Black mandala tattoo with leaf motifs on a woman's upper chest, partly covered by black lace lingerie.

Black mandala tattoo on upper chest

Geometric · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop shows a woman's upper chest and cleavage, with a black mandala-style tattoo sitting above a black lace bralette. The design has a pointed, teardrop-shaped outline edged with small leaves, filled with concentric rosettes and dotted detailing. The tattoo is solid black ink on a warm skin tone, with a soft, low-contrast background.

Geometric Dotwork Chest Mandala Leaves Rosette Floral Teardrop

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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 ferryman at Sarn Ford had stopped asking travellers what they carried years ago, but he still asked Ruth Abara, because she never carried anything but a sheaf of folded paper inside her coat. Each sheet held one drawn teardrop, its outline edged with small leaves that all leaned the same way, and inside it rings of rosettes grew smaller and smaller toward the point until the centre was a dot no bigger than a barley grain. She had drawn them since she was a girl sitting under her grandmother's loom, copying the patterns the weavers pressed into the wet clay of the dye pits.

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On the far bank the customs man was a thin fellow called Oskar Lindqvist, who had a ledger, a pot of red sealing wax and very little patience. He told her paper was taxed by the weight, and she said these were not paper but lace, which was a lie, and he laughed and said he would weigh her lies too if she gave him the chance. So she unfolded one on the wooden table between them. He bent close, expecting flowers, and saw instead a river running down from the outer leaves, with every rosette a village and every ring a road that joined the next.

He stood there a long while with the wax cooling on his fingers. Then he stamped the sheet LACE in square black letters, pushed it back across the table and waved her through without a word. Ruth walked up the path toward the hills. Behind her the ferryman heard him whistling, badly, as he traced the rings with one finger, following the roads that the paper had shown him all the way to the small dot at the centre, where the river finally ran out.