Black and grey mandala tattoo with a lotus-style motif at the top, inked on the abdomen in a close black and white photo.

Mandala and lotus tattoo on the stomach

Geometric · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A symmetrical ornamental design sits on the centre of the abdomen, with a stylised lotus-like bud at the top, a fan of pointed scallops in the middle and a fringe of small sprigs along the lower edge. The linework is dark and even, with dot and dash details filling the inner sections, and the piece is fully black with no colour. The photograph is shot straight on in black and white, with soft focus at the edges and two hands holding the skin at either side of the design.

Geometric Botanical Other Mandala Lotus Flower Ornament Fan Scallop Sprig Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Forty-one days out from Falmouth, the flour was the only thing aboard the Marigold Sorrow that Nell Quarrie trusted to tell her the truth. She tipped the sack onto the galley table and counted by lamplight, weevils moving through the grey dust like slow commas. Eleven stone, perhaps twelve, which would carry the crew to the Cape if nobody got greedy and the boys kept their hands out of the bread bin.

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Her mother had kept a thimble of rosewater and a tin of seeds, and had taught Nell to draw on anything that would take a mark: slate, sailcloth, the back of a bill of lading. The pattern came back to her with her thumb pressed into the dusting flour. A small closed bud at the top, then a stem, then a fan of scallops opening downward, each one pricked with a dot, and a fringe of sprigs hanging from the hem like weed on a pier post. She drew it slowly, the way her mother had done it on the corner of every sampler in the parlour.

Silas, the youngest, came down the ladder in his stockinged feet and asked what she was making. 'A lid,' she said. 'For what?' 'For the day we make land and I stop feeding you grey bread.' He laughed, then stopped, because she pressed the pattern with the flat of her knife and it held, sharp at the edges, the way nothing else had held since Madeira.

She baked it anyway, a round loaf scored with the bud and the fan, and when the watch came down at eight bells they tore into it with their hands. The little dotted scallops broke off on the boards, and Silas pocketed one. Nobody asked her why she had drawn it. By the middle watch the loaf was gone, and the table was clean enough to write a letter on.