A colourful realistic eye tattoo with a blue iris, violet lid wash and loose watercolour splashes, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour-style eye on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A realistic human eye with long lashes sits on the forearm, with a detailed blue iris showing a pale reflection and orange flecks. Soft violet, pink and turquoise washes and splatter marks surround the eye, giving a loose watercolour effect. The bold colour and clean, shaded linework fill the frame, with a plain background and part of a patterned top visible at the left edge.

Realism Forearm Eye Iris Eyelashes Watercolour splashes

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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 crack in the vestry window ran straight through the blue of the Virgin's sleeve, and Mr Aske wanted it mended before the Saturday wedding, not after. I was nineteen, left alone with a tub of putty, a box of old cathedral glass and instructions to say nothing to the vicar.

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On the Friday night I sat with the offcut under the lamp and held it up to the light. In the thick blue there was a fleck of amber, like a struck match caught in water, and beside it a pale smear that looked for all the world like a face leaning down to look back at me. I told myself it was a bubble. Mr Aske had said the glass was poured in Bristol in 1851 and never fully settled, and that every flaw in it was a little weather kept for later.

The bride came in at seven to ask whether the light would be right for the photographs. She asked nothing about the window. She stood beneath it with one hand on the end of a pew and said her mother used to claim that blue light made people tell the truth. I did not answer. I set the new piece into the lead and pressed the putty flat with my thumb, and when I looked up the sun had come through the opposite pane and laid a violet stain across the altar, as though someone had washed a brush over the stone.

On Saturday the glass held. Nobody noticed the new piece but me, and I think that is how mending ought to be. As the organ started and the procession turned towards the altar, the amber fleck caught the light, and I swear the pale face in the blue glanced down the aisle as if it, too, wanted to see who was coming.