White ink mandala tattoo with layered petals and a central medallion on the inner forearm, shown against dark leather.

White ink mandala on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A large mandala design is tattooed in white ink on the inner forearm, built from layered petal shapes and a central circular medallion. The fine white linework and dotted detailing are raised against slightly reddened skin, so the design reads as light rather than dark. The mandala fills the centre of the frame, with dark leather upholstery behind the arm.

Geometric Forearm Mandala Flower Petal Medallion

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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 reunion was held in the same sports hall, with the same sticky floor and the same smell of floor polish that no amount of refurbishment had shifted. Lorraine Pike had clipboards, a name badge printer, and a plastic crate of old year books she kept lifting onto trestle tables as if they might go off.

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Priya Dhillon had been the one who drew on the yard. In Year Nine she borrowed a tin of white chalk from the caretaker, Mr Ferris, and every dinner break she knelt on the tarmac and built circles outward from a single dot, rings of petals, tiny dots packed into the gaps, until the far corner looked like someone had spilled light. He hosed them off on Fridays. She came back on Mondays and started again, not once looking up when the bell went.

Someone had propped a photograph on an easel near the squash court: a sheet of black card with a mandala drawn in white pencil, every petal fanning from the same middle. Lorraine said Priya's mum had dropped it in at the office with a note saying she would have wanted it here. Nobody mentioned where Priya was now, and I didn't ask.

After the buffet I walked out to the yard on my own. They had resurfaced it in black years ago, but when the rain came over the car park the water pooled in one corner and stood pale, and under the wet I could make out the faint outline of a ring of petals where the old chalk had sunk into the surface. I crouched and ran a finger round the edge of it, and my fingertip came away grey and cold, and it was the only thing in the whole evening that felt exactly the right size.