Is Black A Eye Color

Of course, gray is an eye color! It's just a bit unusual enough to make it worth noticing. Gray eyes are like a cooler take on blue. They help you see things in a way you never would have thought of before. Unlike the warm hews we normally associate with blue eyes, a gray eye is virtually an ice-cut piece of gray-silver ice--just like clear water caught in winter's ces split into ill-fitting fragments and tumbled headlong down the hillside: a frozen summer completely splashed the side of a hill. Furthermore, with a bright light, gray eyes often either look blue or green. High levels of gray are also associated with a great deal of collagen in the skin. And in line with this--gray-eyed people usually have great skin! Nice little bonus piece of info.

Black often symbolizes mystery, power, elegance, and sophistication. It's a compelling color that is often associated with the villains or anti-heroes in these realms. In anime like 'Death Note', for instance, black represents rather timeless morbidity and darkness. But on the other hand, black can also be a color of strength and authority like on the 'Black Panther' from Marvel Comics. Less positively speaking, black also reflects the depth and complexity of the figures therein.

The color black is steeped in meanings and can vary depending on context. Frequently, it's associated with power, elegance, and formality. Think of those sleek black suits and dresses that scream sophistication. Black speaks authority and evokes strong emotions, too. It also carries a sense of mystery, the unknown, and can symbolize the darker side of things. But like Yin and Yang, black has its balance. In certain cultures, it signifies prosperity and wealth.

Oh, my question is where do I start with the color black?? The deep impression that black always comes away with is just too hard to resist. It is a color which, in the world of make-up, design, legal robes, and everyday business clothes is associated with meanings such as mystery power authority & sophistication. It's a long running series of mysteries in the form of a one-hundred-volume set. Nevertheless, no one can put an end to it. Yet in the world of ACGN, black is not limited to just this. It might stand for a vast cosmos filled with countless unknown creatures in science fiction, or an insolvable mystery puzzle in a mystery anime film; or indeed be something so deep as transcendent supernatural power. However versatile it may be, occasionally black will signify grief, terror, or wickedness, stirring up quite a bit of dialectics and story. But isn't it amazing that this 'non-color' can give rise to such opposing interpretations?

Watching 'Oshi no Ko' was such a rollercoaster, and Ai Hoshino's design definitely stood out! Her eyes are this striking turquoise-blue, almost like gemstones—consistent throughout the series. But here’s the nuance: while the base color stays the same, the *expression* in her eyes shifts dramatically. When she’s performing, they sparkle with this artificial brilliance, mirroring her idol persona. In quieter moments, though, they feel softer, almost vulnerable. The anime uses lighting and shading masterfully to amplify this, making her eyes 'feel' different even if the hue doesn’t technically change. Funny enough, some fans debate whether her eyes briefly shift during emotional peaks (like *that* scene in Episode 1), but it’s likely just artistic emphasis. Mangaka Aka Akasaka’s style leans into symbolic visuals, so I read it as intentional storytelling, not a literal color swap. Either way, those eyes are iconic—they perfectly capture her duality as both a star and a person.

Sam Hell's unusual eye color—violet, a rare genetic fluke—shapes his life in ways both cruel and magical. Kids dubbed him 'Devil Boy,' turning school into a gauntlet of whispers and shoved shoulders. Even teachers hesitated to meet his gaze, as if those violet pools held something unnerving. Yet that same strangeness becomes his armor. By college, he leans into it, letting the whispers fuel his defiance. Later, the eyes become a beacon. Patients in his medical practice trust him instinctively, sensing an otherworldly calm in his stare. The color marks him as different, but he twists that difference into strength, a reminder that standing out isn’t the same as being broken. Ironically, the very trait that isolated him as a child now draws people in. Strangers stop him on the street, not to mock but to marvel. Artists beg to paint him, fascinated by the interplay of light and pigment. His wife jokes that she fell for his eyes first—'like twilight trapped in iris,' she says. The violet becomes a symbol, not of freakishness, but of resilience. It’s a life etched in paradox: the thing that once made him an outcast now defines his unshakable identity.

In 'The Black Prism', color wights are drafters who have lost control over their magic, becoming twisted by the very colors they wield. They’re terrifying figures—their bodies and minds warped by excessive drafting, turning them into monstrous versions of themselves. Each color corrupts differently: a blue wight becomes rigid and cold, obsessed with order, while a red wight burns with uncontrollable rage, their skin cracking like embers. Green wights grow wild and feral, merging with nature in unsettling ways. The transformation isn’t just physical; their personalities fracture, leaving behind echoes of who they once were. What makes them chilling is how inevitable their fate feels. Drafting magic is addictive, and even the strongest will eventually succumb if they don’t 'break the halo'—a ritualistic suicide to avoid becoming a wight. The novel explores this beautifully, showing the tragic duality of magic: it’s both a gift and a death sentence. The color wights aren’t just villains; they’re cautionary tales, reminders of the cost of power.

I've got a favorite workflow for turning a black-and-white space piece into something that feels alive, and I’ll walk you through it like we’re sharing screens over a cup of tea. First thing I do is make a high-resolution scan or photo of the drawing and clean it up: levels/curves to get the lineart crisp, remove stray marks, and separate the line layer. I usually set the line layer to 'Multiply' so the whites become transparent and then lock it so I don't accidentally paint over it. Next, block in base colors on layers beneath the lines. For a space scene I think in zones: deep background, nebula/cloud layers, planetary surfaces, and local light sources (like engines or stars). I use clipping masks or group masks so shading stays inside shapes without altering the line layer. For nebulae, I build up several soft layers: a low-opacity base color, then glows with 'Color Dodge' or 'Add' blending to get that luminous feel. Scatter brushes and cloud/texture brushes are great for irregular nebula edges. For stars I alternate a tiny hard brush for crisp points and a noise-based method (duplicate layer, add noise, threshold, blur a bit) to make a dense starfield that feels natural. Finally I do lighting passes: rim light, ambient scatter, and a subtle gradient to push depth. Adjustment layers—curves, hue/saturation, gradient maps—are your friends for unifying the palette. I often export a couple of variations (cooler cyan-magenta, warmer orange-violet) to see what reads best. Little extras I love: dust textures at low opacity, a faint lens flare on bright stars, and a tiny vignette to focus the eye. It usually takes me a few late-night tweaks to get the balance right, but those fiddly moments are the most fun.