Black and grey mandala and floral dotwork tattoo covering the back of a hand and wrist, with fine line chain detail across the fingers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mandala and floral hand tattoo

Dotwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand resting palm down on white paper shows a dense black mandala design with a large floral motif, a scalloped geometric border across the back of the hand and fingers, and a fine chain line running over the knuckles. The work combines bold linework with stippled dotwork shading, with more floral patterning continuing up the forearm at the top of the frame. The image is shot in low light against a dark background, with the tattoo as the clear focus.

Dotwork Geometric Botanical Hand Forearm Mandala Flower Chain Hand Dot Ornament

Find an artist for this

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 bell at Hollin Cross had not rung since the flood, so when the old year-group came back up the lane that October, nobody thought to ask who had sent the letters. Forty-one of them walked in under the lych gate with their coats open and their faces rearranged by time. The schoolhouse was a shell of brick and nettles, but the playground still had its painted circle, and the circle still had a chalk-white ring of stones inside it, laid by someone who had kept coming back.

Keep reading

Marjorie Penrose, who had sat at the front and never once raised her hand, stood in the middle of that ring and set down a tin of biscuits. She said the names of the children who had not made it up the lane, and after each name she laid a dried poppy head on the stone nearest her. Nobody argued with the count. The lanterns were lit. A fiddler from the next valley played the tune the headmistress used to hum while she marked the register, and the tune went slow and wandering, the way the river went below the village.

When the fiddle stopped, the youngest of them, a boy who had left at eleven and never come home, stepped into the ring and held out a hand the way they had been taught to in the first week of school, palm down, fingers spread, so the teacher could check for ink. The lantern light ran over the knuckles. A thin chain of silver dots crossed them, and beneath it the stones of the circle seemed to stir, as if each had been waiting its turn to be counted. Marjorie laughed, quite suddenly, and the sound carried down to the water, and the water, for the first time in thirty years, answered.