Black line drawing of a small mandala tattoo design on white paper, shown beside a US quarter for scale.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small mandala flash beside a quarter

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A small mandala design drawn in black ink on plain white paper, with a radiating flower-like centre, scalloped outer petals and dot accents around the edge. The linework is clean and even, with small dots filling the inner ring and sparse dots scattered outside the petals. A silver US quarter sits to the left, providing a sense of scale, and the design is shown on a plain background.

Geometric Fine line Mandala Flower Dot Coin

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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

Sit down, the lot of you, and mind the coal dust on that bench. You want the story of the Marigold's last crossing, and you'll get it, but nobody interrupts an old man on a lee deck. Captain Haig kept a silver quarter in his waistcoat for luck. It had an American president on it with a stiff neck and a face like a disappointed horse. Nobody knew why an Englishman carried Yankee money across the Atlantic. He said it was the only coin that never rolled off a deck.

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That June we lay becalmed for nine days off the Grand Banks. The water casks were down to a finger's depth, and the sails hung like wet washing. Ruth Penhallow, our cook, had nothing to do but sit at the galley table with a pot of ink and a steel nib. She drew a flower on a sheet of good paper, a ring of petals with a sunburst at the heart, and she dotted it round the edges like spray off a bow. Young Eli Mercer watched her do it and asked what good a picture was when we needed wind. Ruth told him a flower is only a map of where the weather wants to go, if you're patient enough to read it.

On the tenth morning the captain came down, flipped that quarter on the table, and it landed square on the drawing, dead centre on the sunburst. He laughed till he coughed. Within the hour a cat's-paw crawled across the water from the north, and by noon we had a fair breeze and a squall of rain behind it. Ruth never claimed it was her doing. She just scraped the ink off the table and kept the paper, and the dots stayed on the page, scattered like the drops that finally fell on us.