Black fine line ornamental tattoo wrapping the wrist like a bracelet, with a lotus motif, dotted chains and diamond shapes, on a hand with dark nail polish.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ornamental wrist bracelet tattoo

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand is shown with a black ink tattoo wrapping around the wrist, made up of a lotus-like motif at the top, curling scrolls, dotted chains and two diamond shapes hanging in the centre. The linework is fine and precise, with dotted accents and solid black fills in the diamonds. The ink is black only, set against pale skin and a plain black background, with a ring on one finger.

Fine line Dotwork Forearm Lotus Diamond Dotted chain Ornament Bracelet Scroll Wrist Hand 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 bench lamp hummed over the velvet tray, and Mrs Oakes wanted the stones matched by morning. I had forty pieces of Victorian paste to sort by cut, and my hands kept drifting to the drawer where Aunt Wren kept the drawings. She had been dead a month. Her last commission was still pinned to the lid, a sheet of tracing paper with a lotus at the top, scrolls curling out like someone had breathed on the lines, and a chain of tiny dots strung down the middle to two lozenges, one above the other, filled solid so they looked like dropped ink.

Keep reading

No one had told me it was a bracelet for a wrist, not a clasp for a bodice. I found the measurements in her hand: fourteen centimetres, the dots spaced to a hair. I did not know whom she had measured. The city outside had gone quiet except for the tram bells down at Canal Street, and the shop smelled of solder and cold tea.

I took the tracing to the back room and pricked the dots onto a strip of soft leather, the way she showed me when I was nine. Each prick took a breath. By two o'clock the chain was complete, eleven beads and two diamonds, and it sat on the bench like a thing waiting to be worn.

In the morning I laid it beside Mrs Oakes's paste and said nothing. She asked whose it was. I told her it was waiting for whoever Wren had meant it for, and that I had only drawn the lines in the dark.