Black and grey mandala on the chest
Geometric · Chest · Black and grey · Photo
A large mandala-style tattoo with radiating petal and leaf forms sits on the upper chest. The linework is fine and the shading is soft grey, with darker accents at the centre. The black garment and gold chains frame the design against bare skin, with the head and face cropped out.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The pilot cutter had gone back to Falmouth before the fog lifted, leaving Marguerite Sall on the harbour wall with a crate of pressed ferns, a trunk of ink, and a letter promising that the schooner Hesper would call on the ninth tide. She counted the days the only way she trusted, by drawing. Each dawn she sat on the crate with the ledger open on her knees and inked a ring, then filled it with petals, one curved leaf after another, shading the centre darker until the page looked like a sundial that had come into flower.
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Tobias, the harbourmaster's boy, brought her bread on the fourth morning and wanted to know why she kept drawing the same thing. "Because it does not point anywhere," she said. "A compass wants you to go north. This wants nothing. It just holds still and gets bigger." He studied the page with his mouth full. "My mam says the sea makes everyone restless." "Your mam is right, which is why I am drawing."
The Hesper came in on the ninth tide, its captain a thin man named Ashdown who carried a brass compass case under one arm and asked whether she was the botanist. She said she was a copyist. He offered her passage to Lisbon in exchange for the ledger, which he had glimpsed open on the wall and mistaken for a chart. She closed it and told him no. He sailed without her, and she watched his sails go out past the breakwater until they were only a grey thread.
That night she finished the last ring. She left the outermost petal empty, a pale outline with nothing inside it, and sealed the ledger with wax. At first light she walked down to the slipway, where a fishing boat was loading crates of mackerel. "Take me as far as the next light," she said. The boatman glanced at the open page in her hands, at the one unfinished petal, and nodded as though he had been saving a berth for it.
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