At A Glance
Author	Bradley
Contact	[email protected]
When	N/A

I have been a body modification enthusiast for as long as I can remember. However, early in my obsession, age posed to be an undeniable and obvious obstacle. I drew constantly. And I drew on anything that would stay still long enough for me to do so. At the age of seven or eight, I remember giving my chum an entire backpiece composed of ghosts and goblins using nothing more than a ballpoint pen and waterbased markers. This was inspired by something very vivid in my memory. It is something I will never forget.

The same day I created my masterpiece in flesh, I had come face-to-face with something new; something exhilerating. I saw a real tattoo. This was not like the hearts and anchors I had seen on television. This was real. This was bold, black, and LIVING. I saw an entire backpiece that day. In retrospect, I realize this was the product of a correctional facility. But, that didn't matter then nor does it matter now. The fact is it was beautiful and it immediately became a part of me. I went home that day and asked my mother how tattoos worked. "How do they not wash off?" I asked her. With a terrified and concerned look on her face, she replied "They put ink in your skin with a needle that pokes you a thousand times!" I was a bit hesitant at the thought of this. But, I distinctly remember dismissing the pain aspect of it. It seemed all worth the price in my mind. That feeling never left me.

Fast forward a few years to the age of fourteen. I was in Junior High and it was early fall. A friend of mine called me over to the corner of the gym, as he clutched his partially opened book bag. "Come here, but be cool!" he said. I most certainly drew too much attention to the scene. But, no one seemed to pay any mind. When I looked inside the bag, all I saw was a roll of electrical wire, some mechanical pencils, and walkman with the face missing. "What's the big deal?" I asked. "These are the ingredients for a tattoo gun!" he exclaimed. I was immediately fascinated, and thrilled. "Meet me at my house tonight and I'll show you how it works" he said as we went our seperate ways. The rest of the school day, the contents of his bag were all I could think about. By the time the day was out I had figured out how it worked. But I still had one question. Where the hell was the needle? I found out soon enough when I showed up at his house wide eyed. We went to the back where he revealed a now assembled home-made "tattoo gun." This is the only instance where "tattoo gun" is fitting. I left Arthur's house that night with two things. The first was a pain in my right ankle, caused by immaturity, that could have turned into an infection. The other was a stronger desire to be involved in body modification; specifically tattoos.

Fortunately for me, I left that sort of body modification for others to dabble in. I didn't venture into it again until I was eighteen. The months leading up to my birthday I began planning a real tattoo. I decided to do something simple. I had my mother's name scripted on my upper left arm. I figured this would be a good taste of what to expect. I could also keep my mom's feathers smooth while attempting to prepare her for what was to come. I went to the brand new tattoo studio just outside my home town. At the time, there was a very old city ordinance forbidding tattooing within the city limits. I told Dom what I wanted and ziiiiip, it was over before with before I knew it. My mother loved it, and all was well.

After graduating High School I decided to join the military. So, by the fall I was "Airman Henderson." My first couple of years were spent overseas. I had a semi-bad experience in a tattoo shop due to my lack of German skills and the tattooist's lack of English skills. So, I opted to wait until my return to the U.S. before persuing my interests again. My last tour landed me in the great state of Utah. I thought I was completely doomed (tattoowise.) But, one day while exploring the local area, I saw a sign that read, simply, "TATTOOS." I made a U-turn for further investigation. When I walked in, I thought the sign must have been from the previous establishment. I found myself surrounded by lingerie, blow-up dolls, and sex toys. The girl behind the counter, who was sporting some impressive tattoos, noticed me and my confusion. She giggled and asked "are you looking for the tattoo shop?" I nodded and said "Yeah, did they move?" She simply pointed across the lobby to a glass door.

