One sprig of laurel, and the sand halfway through
A skeletal hand rises off the hem holding an hourglass at the halfway point, with one laurel sprig crossing the wrist and stopping — a second would have closed the print into a badge.

A skeletal hand, sepia on bone-coloured cotton, rises straight out of the bottom edge of the print — no cuff, no stopping point, just bone entering the frame from below the hem. It holds an hourglass. The sand is exactly halfway down.
One sprig of laurel crosses behind the wrist and stops there. Not two.
Why does the hand enter from the bottom edge instead of sitting inside a frame?
Because a frame would put a boundary under something that's meant to look like it's coming out of the wearer, not printed onto them.
Cut the hand off at a cuff or a wristband and the print becomes an object placed on the chest — a picture of a hand, contained and separate. Let it run straight off the bottom edge and there's no lower boundary for the eye to find, so the bone reads as continuous with whatever's underneath the shirt. It costs nothing extra to draw, and it changes what the whole print is doing.
Why is the hourglass drawn half full instead of empty or full?
Because a full or an empty glass is a statement, and a half-run one is a condition — which is a truer thing for a shirt to say.
An hourglass with all the sand still on top hasn't started. One with all the sand at the bottom has finished, which is a strange thing to wear as an ongoing claim about yourself. Halfway is the reading that describes something still happening rather than something already decided, which is presumably closer to how anyone wearing this actually feels about their own hourglass.
Why only one sprig of laurel, not a matching pair?
Because a second sprig on the other side would close the whole composition into a badge, and a big chest print isn't supposed to close.
An arched word above and a bowed word below are enough on their own to suggest an oval. Add one laurel sprig down each side and the sides stop being open — the elements meet and the print reads as an emblem rather than a scene. This design has no arched or bowed type at all, but the same test still applies to the sprig itself: one, crossing behind the wrist and stopping, keeps the left and right open. A matching second one would be the first step toward the shape another design in this collection had to redraw once it noticed the same thing happening.
Does a skull-and-hourglass motif need anyone's permission?
No. Memento mori imagery — a skeleton, an hourglass, a laurel sprig — has been carved on gravestones and printed on posters for centuries, and none of it belongs to anybody. A style built from these objects is exactly that: a style. Nothing on this shirt names a real person, a real event, or anyone else's design.
Is this the kind of thing somebody wears openly, or is it more private than that?
Both, and it isn't this design's job to decide which for the wearer.
Some people want a mortality symbol read exactly as plainly as this one reads — worn as a stated fact, conversation starter included. Others want the meaning to belong only to them, legible as a strong engraving to a stranger and as something far more specific to the one person wearing it. Neither version is the quiet one and neither is the loud one by default; that depends entirely on who's under the shirt.
Doesn't a skeletal hand read as morbid rather than motivating?
Less than it sounds. Halfway sand isn't an ending, it's the middle of something, which is where most of anyone's actual effort happens. The engraving style does the rest of the work: cross-hatch and stipple read as old and considered rather than gothic, closer to a diagram in a reference book than to anything built to alarm.
Does it print well?
Yes, and the vertical run matters here as much as the linework does.
The print zone is a fixed proportion of the garment rather than a fixed size, and a tall composition like this one gets scaled to fit inside it — the crop frame is what turns "enters from the bottom edge" from an idea into something that actually happens at the hem rather than floating mid-chest. Sepia on bone with a single warm accent ink keeps the cross-hatching legible; a third colour would blur the fine linework the engraving depends on. Another vertical design in this collection runs the same full height, for the same reason.
How do I get one made?
Describe the moment at JustOG — the hand, the hourglass, how far the sand has run. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.
Designs other people have published are in the shop.
The sand keeps running whether or not anybody's watching it. That's rather the point.