1. I haven't had a vision.
I haven't ever gotten a tattoo, nor have I had one planned out since I was 14. Considering getting tattooed only leaves me in a space of contemplation. I do have a long scar down the middle of my back that I've been meaning to cover, but I don't feel like I have thought of anything meaningful enough to cover such a large space of human canvas. I would argue that any tattoos that you decide to wear, especially if they are going to be highly visible or large, should really occur to you as revelations or dedications. When using your skin as a canvas, you should realize that you're choosing a symbol or to keep and carry with you.
2. I'm a bit picky, especially if this art is going to stay on my skin in permanence.
I gratefully recognize that I'm in the position where I could occasionally stare contemplatively through the frame of a window down a boulevard in a city like Washington D.C. This past November of 2017, I found myself eyeing a man who had just taken off his blazer before he turned into the warm room I was taking respite in. A brisk walk turned into a long stride. I felt the hair on my skin raise when the thick cloud of dense, cold, maritime air rolled into the ambient cafe. My post at the first bar stool gave me range to mess with the customers purchasing their afternoon espresso. He'd made it before the afternoon rush, at 6:15, and the sun was peeking through the skyline. I watched the man roll up his sleeves. I was on vacation, post Women's March and this man had definitely just left his office.
It was only natural for me to look at his inner left forearm. Featured on his skin next to some freckles was a cute, kicking frog. It wasn't very biologically accurate, but it was undoubtedly a frog.
I caught his eye when he walked around the bar corner. "Hello," I spoke easy. "I like your tattoo," I said, and I pointed down at his forearm.
"Thanks," he replied. He only slowed down his walk.
"What kind of frog is that supposed to be?" I called after him, out of curiosity but with a tiny voice.
"It's a Coqui." It was a factual statement. It went over my head.
I googled the name, spelled "Koki," and came to realize that there is a whole legend and proud representation of Puerto Rico associated with this little frog. It's a special kind of frog, with no tadpole stage. From the egg hatches a little froglet, and into the world it hops. Finally, when it gets big enough, it makes the sound that brings the Puerto Rican community home- co-qui, co-qui.
To that man, his tattoo represented his home, his culture, and his connection to that kind of jump-into-the-world attitude. It made sense- he was never going to be dissuaded from embracing his heritage. It made sense to put his tattoo down in permanence. I find it more and more difficult to align with permanence in the physical representation, simply put because I value privacy and the idea of interest. I'm sure that any passerby who understood Coqui would automatically understand that that man I spoke to in D.C. was Puerto Rican. I enjoy when people take the time to get to know me, to ask me who I am and what I like, without any prior assumptions. Symbols that are on your skin become more and more personally associated with you and alter others' perception of you.
In one sense, the art of tattooing can be used for communication. People can understand you from afar and see that you are bold enough to wear whatever art you choose upon your skin. But, on the other hand, a tattoo can become distasteful to onlookers, or even to the wearer. People decide that the symbol doesn't mean what it once did to them. They break up with the lover who made the art for them. They ask their son why he changed his name.
My high school photography teacher used to have a cute, sketch biplane tattooed on the inside of her bicep. "My boyfriend and I looked up into the stars on many different nights and kept seeing planes, thinking that they were meteorites. After laughing really hard about it too many times, of course, we got into this meta-conversation about what airplanes meant. We decided they stood for freedom, happiness, and travel, those mega-machines."
Later, the next year, Ms. Anderson cut her hair, and it used to be really long. I stopped by her class to say hello and thank her for what she taught me. I took a peek at her arm, underneath her striped shirt. The biplane became a butterfly, the outdated lines of the plane beautifully covered up. She seemed happy to see me. I left my little gift and card and got one of the warmest hugs. I didn't ask about the butterfly. It was purple, orange, and blue- I couldn't help but think that I looked much like a beautiful night sky.
3. I have made up this metaphysical significance of tattoo in my mind.
As an artist, my view on tattoo design varies with different levels of attention paid to design & color, symbols, and their associated messages.
As someone who dabbles in philosophy, I begin to consider the metaphysical connection created with the ink injected under one's skin and the healing process that is required with each tattoo.
It is a law of physics that every force has a just and equal force in the opposite direction. While one may think that I'm referring to a machine needle punching in and out of the skin, I am really talking about the force of nature. When the human body absorbs the ink that has been layered beneath one's skin, there must be some kind of opposite and equal reaction. This thought became a little heavier when I realized that scar tissue forms together as a result of tattoo, altering your cell's relationships.
A tattoo is a tradition that has no pin-pointed origin but has existed among several world cultures since approximately 12,000 years BC. The English word "tattoo" is derived from the Tahitian word "tatu," which describes the marking of the body with ink placed under the top layer of human skin, the epidermis. In history, tattoos were used for practical identification and design purposes, while today they are much more heavily associated with artistic expression and symbolic representation. In fact, many who decide to get tattoos simply want to exist as room for the fine art that can be created with needles, ink, and blood.
Thinking about the frequent exposure one has to their own tattoo and the reactions that others have to the symbols and artwork surely changes the course of one's life. Even if it is simply the placebo effect, it is just a matter of fact, no matter how big or small. Symbols and artistic renderings exist to communicate feeling or events. The act of making one of these part of your skin is a true dedication to it. However, with the new technology of tattoo removal, one may not think so deeply about their choice- when a painted canvas is of no good use anymore, you simply paint it back to a neutral color. I don't see why somebody would want to afford that kind of procedure, but it is an option.
The reasons people get tattooed range from poking fun drunken jokes to representing serious and deeply felt memories. I'm still wondering what I should get tattooed down this long and limber spine of mine, wondering what ink art will completely erase this scar, wondering what could hide the pain of this memory.
The ink really does become part of you- your skin cells retain it, and they are joined by relational scar tissues. The shapes put into your body, especially if they are specific to religion or have larger cultural or religious meaning, may affect your life's course- even if it y through a placebo effect. By frequent exposure to a set of ideas or meanings that result from you looking at the symbol or others reactin I'm still looking for an idea to cover up my spinal fusion scar. I know that I would rather see art instead of the staple marks and scuffs from a 7-year-old surgery. I'm only unsure as to what I'll place on my skin, on my long, limber, blood-filled canvas.