The little office space was packed full of (fellow) sXe kids and walls of flash. I knew I had found my new favorite place. I went in and was immediately greeted with a pseudo-gangster handshake from the apprentice. We talked and he introduced me to Nick and John (the two tattooists at that time.) I noticed Nick wore the unmistakable XXX on his wrist. So, I knew this was my guy. I told him what I needed done. I explained to him the reason the piece looked so odd (remember my Germany experience?) He laughed and said ''no problem.'' I left all my bad feelings of the German tattooist in the past that night.

I went back to Loyalty Tatt2s frequently. I was in there as much as I could afford. Being a single Airman with a good pay grade, that was OFTEN. The guys in my unit all knew where to find me on payday. Over the next year and a half, I began the journey in which I had always longed for. I started with one half sleeve which quickly turned into a full sleeve which turned into the beginning of two full sleeves.

During my time spent in Utah, I decided that the world of body modification had more in store for me than just simply"collecting." I knew that I was meant to tattoo. It had become my obsession (it still is to this day.) So, I ordered a poor excuse for a tattoo machine and all the necessities. I was very tentative about just slapping some scratches on someone. I know this route is dangerous and, honestly, very irresponsible. But, due to the fact that I was a full time military man, a formal apprenticeship was really not an option. I had mentioned the idea of apprenticeship to Nick at one point, and he was supportive, but I quickly dismissed the thought as I knew timing was not going to allow it. So, I just paid close attention to the guys in the shop. I asked lot's of questions, and read a LOT. Too many times you'll find some scratcher claiming to have taught themself how to "tack." But the fact is they have nothing to base ''right and wrong'' on. As a general rule, it's a good idea to stay away from self-taught types. But, I do not categorize myself that way. I did spend a great deal of time in a professional environment, inadvertantly soaking up all the minor yet oh-so-important things like cross-contamination prevention, and sterilization practices. One of my biggest influnences, David Martinez, was self taught. Though not my first choice, I have always felt completely comfortable with the path I chose.

So, after my time owed to the Air Force had ended (and not a day to soon) I ventured back into life among the living. I returned home to New Mexico, and took work for a short time with the City. During those three miserable months, I had become reaquainted with someone from my past; Dom. Dom, if you remember, was the tattooist who did my first professional tattoo years before. I began spending a lot of time in his shop (which had relocated into the city limits after the statute had been overturned.) He tattooed me some, but more than anything I was simply there to be surrounded in my environment. Dom knew I had been tattooing for a couple of years, and he knew the full story of how I learned. We began discussing a possibility of me working with him as a tattooist. I was beyond thrilled. He only wanted to see some of my work in person. So, I sent my sister and another good friend of mine to show him what I had done on their flesh. He was pleased (apparently) with what he saw. After an ugly mess with the City, I found myself in need of a job. Almost as if it were orchestrated, a position became open for me at Fantazee Ink with Dom. So, there I was scared, excited, but finally--at peace.

I worked at Fantazee Ink for almost two years. I can not tell you what a privelege it was to have such an oppurtunity. I learned more than I could have ever asked to, though not all of the learning was from the shop. Working in that shop gave me drive; real drive. Working there pushed me to keep learning, experimenting, and loving the art. I met a lot of great people. I made a lot of dear friends. But, most importantly, I finally found myself. As cliche` and corny as that sounds, it is the absolute truth. After almost two years, some decisions (business decisions) were made that didn't exactly work to our benefit. So, the F.I.C. (Fantazee Ink Crew) doors were closed. It was heart-breaking. It really was. Not just for the crew, but for our "groupies," families, everyone. I spent almost a year contemplating things. I did no tattoos. I didn't draw anything. I just thought. When I decided to begin tattooing once again, I amazed myself. It seemed my time away had done me some good. I was more focused, passionate, and downright sincere with my work. And, my work showed it. At this point, I do not have to depend on tattoos to keep me clothed and fed. I simply tattoo in order to express myself. There is a happy medium between the two. But I had, unfortunately, lost sight of that while with the F.I.C.

I have all intentions of returning to the tattoo industry "full time," as I once was. But for now, I'm content.