At A Glance Author Rebekah Contact [email protected] IAM rebekah When N/A Location New England Spring of 2004 marks the fifteenth anniversary of my first tattoo. I'd like to share a bit of what I've learned these many years.
The only person I knew with tattoos was Ricky, who lived in New York; I don't think that any of our friends in the local metal clubs had tattoos at all. The average person did not have Internet access in his or her home. My friend Steve and I, therefore, chose the studio based not on reputation but on its mere existence. (In suburban West Haven, Connecticut, in 1989, there were two studios within our general vicinity. ) I had chosen my design a year earlier:the logo of the New York metal band Hittman. The design was smaller than a business card, and I was quoted $80 for outline and color. Even though I didn't get beyond the ten minutes it took to do the outline before succumbing to dizziness, Joe, the artist told me that the fee would be& $80. Steve looked at his tattoo stencil, a music note on the inside of his forearm, in the mirror and approved it. It wasn't until two days later that he realized that the design had been put on reversed (a mirror image).
We were given no aftercare instructions. I glopped aloe vera gel liberally for a week on the tattoo. Having lost touch with Steve, I don't know how his tattoo turned out; mine has decidedly blurry, soggy edges. However, it was my first tattoo and Ill always love it. (At the time, it was so novel that a fan had a tattoo that I could always get backstage by flashing it!)
When I got my drivers license a few years later, I started going to Ricky's artist, Richie Montgomery in Elmont, New York. I love Richie; he was very patient with the whiny girl from Connecticut. He did quite a few tattoos for me, including my tenth (a design that Ricky and his friends had designed only for their closest friends). However, being navigationally challenged, I got lost every time I went, and had to find something closer to home.
As I became slightly more adventurous with my car, I tried a few other places. I was happy with what Danny Williams did for me (a heart with my then boyfriends name in it), but the studio was only a block from an ex who used to stalk me. I couldn't get comfortable there, and I didn't go back.
I went to another nearby studio (now out of business), and the artist, who shall remain nameless, did a horrible job with my Mrs. Ink tattoo (now long covered) and then tried to charge me more because I flinched when he hurt me.
One night at a club, I locked my keys in my car. The nice boy who helped me to break into my car to get them (ripping off someone's antenna to try to trip the lock) commented on my tattoos. He knew of a studio only twenty minutes north, and gave me directions. This led to a long relationship with Mark. At first, I was a client; later, I "worked counter" for him.
As I got to know him, I learned a lot of things that I didn't like. He didn't have a very good reputation within the community. While he could do an adequate job with flash, his own designs only came out good when he had smoked pot. He treated his employees horribly; they were independent contractors when they had to buy supplies for the studio, but employees when it was more convenient for him. While I am honestly happy with the quality of about half of what he did for me, I wish I could have it all lasered off because I am reminded, when I look in the mirror, that I was touched by a dishonorable human being.
I met some wonderful people in that studio. I still go to them for work because their exceptional talents have continued to blossom through the years.
I'd hoped to end this commentary on the above note, with a few caveats, but a new circumstance arose this past weekend. I'd gotten a tattoo to honor my friendship of an incredibly strong, powerful woman who'd been a positive influence on me. I just learned that the woman's entire life was a lie. I would love to cover this visible reminder with a tattoo of a parasite; however, the tattoo sits just below the small of my throat, and I don't want something ugly so close to my face. Then again, I've got an ugly reminder of a lie that Ill see every time I look in the mirror. What may be even worse is that I also learned that I'm not the only person to have gotten such a tattoo to honor this woman and the integrity we thought she possessed.
Your reasons for getting tattooed are your own. Wanna be trendy? Good for you. Trying to reclaim yourself after a personal disaster? More power to you. All your friends are doing it? Fine; its your body.
Remember, though, that this IS your body and its the only body you're going to get. When you're eighty years old and looking in the mirror at the old folks home, where you're the coolest person there, and see a map of successes on your skin -- not a topography full of regrets.