Black linework flower of life tattoo inside a circle on a forearm, with a person in a plain white t-shirt beside it.

Flower of life tattoo on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A circular flower of life pattern made of overlapping thin black circles, sitting centrally on the forearm. The lines are crisp and even with no shading or fill, so the design reads as a clean outline. The ink is black on pale skin, and the background shows a wooden floor and a red cabinet.

Geometric Forearm Flower of life Circle Overlapping circles Geometric pattern Sacred geometry

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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

Ivy Marsh had the compass in her apron pocket before the band had finished packing up. The Regent's floor was sprung maple, and every Saturday she laid out the same figure in chalk before the first waltz: one circle struck from a centre point, then six more, each one passing through the middle. Her father had taught her with a length of string and a nail in the boards of the back room. "Start where you are," he'd said, "and let the rest go round you."

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This Saturday Mr Oakes wanted the floor kept bare for a jive contest. He said the circles looked like a bicycle wheel that had fallen down the stairs, and told her to leave it. Ivy kept chalking anyway, quietly, while the doors opened and the first couples came in with their coats still on and their shoes already squeaking.

Halfway through the evening she watched the dancers. They turned in rings, partners swapping, and each time a pair drifted towards the centre they crossed the lines her chalk had made. Nobody looked down. The lines were something you stepped over, not something you read. Mr Oakes came past with a tray of lemonade, stopped to study the floor, and for once said nothing at all.

At midnight she swept with the soft broom. The chalk came up grey on the bristles, the circles blurred into the boards, and the wood beneath showed faintly where the pattern had been. She folded the compass into her pocket, warm from her hand, and left the last pale arc by the door for Monday.