Black and grey mandala tattoo covering the back of a hand and forearm, with thin stripes across the fingers.

Mandala tattoo across hand and forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A man's hand and forearm show a large black ornamental mandala design, with a dense band of patterned panels up the forearm and a rounded medallion across the back of the hand. The linework is fine and symmetrical, with some dotted accents and shaded fills, and the design is rendered entirely in black and grey ink. The hand sits in the foreground against a blurred blue shirt and a dark background, and a dark ring is worn on one finger.

Geometric Forearm Hand Mandala Ornament Pattern Stripe

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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

Sit down, sit down, and mind the step, it's been loose since the gale. No, the lens isn't the thing you want. You want the rings. Old Ansel Pike ground that glass himself in a shed at Harrowby, every ring cut to answer the one before it, so the light goes out in a circle that never breaks. He used to say a true pattern is one that doesn't need you to hold it up.

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His granddaughter, Winifred, kept the lamp after him. She had a habit of counting things. Every night she tallied the ships passing on the shelf of the sea, and every night she notched the tally into the rail beside the stair, four short strokes and a bar across for each five. By the autumn of the big fog the rail was grey with them, and the men in the boat sheds said she'd gone a bit queer.

The fog came in on a Thursday and sat on the water for three days. On the third night a trawler's lamp came bobbing in the lee of the rocks, and Winifred climbed the tower and turned the glass by hand, ring by ring, so the beam swept out in its great slow medallion across the water. The skipper swore afterwards that the light laid a pattern on the sea like a hand flat on a table, and he steered by it straight into the harbour mouth.

So when you ask me why those stairs are notched, that's your answer, and you can count them yourself if you don't believe me. Forty-one ships. Forty-one strokes. Mind your feet going down.