Two matching ornamental mandala tattoos on the tops of a pair of feet, one with a red and teal butterfly centre and one with a red flower and green leaves, in neo-traditional style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching mandala tattoos on both feet

Neo-trad · Other · Mixed · Photo

A pair of feet, each with a large mandala-style tattoo that extends from the ankle across the top of the foot. The left foot has a centre resembling a butterfly in red and teal with green accents, and the right has a red flower with green leaves, both framed by black ornamental linework with dotted details. The bold colour fills sit against heavy black outlines and lace-like patterning, with the skin visible between the motifs.

Neo-trad Botanical Other Mandala Butterfly Flower Leaves Ornament Lace Dotwork

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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 Co-op hall in Bramhope smelled of floor polish and warm sausage rolls, and nobody there remembered Mrs Hollis's Year Nine art room except Pauline Tranter and me. Pauline still had my compass, the good one with the brass screw, and she produced it from her handbag before the tea urn had even boiled. She said she'd been meaning to give it back since 1987. I said she could keep it, which seemed the decent thing to say.

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That was the year of circles. Mrs Hollis set us a mandala to draw from a single point with compass and ruler, and Pauline and I spent three lunchtimes on the same design, each trying to fit more petals into the rings before the lines crowded. Hers was a red flower, dense and certain. Mine kept opening out into wings, because I could never stop the outer band from wanting to become something that might fly off the page. Mrs Hollis gave me a B minus and wrote 'ambitious' in red.

At the urn, Pauline asked if I still drew. I said not really. She went to her coat and came back with a plastic wallet, creased and soft at the corners, and inside were both our sheets, yellowed along the same fold. Hers had a red flower. Mine had a moth.

But she had traced mine. Holding the paper to the window, I could see her pencil ghost underneath, the wings turned inside out and reworked into petals, the moth still folded into the centre where only someone looking closely would find it. She had been copying me all along, and I had never once noticed.