Black and grey Botanical style tattoo of a seated Buddha with hands pressed together in prayer, set on a lotus flower with a mandala halo, on the thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Seated Buddha and lotus on a thigh

Botanical · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A seated Buddha with eyes closed and hands pressed together in prayer sits on a large lotus flower, framed by a circular mandala and layered lotus petals. The linework is fine and dark, with soft grey shading on the robe, face and petals. The tattoo is shown in black and grey on a thigh, with the design filling most of the frame.

Botanical Thigh Buddha Lotus Mandala Halo Leaves Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lock gates groan open before the light has decided what colour the water should be, and you walk the towpath with the mooring line looped over your shoulder like a yoke. Mist lies on the cut in a flat white sheet. Behind you the barge rides low with its cargo of reclaimed stone, a dead man's garden sold in pieces to anyone willing to come and fetch it from Stoke Hollow.

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The seated figure travels wrapped in a horse blanket at the stern, though you can make out its shape through the wool. You unwrap it once, on the second day, because the tarpaulin had slipped. A small grey Buddha with its eyes shut and its palms pressed together, sitting on a carved stone lily, a ring of petals fanned behind its head like the spokes of a cartwheel. Someone kept it out of the rain for thirty years. You wrap it again, carefully, and say sorry to it, which is a foolish thing to do, and you do it anyway.

The lock empties with a long sucking roar. The barge drops, and the wet brick walls slide up past the gunwales until there is only a narrow square of sky above you. You have been braced against the tiller all morning, shoulders up by your ears, muttering at the boat. Now there is nothing to be done but wait for the water to find its level. You sit on the lid of the cool box and let your hands fall open in your lap.

When the top gates swing, Dorothy Haig is already standing on the balance beam with two chipped mugs of tea steaming in the damp air. She nods at the bundle at the stern and says nothing. You take the mug and hold it between both palms, the way the figure holds its hands, and the barge slides out onto still water as the sun clears the poplars.