27 Oct 2008, Written by Kai Smart in essay,life
I Am A Tattooed Lady
The natural journey into self-discovery that comes with age and experience has, for me, been a journey toward redefining my outer self into my perfect vision of my inner self. I am a tattooed lady.
I first got a tattoo at age 18, and continued to get tattooed fairly often throughout my late teens and early 20s. I want to investigate how this happened to me, and in my work I often get into telling the story of my first tattoo and the reasons for it: sharing with my client and subconsciously reaching out to bond. As the story has been repeated it has been elaborated upon and refined. Being tattooed was always a pretty personal experience for me, and the first one set the tone.
I brought no friends along; I told no one; I asked no one’s opinion of what I should get: essentially it was exemplary of what I experience now as a tattoo artist. Often people bring friends with them, and often MANY friends. I have been surrounded by crowds of 5, of 8, of 10 even, and though most tattoo artists would not tolerate this kind of atmosphere, I do, since my power of concentration is strong.
In all my personal tattooing though, I would go to the shop solo. I felt extremely out of place and perhaps I did not want to share my discomfort with a friend. I would almost sneak in, be ignored by the guys working behind the counter, and peruse the portfolios with an unforgiving eye. However uncomfortable I was, I still knew what I was looking for.
I looked for a steady line, an artistic talent that extended beyond tattoo flash–basically someone with a rock-solid hand who would not alter my ideas in any way. I always had my own design, sandwiched in my sketchbook. In retrospect, I misused amazing artists. Both Doug Love and Holly Ellis were forced by me to do another artist’s work, to trace exactly the sculpted lines of another. However beautiful their portfolios were, I disregarded their own natural talent. I could not help it though. My artistic heroes had died fifty to one hundred years before, and I wanted to be emblazoned with the work of these dead men who had made me into an artist at the youngest age that I could remember.
With each tattoo I have felt more myself. For some, tattooing is a work of metamorphosis, of forgetting your old self and forging a new life, of commemoration of the self as a parent, of rebirth in some way. I have always felt that I was an illustrated person on the inside, and the more intricate and colorful I became the more I felt comfortable in my skin. Almost none my tattoos are governed by fads, and in this way I am outside a large part of the tattooed culture in America. I don’t say this as a way to feel superior–it’s just a fact.
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