Black line drawing of a floral mandala design with a circular centre, petal-like points and a paisley vine hanging below, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Floral mandala design with paisley vine

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A black ink drawing of a flower-like mandala with a blank circle at its centre, surrounded by pointed petals filled with dense dotted and swirling detail. Below, a paisley-shaped vine descends in two curling tendrils, ending in a small paisley form. The linework is fine and uniform on a plain white background, with no shading or colour.

Botanical Flower Mandala Paisley Vine Petal Sun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dad always painted the centre last, and he never once put anything in it. Every ride on the Mardle run had a sun on its canopy, eight points of gold lacquer going out from a hole of bare board, and I used to think he had forgotten the middle or was saving it for something better. We were in Ashby Green that August, the big dipper bolted to the football field and the generator grumbling under the chip van, when I asked him straight out.

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He wiped his brush on his trouser leg and said the middle belonged to whoever sat under it at night. Then he sent me up the ladder to do the scrollwork on the gondola, the paisley tails that curl off the petals and run down the side panel like a stream that has changed its mind. My hands were steady then. I did six tendrils before dinner, dotting every curl with the tip of a number three sable until my eyes ached.

The turn came on the last night, when the lights were off and the wind was tugging the bunting off the railings. A girl from the candyfloss stall climbed the steps with a cup of tea, looked up at the sun and said it looked like a moon someone had forgotten to finish. I laughed, but she was right about the circle. It was the only blank thing on forty feet of fairground, and Dad was already asleep in the cab of the lorry.

In the morning I took the small pot of white enamel he kept for hubcaps and painted one thin ring round the edge of the hole, no more. When we rolled out at six the sun had a moon in it, and the paisley vine ran down the side with its last curl hooked over the edge, as if it was still deciding whether to follow us to the next town.