Man in a navy polo shirt showing an eye tattoo with red linework on his neck, a geometric eye tattoo on his upper arm and a rose tattoo on his forearm.

Eye tattoos on neck and arms

Neck · Mixed · Photo

A close crop of a man in a navy polka dot polo shirt, with the face out of frame and only the beard and chin visible. An eye motif with red linework and rays sits on the neck, a grey eye inside a framed shape is on the upper arm, and a rose is visible lower on the forearm. The shading is mostly black and grey, with red accents on the neck tattoo, and the plain studio background keeps the focus on the tattoos.

Neck Upper arm Forearm Eye Rose Ray Geometric frame

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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 sign at the cattle grid has been repainted three times, and each time the eye comes back a shade redder at the edges. You notice it because the tyres change pitch on the grid, a hollow drumming that makes the hire car's dash buzz, and then the eye is looking down at you from its frame of rusted sheet metal. Your sister swore it was a rain gauge, put up by the council in 1961 so drovers could read the wash. Nobody in Coolabah Flats has ever seen a gauge with lashes.

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You have eleven litres of petrol and a phone that shows no bars. The servo at the junction closed in spring, its pumps wrapped in tarpaulin, but a light still burns in the back window, and a card taped to the glass says Back Monday. You roll past it slowly. The gravel ahead runs straight toward a line of ironwood trees, and beyond them the sun is spilling its rays across the flat as if it has been paid by the mile.

Mrs Kinnear comes out of the shed before you reach the door. She is holding a tin of red paint and a brush with the bristles set hard, and she does not ask what you want. She asks whether you saw it blink. You say no. She nods as though you have passed a test and tells you the eye only opens for people leaving town, never for those arriving.

She fills your tank from a jerrycan that smells of diesel and sun-warmed plastic, and when you pull back onto the road the sign is there again, its red rays still glossy. In the mirror you can see the paint has not dried. Someone has been at it all night, and you are fairly sure it was her.