Black ink pen sketch of a woman with long flowing hair, large flowers and a flower with an eye at its centre, drawn on a spiral notebook page.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman with flowing hair and flowers

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A pen drawing of a woman with long, flowing hair. Her hands rest near her chin and face, and she wears flowers in her hair, with a second flower and an eye-centred bloom at the lower left. The fine, varied black linework builds up the hair and foliage in cross-hatched strands, with no colour, and the drawing sits on a spiral-bound sketchbook page beside two black fineliner pens.

Fine line Woman Hair Flower Eye Hand Leaves

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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 eye in the lower corner of the page was meant to be a weed, Marta told herself, and weeds were not worth an hour of fineliner. She had drawn it anyway, at the cold bench in her grandfather's workshop in Saltcombe, where the tide came up through the floorboards on spring nights and the gulls fought over the gutters.

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The commission was due before the Michaelmas fair. A widow from the harbour wanted her hair drawn as a river, with every strand a current and every current carrying a flower. Marta worked through the first week with two black pens, and by the second one had worn to a scratch. She kept the hair loose and cross-hatched it until her wrists ached. The hands she drew last, lifting the hair away from a face she kept leaving blank, as though she were holding a collar closed against weather.

On the ninth night the strands had crossed the ruled margins and spread over the spiral binding. When she came in the eye had opened wider, its lashes inked so fine they seemed to tremble when the tide turned under the floor. She stopped drawing and listened instead. The linework was humming, low and steady, the way the sea hums through a shell.

She closed the sketchbook, laid the spent pen beside it, and walked down to the slipway in her stockings. Behind her, the widow's river was already running off the paper and into the dark water, flowers and all, and the lower corner's eye stayed open, watching the harbour lights come on one by one.