I always thought tattoos were just plain old bad-ass. Even as a child, I would stare for hours at the tat my uncle got in the Navy twenty years before. Tracing the colors and words 'Mom and Dad' with my fingertips, I would imagine what magic must have taken place to create such a lasting and beautiful picture.
At A Glance Author Tattooed_BBW Contact [email protected] When N/A Artist Mr. A. Jackass Studio Texas Location The Coast When I was thirty, a friend and I decided to get buddy tattoos. Tiny symbols of our friendship, and after that night, bond of PAIN! The experience was so wonderful that I knew I would ever-more be a person of colors. After a year of research, planning and dreaming, I decided that traditional Japanese style ink was the way I wanted to go with my future work. I set my sights on a local shop that was very reputable. After meeting with an artist, not THE artist, but someone he trained...I made an appointment and left with a smile.
One week later, I was on time for my sitting and VERY excited. So excited that it didn't bother me that the artist was late and, apparently, high. Yes...high. Not being one to judge, I chalked his condition up to the fact that he was an artist, after all. Aren't artists SUPPOSED to be 'out there' just a bit? We sat and talked for a bit while he tried to get the piece together for my tattoo. The piece that he should have already had drawn up. Never mind that, I thought, this is going to be great.
About an hour or so after I walked into the shop, the needles were in place and we were ready to go. I laid down on the table and the artist began hammering away at my chest. Since I didn't know how it was supposed to feel, I figured that the pain was worth it and just sucked it up for the next four hours. During that time, a design came forth that was nearly impossible to define. From my breast to my neck, lines crossed lines and back and forth...colors that were meant for one thing were put in another. Nothing came out the way it was supposed to. All the while, I was being reassured that my lack of experience was to blame for the excessive blood and pain I was going through. Being told that I should know how painful tattoo can be, but that it would all be worth it in the end.
When the session was over, I stood before a mirror staring at this swollen, bloody mess. Even fresh, it was hard to distinguish what the subject matter was. I kept telling myself that it would be fine, just let the swelling go down, etc. I was bandaged up and sent on my way.
The next morning, I woke up to immense pain. My breast, chest and neck were swollen and bruising was setting in, particularly on my breast. When I say 'bruising' I mean the kind that you get when someone sits on you and hits you in the face. BRUISING. To sum it up, for the next six weeks, I went through pain like I had never experienced. But, finally, the bruising and swelling went away...the ink peeled off...there was my design. True, it did look better than I thought it would, but it was nothing like I had dreamed. The entire piece had a raised look to it. If you touched it, you could feel that there was a hard texture underneath it that you can still feel to this day. The colors have a 'mushy' look and it is nearly impossible to tell what the piece is depicting.
Being the 'true believer' type that I am, and being totally in love with tattoo, I did not let that experience get me down too much. I knew that, though the artist was an imbecile, the ultimate responsibility for that fiasco was on my shoulders and I vowed not to make the same mistake again. I would make sure to check out the artist more thoroughly and follow all the 'right steps'.
In the couple of years to follow, I found another artist...followed all the right steps. Did it help? Somewhat. As much as I thought it would? No. I don't want to whine like some little 'victim' type, but I have had the most difficult time finding an artist who can interpret my ideas into something I really want. Being a wife and mother, I have to say that I would so enjoy ink that expresses the softer side of my identity. What have I gotten? Almost a sleeve full of 'old-school/radical' bullcrap. Out of over ten tattoos, three express what I intended them to.
My current artist is an art snob who refuses to listen. I should have walked out the door on our first meet when he re flatly refused to go over some work I had done previously (artist disappeared or I would have gone back to him), citing the fact that 'he did not want to put his work next to THAT shit'. Instead, he opted to do cover work that is dark and, frankly, unsightly. I stuck with him for the last two years because I really thought he would come around and hear what I was trying to say in regard to style, content, etc. Instead, I have only three pieces from him that truly reflect what I had intended them to and the prospect of him doing my right sleeve, which I so want to be perfect, is fading fast. After lots of hurt feelings and frustration, I have decided to move on to another artist.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Like any other relationship, the one between artist and client is subject to the same ups and downs we have in other relationships. Unlike other services we may solicit, tattoo is one that is a permanent expression of who we are and how we feel. If you can't communicate those things in the first place, how can you communicate them to an artist? No matter how much background you do on the person, it all boils down to chemistry. How you express your wishes and how they are received. Plain and simple.
It occurs to me that I have truly let my own excitement about tattoo get in the way of good ol' fashioned thinking where my ink is concerned. It would be wonderful to have the experience I want to have: One in which artist and client share the same love of ink and the feeling that the artist leaves a bit of their spirit behind with each piece they create. That sounds so trite, but I do feel that getting a tattoo is almost as personal as making love. It changes you. The art you wear changes society's perception of who you are as a person. It's important...profound. When you look at yourself, your ink reminds you of who you have chosen to be. Chosen...Wow. With every line on your skin, you are proclaiming that you made a conscious decision not to settle for the sallow and even nature of your natural born skin-suit. For some of us, tattoo allows us control of something in our life when we lack control in so many other areas. It stabilizes, nourishes, replenishes. Ink is a big d eal.
I'll finish up this ramble session with one last thought: I will always be in love with tattoo. But, I will never again let the magic I fell in love with as a child blind me from the reality that it is a business nowadays. Like any other business, there will be both craftsmen and hacks...artists and cynics. That's just the way it is.