Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Yin yang with mandala pattern on a forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A yin yang symbol filled with intricate mandala patterns of dots, petals and geometric shapes, with a plain circle in the upper section and a smaller mandala-filled circle in the lower section. A dotted outline follows the left edge of the symbol, and the linework is fine and precise. The tattoo is in black ink only, shown in a close, centred photo against a grey, textured background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dad taught me the lamp check before he taught me my letters. Every morning at the lamp room in Hartley Bank, the brass tags hung in a row on their hooks, and you had to find yours before the cage dropped. Mine was forty-one, stamped with a little wheel. Tom's was forty-two, the one with the chipped rim, and nobody else would take it because it was his. Mam said we were two halves of the same bad penny, and she was never wrong about anything that cost us money.
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Tom went down the dark side, on the face, where the seams ran thin and the roof talked all shift. I took the light side, the screens on top, where the coal got picked clean and the women sang over the belt. We met at the pithead gates every night at six and walked back up the lane together, the tramway lamps running beside us in a dotted line like stitches in a hem.
The winter the pit shut, the company sent round letters with a perforated strip along the bottom for the redundancy forms. Tom tore his off with his teeth and laughed. Then he took a stub of chalk from his pocket and drew a ring on the back step, a plain white circle, and filled the lower curve with the tiny round dots he used to count the props. "That's you," he said, tapping the bigger space. "That's me, and I've got the dark."
He set his lamp in the middle of the dark half and struck it. We sat on the step until the oil ran low, two halves of one ring, and neither of us got up to turn the wick down.
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