Black and white photo of a fine line geometric mandala tattoo with dangling drops on a woman's chest, placed across the sternum.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric mandala tattoo across the sternum

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A symmetrical mandala-style design with a lotus-like central motif sits across the chest, with a vertical column of small diamonds running up the sternum. Fine, precise linework forms the petals, arcs and hanging drops, with light stippling in places, and the design is shown in black ink on skin. The black and white photograph is evenly lit, with a dark cardigan held open on either side to frame the tattoo.

Fine line Geometric Chest Mandala Lotus Diamond Drop Arc Chest piece

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pattern was pricked into card the week the frost came early, and by the time the lamp was lit at the edge of Alder Wood I had already spoiled three sheets of it. Mother said the lotus was wrong. She said lotus petals should fall, not climb, and that a drop hung from a thread that thin would snap before any customer ever touched it.

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The lace-hall at Pennick sat right where the trees gave up, so the bobbins always smelled of wet bark. Every evening I walked the boundary path with a pocket of linen thread and counted the stones that marked where the village stopped and the forest began. There were nineteen. Old Harrow, the warden, swore there had been twenty once, and that the missing one had been carried off by a fox who fancied being a parish boundary.

I started with the diamonds, a little column of them climbing the spine of the card, each one a knot pulled so tight no light could pass through. Then the arcs, strung like washing between two posts. Then the petals, layered and narrowing until they looked like they were holding their breath. Last of all came the drops. Mother watched me set the final bobbin and said nothing, which from her was a blessing.

Next morning the frost had lifted, and the piece hung in the hall window with its lotus open. Harrow came in from the trees, stood a long while with his hat in his hands, and then counted the drops under his breath. Twenty. He looked at me as if I had gone out past the stones and brought back the one that had wandered off.