Colour tattoo on a forearm of a woman with closed eyes and long hair, surrounded by purple flowers, green leaves and a teal swirl, in a bold neo-traditional style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman with purple flowers on a forearm

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A woman with her eyes closed and long hair is shown in profile, framed by clusters of purple flowers, green leaves and a teal scroll or wave at the base. The linework is bold and dark, with flat fills and simple shading on the skin and petals. Purple and teal dominate the palette, and the design fills an oval shape on the outer forearm against a plain grey background.

Neo-trad Botanical Forearm Woman Flower Leaves Hair Swirl Wave

Find an artist for this

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

Ada Pryce had the tiller under one arm and a mug going cold on the gunwale when the lock gates at Hemingford began to groan open ahead of her. The Marjorie Lune sat low with coal, and the lilac her mother had grown in clay pots along the roof was still stubborn after three weeks of frost. Below in the cabin the kettle ticked as it cooled.

Keep reading

Her mother, Win, had steered this boat for thirty-one years and had never once taken her eyes off the water when she talked. Ada used to think it was rudeness. Now she thought it was the only way Win had known to be honest, eyes closed to the current, letting the river carry the words somewhere nobody could argue with them.

At the weir, where the water turned teal and rushed white over the stones, Ada cut the engine and opened the tin Win had left with instructions. It was not for the ashes, which were already waiting in the bow locker. Inside were no seeds at all. There was a folded chart of the river, pencilled with the names of locks and sandbanks, and beneath it a single line in her mother's looping hand: Tell the water I kept my promise to your father.

Ada had never known there was a promise. She sat on the hatch until the light went grey over the willows, then tipped the first pot of lilac over the side and watched the petals spin away on the current. She began to hum, badly, the tune Win always sang at the tiller, and the river carried it down towards the sea.