Sheet of dark brown infinity-loop swirl flourish designs with dotted trails on a cream background, shown as tattoo flash.

Infinity swirl flourish designs sheet

Black and grey · Flash

The image shows about a dozen separate flourish designs arranged in a grid, most built around an infinity loop with curling scrolls at the ends. The lines range from fine hairlines to heavier strokes, and several designs include rows of dots that trail along the curves. All the artwork is in a single dark brown ink on a pale cream background, with no shading or colour.

Infinity Swirl Flourish Scroll Dot Filigree

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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 tallies were due at the press house by dusk, and you had already blotted the first page twice because the damp kept the ink from settling. Outside, the windfalls were coming down faster than the pickers could bag them, each one landing in the long grass with a soft knock, like someone at a door they did not intend to open. Uncle Alf had taught you to write a ledger the way he taught you to prune: slowly, with one eye on what the next year would ask.

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The margins were where he let you show off. Every column total got a flourish beneath it, a loop that crossed over itself and trailed a string of dots down the paper like fallen fruit. "The sum is only honest," he said, "if it has a tail you can't argue with." You thought it was vanity until the autumn the orchard was sold, when the buyer's clerk went through the books with a magnifying glass and found that every figure with a loop beneath it had been checked twice, and the bare ones had not.

Now you sit on the upturned crate with the pen he left you, its nib worn to a shallow curve. The wasps are drunk on the spilt cider by the gate. You count the rows still unpicked on the back of an envelope, dot by dot, and find the total comes out a little higher than you expected.

You draw the last loop slowly, the hairline thinning as the nib runs dry, and you leave one end open, the way he always did, so whoever picks up the book next has somewhere to begin.