It's hard to remember the spark that ignited my passion for tattoos. It may have been the occasion when as small children we visited my grandmother. On the way back from the park, we passed a row of dingy shops. In the window of one of them, with a tattered, smoke-stained lace curtain as a backdrop, were some equally smoke-stained cards, with crude pictures of mermaids, ships, and panthers, skulls and dragons. I of course wanted to know what this strange shop might be selling. My mother came unglued, as they say. "They put pictures on you," she said. "It's only for grown-ups, and in any case it's not for you - they *never* wash off!". My brother and I were at the age where drawing on ourselves with biros was the height of cool. We were mightily impressed by the concept of being able to draw stuff on your skin that never came off, although we couldn't quite work out why it might not be for us.
At A Glance Author Tim Contact [email protected] IAM tim1 When Ten years ago or more Artist Oz Location Birmingham, UK As I grew up, I became more and more fascinated by tattooing. It wouldn't really be appropriate to call it art, because at that time in 1960s-70s Britain, tattoos were a pretty crude affair. Home-made indian ink tattoos were common. "Fineline" had not been thought of. "Custom" was not a word that existed in the vocabulary of "professional" tattooers. You could have what was on the wall, or nothing. There were hardly any tattoo artists that would conform to our 21st century expectations.
Even more restricted were the types of people for whom tattooing was considered appropriate by society at large. If one was in the military, particularly the navy, that was fine - for the lower ranks. A friend who served in the army during the Falklands war of the early 1980s told me that below-the-arm tattooing effectively debarred one from promotion to officer ranks. In the civilian world, tattoos were reserved for criminals, manual labourers, factory workers and the like. A mandatory age restriction (age 18 and over) was introduced in the mid-60's following a spate of shock-horror newspaper reports of 11- and 12-year old boys from northern working-class areas who went out and got themselves plastered with the latest flash designs during their school lunchbreaks. Students of sociology might consider that this says more about British class divisions, and my sheltered, white, middleclass upbringing than anything else. They might well be right... Even into the 90's it was possible to find sneering commentaries in the upmarket broadsheet newspapers lamenting the behaviour of the "tattoo-wearing classes".
The other group who kept tattooing alive during those dark years were the bikers, and in some respects were responsible for the beginnings of it's renaissance in the eighties. On Saturday lunchtimes, I hung out at a rock club in the centre of Birmingham, and occasionally DJ'd on a standin basis. I was able to ogle the amazing tattoos of the Cycle Tramps and the 69'ers - our local bike gangs. Their ink reflected their passions in life: tattoos showing their gang affiliation, blackwork skulls and fantasy designs... these groups I believe created a demand for more and better tattooing. As the artwork improved, some of the biker women became attracted to tattooing and started their own collections - all the way from a small rose on the breast to a wizard-and-dragon fantasy backpiece. From the biker gangs I found out the names of local artists who were developing great reputations. At this stage, I desperately wanted some ink of my own, but never imagined that my dreams wou ld come to fruition.
On several occasions I visited some of the local tattoo studios, to try and get a glimpse of how it was actually done � whether it appeared to be as painful as rumoured, and just to flick through the big books of flash designs. I never felt comfortable in these places though. There were generally posses of bikers hanging around, and were kind of intimidating for a proto-geek!
In the early 80's I happened to pick up a soft porn magazine (yeah, that happens...), and was amazed by an article about the development of tattooing, accompanied by some truly stunning photography by Chris Wroblewski (of Skin Shows fame).
This advanced my fascination with tattooing still further, as by now it was evident that the artwork was becoming far more technically accomplished.After I finished college in 1986, I made my first serious trip outside the UK. I spent a year working as a DJ and technician on board a pirate radio ship, anchored a couple of kilometers off the coast of Tel Aviv, in Israel. During that year, I guess you could say I grew as a person, and "found myself", or at least gained some self-confidence that had been sadly lacking.
Thus armed, I returned to the UK in the Spring of 1987, and got my first tattoo. Did I make good use of my studies? Did I wait until I could afford a design I really wanted, and choose a renowned artist? Nope! I went to the nearest studio, picked a cheesy unicorn design off the wall, and had it inked on my right butt cheek. It cost all of twenty pounds. It's still there, and it's a bit blurred now (my arse got fatter), and it will probably stay there unless I ever get started on a bodysuit. But that was my first tattoo. I found out that the pain was insignificant compared to the pleasure I got from the end result. And it was the real beginning of my tattoo voyage. You can see pictures of most of my work on the IAM page tim1. The next stages of the journey will keep for another experience.