Pink line drawing of two stylised eyes with long lashes and winged eyeliner, shown as a tattoo design on a plain white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink line drawing of two eyes

Colour · Flash

The design shows two stylised eyes, one smaller and turned towards the left and one larger on the right, with a pair of eyebrows above the right eye. The linework is pink and fairly fine, with hatched strokes for lashes and brows and a bold wing of eyeliner extending from the right eye. The image has no shading and sits on a plain white background with no body part visible.

Eye Eyelashes Eyebrow

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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

Dolores Hyde had been painting signs on the Saturday market since the wool hall closed, and in all that time nobody had ever asked her for eyes. So when Mr Okafor from the haberdashery stall leaned under the awning on a Thursday and said his takings were walking off in the dark, she only nodded and rinsed her brush. The rain had been falling since breakfast, thin and sideways, the kind that gets into the hinges of the stalls and makes the tarpaulins sag like wet bread.

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She chose a pink she had left over from a job for the dance school, a shade the chemist sold as Fuchsia Flirt, and she painted the larger eye first, high on the shutter above his bolts of ribbon. She gave it lashes in short hatched strokes, a brow arched like a question, and then a wing of liner so bold it ran off the edge of the tin. The smaller eye she put on the side panel, turned left, watching the lane where the lads with the trolleys usually cut through.

Nobody believed in it, not even Okafor, who kept calling it a bit of nonsense. But by the second week the trolleys went round by the bins. A boy who had been pinching satsumas from the crates came back with his hood up and handed over the coins he owed, not looking at the shutter at all. Dolores watched from her own pitch, stirring tea, and noticed the rain was beading on the pink wing and rolling off it in long drops, so the eye seemed to weep without sorrow.

On the last wet Saturday, Okafor stood under his awning and counted the till, and the eyes above him looked as though they were counting too. "Mind you don't blink," he said. "Nobody's ever tried it with you watching." Dolores laughed and pulled her scarf tighter, and the rain kept on, running pink down the tin.