Close crop of a person in a white crop top and denim shorts, showing a black geometric mandala tattoo on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mandala tattoo on upper arm

Geometric · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A person wearing a white cropped t-shirt with a black collar and a printed red, white and black stripe design is photographed from the side, with long blonde hair falling past the shoulder. A dark, symmetrical mandala-style tattoo is visible on the upper arm, with fine linework and areas of solid black. The image is mostly black ink and skin tones, with light-blue denim shorts and a black bag strap in the frame.

Geometric Upper arm Mandala Long hair

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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 first one I found was on the steps of the closed launderette on Harrow Street, at ten to five, when the sky over the bins was still the colour of wet slate. Someone had drawn a circle in chalk about the width of a dinner plate, then folded it outward eight times, petal on petal, until the whole thing sat on the stone like a lit window. I nearly swept it away. My brush was already in my hand.

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For three weeks I swept around them. Each morning there was a new one, never the same twice, and always mirrored so exactly that I could fold the picture in my head and the halves met. I started timing my round to catch the artist. Nobody came. There was only the late 14 bus sighing at the stop, and the smell of diesel and fried onions from the kebab place that never shuts.

On the Thursday it rained. I came down the hill expecting nothing, and the steps were bare, the chalk run into grey streaks down the gutter. I stood there a long time. Then I noticed a single white dot on the lowest step, and beside it, in the dry corner under the awning, one small ring, unfinished, as if the hand had been interrupted.

I knelt on the wet stone with a stub of chalk from my overall pocket and drew the petals outward from that ring, one by one, counting eight. When I stood up the rain had got into my collar and I didn't mind. Somewhere a bus pulled away. I left the drawing for the rain to take, and it did, and it was enough that I had finished it.