Colour Japanese-style peacock tattoo running from the hip down the thigh and knee on a leg, with a blue and green tail and red-green eye feathers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Peacock tattoo wrapping a leg

Japanese · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A large peacock tattoo wraps from the hip down the outer thigh and over the knee, with the bird's blue and green head and wing at the top and its tail feathers spreading down the leg. The feathers are rendered with bold outlines, smooth shading and rows of round eye spots in green, orange-red and pink, set against pale skin. The colour is vivid throughout, and the tattoo fills most of the frame against a plain green wall.

Japanese Thigh Peacock Peacock feather Bird Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow closed the pass at three o'clock, and by four the only sound in the Hollin Fell inn was my mother counting the coal scuttle for the third time. We had one guest, a surveyor called Ines Carrow, who had walked up from the valley with a leather case of brass instruments and a face that said she had not expected to stay.

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She asked for the back parlour, the one with the folding screen. It was painted with a peacock in the old manner, the neck coiled in blue and green, the tail spread across all six panels, every feather ending in a round eye ringed with orange and rose. My grandfather bought it from a dealer who swore it had come off a ship from Canton, and a century of woodsmoke had turned the lacquer the colour of weak tea. Ines set her drawing board in front of it and did not move it again.

That night the wind came off the tops like a goods train. I found her at midnight, lamp turned low, sketching the screen instead of the fell. "They're all open," she said, without looking up. "I counted forty-one. Every one of them watching the door." I told her the eyes were only paint. She said that was what her father had told her about glaciers.

In the morning the cloud lifted and the valley lay below us like a dropped plate of white. Ines had gone before the kettle boiled. Pinned to the fifth panel with a single brass drawing pin was a sheet of her paper, one feather drawn in fine ink, its eye left blank. Beneath it, in a neat surveyor's hand, she had written: Keep the last one shut. I still have not decided whether she meant the eye or the door.