Palm of a hand with a large black and grey mandala tattoo, a small purple centre, radiating lines and dotwork across the hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mandala tattoo across a palm

Geometric · Hand · Mixed · Photo

A large mandala covers the palm and back of a hand, built from layered petal shapes, dotwork and radiating black lines around the edge. At the centre sits a small purple star-like motif with concentric rings, the only colour in an otherwise black and grey design. The tattoo fills the frame edge to edge, with fingers and part of the wrist visible.

Geometric Dotwork Hand Mandala Flower Dot Radiating lines Geometric pattern Palm

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mags Tennant had ground the same lens for three weeks, and it still would not sit true. Down in the workshop behind the lamp house at Skerrow Point, the brass frame ticked as it cooled, and the glass in its cradle threw a grid of wobbling light onto the whitewashed wall. She ran a thumb over the outer prisms, feeling for the lip where one facet met the next, the way her father had taught her before the fever took him.

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The harbour below was filling with the evening boats. She could hear the chain of the Morag Rose rattling on the bollard, and Davie Lunn swearing at his nets in the cold. Nobody in Skerrow ordered a lens for a light that small. The Trinity board had sent the drawings only because the old one cracked in a February gale, and the new one had to match its rings exactly or the ships out past the shoals would see two lights where there should be one.

She set the cradle on its pivot and tried again. Radial, always radial. Each prism flung the lamp's flame outward in a black-edged fan, and at the centre, where the mantle burned, the ground star held its colour, a violet so deep it looked wet. Her father had insisted on that tint, a glass he'd bought off a Dutch trader, and nobody had ever told him it was a waste of money.

At dusk she lit the lamp and sat back. The beam swept over the water, and the fan of light hit the far headland, then the harbour wall, then the Morag Rose coming in on the tide. Davie's lantern answered from the pier, a small yellow point. Mags wiped her hands on her apron and, for the first time that month, did not reach for the file.