothing, but I saw him look at his own boy's empty chair by the stove.

After that he carved differently. He took the offcuts from the scrap bin, sanded prop timber that still smelled faintly sweet with resin, and shaped it into lilies, one bloom for each man. He wouldn't let me see the face until the end. "She's looking at what she's keeping," was all he would say.

The unveiling was on a Sunday in March. Light came through the one clear pane and lay across the wings, turning the dark feathers silver at their edges, and for a moment the woman seemed to be holding the lilies out to us rather than hiding them. My mother stopped singing. Oddie took off his cap, and I lifted the lamp anyway, though it was daylight, because it was the only thing I knew how to give.