Black and grey fine line mandala flash drawing with layered petals and a geometric radial pattern, shown on tan paper with no body placement.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Radial mandala design on paper

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A symmetrical mandala drawn in black ink on tan paper, built from a central lotus-like flower surrounded by layered rings of petals and pointed outer points. The linework is fine and precise, with hatching and small dotted details creating shading across the petals. The design is centred and fills the square frame, with no colour beyond black ink and the brown paper.

Geometric Mandala Lotus Petal Radial pattern Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down by the stove, and mind the cat, she's had a bad winter. Right. You want to know about Ada Pell and the lens. Everyone in Skerrow Quay knows the bones of it, but the bones are dull, so I'll give you the marrow.

Keep reading

Ada was the ground-glass girl at the lighthouse works, up on the cliff where the wind comes off the Atlantic like it owes someone money. The old lens had cracked in the big frost, and the board men said a new one would take three years and a fortune. Ada said she'd cut it in one winter if they let her have the offcuts and the lamp at night. They laughed, then they let her.

She didn't cut straight rings, mind. She cut petals. Eight rows of them, each one a little prism, each row set inside the last like the petals of a lily opening in a bowl of water. Her father had worked the herring boats, and he used to say a lily's just a compass that forgot where north was. She'd nod and keep grinding.

Come the February gale, the Marjorie Ann was out past the Knuckle with her hold full of ice and no light to find the gap. Ada climbed the tower with a candle in her teeth and a lamp in each hand, and when the flame caught the lens, the whole sea went gold in rings, petal after petal, and every boat in the bay saw the way home written out on the water. When they found her in the morning she had her fingers pressed on the glass and her ledger open at her feet. On the page she'd drawn that lens from the middle outward, every petal, with a dot for each place a wave had almost taken someone. I've still got a copy of it. The dots run out at the edge of the page, and so does the story, and that's the only honest thing about it.