Walking into a central block barbers, you enter an art studio where the canvas is human flesh. Each artist functions as an alchemist, conjuring visual tales out of concepts. That subdued sympathetic buzzing–it’s the sound of art being born. Tattoo parlors are not cold or grim, despite what you might heard. Forget even about scary biker bars and sailor neighborhoods. So cozy you could curl up in a fuzzy sweater, and as comfortable as your favorite whodunit –except it sports ink smudged pages.
Have you ever wondered what makes a tattoo artist “tick?” The fact is that blending art with precision is tougher yet to spot making. It’s like juggling fiery torches while riding on a unicycle: Loud crazy, but genuine artists who live for this mixture of confusion and creation. With customers, they’re partly psychologists, hearing dreams were poured over broken teacups and fears poured into bite-sized stories. As you talk to them, the session takes on a bit of an analysis with needle type.
You can take a trip down memory lane if you like. At the front desk, meet Carol. She has seen it all, from the first-time customer filled with nervous excitement to the seasoned vet with an armful of ink. “Every design has its own beat,” she often summarizes with a nostalgic smile. Yet more precious than gold are Carol’s tales, and she’d scribble them on the dog-eared pages of tattoos any day before breaking into proper books.
Further inside, each booth buzzes with its own energy. Sam, punk-rock Picasso, Alma Mater on loud and Louder Shirts in the diminutive. “Rock and roll is my bloodstream,” he declares with a pair of tattooed-up thumbs. Contrast that with Mia, whispering nature’s tales softly in one’s ear, painting serene landscapes onto skin with colors that sing and dance. From her dreams onto living canvas comes a skipping and butterflies alone.
Inquiring minds want to know: “How much does it hurt?” Ah, pain — that ever fading ghost. Some say it’s like being zinged or snapped with a rubber-band; others report only a tickle at best. But most can tell you that after all is said and done, the surge of adrenaline feels to them as if they’ve just conquered a mountain Some Times. Tattoo–a symbol of pain toward personal triumph, punctuated by every pinprick.
Money! I don’t mean to talk about take your arm and leg off (pun intended); but sound work does demand fair pay. Remember the saying: “You get what you pay for.” Tattooing is not a generator friendly Goodreau; tattoo is for leaving an Of THE Everglades. As with buying some irreplaceable work of art, such ten adornment it will accompany you every single day.
So go to a tattoo shop. You’ll pull up a chair and enter conversations with staff, hear about their stories of bravery as well as bad lucks had along the way–and then yours too! Here, art and emotions crash in an explosion of color. Your imagination is the limit, here. Who knows what one may find waiting for that piece of your story to be etched by antic artistry…In ink This crucible of creativity?