Small black fine line tattoo of an open eye with a solid oval pupil and radiating lash strokes, on the inner upper arm beside a striped shirt sleeve.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Line eye on the inner upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a stylised eye drawn in thin black outline, with a solid black oval pupil and short radiating strokes around the lid. The linework is even and uncomplicated, and the design sits alone on smooth, pale skin. The background is a plain grey wall, and the striped sleeve of a shirt occupies the right side of the frame.

Fine line Upper arm Eye Outline

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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

Rain had been coming sideways off the river since seven, and Marjorie Quayle had given up trying to keep the lenses dry. She sorted them on a bed of grey felt under a tarpaulin, sphere by sphere, the way her mother had taught her to sort buttons: by curve, not by colour. A box of spectacles had come in from a closing optician on Mill Street, and the man who brought it, wet to the knees, had asked only for cash and no questions.

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By noon she had three hundred pairs of frames stacked like hymn books and one lens she did not like. It was small, the size of a thumbnail, and someone had painted a dot of black ink at its centre, then scratched a single fine line around its rim so it looked like a lid half shut. Her grandmother's trade had a word for lenses like that: watcher. You didn't sell them. You put them somewhere a customer would see them and leave.

A girl came under the awning at two, shaking out her umbrella, asking for reading glasses for her father. Marjorie gave her the wrong pair on purpose, then the right ones, and while the girl tried them on in the grey light the scratched lens lay on the felt between them, looking up at the rain.

When the girl had gone, Marjorie pressed the lens into the slit of the tarpaulin rope where the wind pulled hardest and left it there. By dusk a bead of water had gathered at its rim, and the dot in its centre was the only dark thing in the whole market that didn't move.