Two raised hands against white siding show black mandala tattoos on both forearms and small finger tattoos, in a blackwork and dotwork style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mandala tattoos on forearms and hands

Blackwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are raised towards the camera against white horizontal siding, with black nail polish and silver rings on several fingers. Both forearms carry large ornamental mandala-style designs in black ink, built from solid lines, fine linework and dotted textures, and small finger tattoos include a crescent moon and chevron marks. The composition is centred on the hands and wrists, with black ink on skin set against a pale background.

Blackwork Dotwork Forearm Hand Mandala Moon Chevron Ring

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 tide-dial in the Cutter Street office had sixteen brass rings, and my uncle Ansel swore every one of them turned for a reason nobody had written down. He kept the book of tides on a lectern under the window, and each evening he crouched with a lamp to read the moon's face against the engraved circles, the way other men read the psalms.

Keep reading

The summer the harbour master wanted the outer lock dredged, the tables said the channel would only clear on the new moon, a Thursday, a little after four. Ansel had a bad hip and a worse temper. He sent me down to the sluice with the chart and a warning not to touch the wheel until the innermost ring showed the crescent sitting dead centre in its ogee.

I did not wait for four. I waited for the last of the crab boats to clear the mouth, then I climbed down with my pockets full of tallow and sat on the wet stone, counting the ring-marks with my thumb. The water came early, as water does when it has been argued with for years, and the gate groaned open a full hour ahead of the book.

When Ansel hobbled down at dusk, the channel was gleaming like poured pewter and the harbour master was shouting my name along the quay. Ansel looked at the dial, then at me, and said the moon had done exactly what he always told it to. I told him the moon had nothing to do with it. He laughed until he coughed, then wrote in the margin of the tables, early, by the clerk's hand, and underlined my name twice.