Why Tattoos?

Why Tattoos? It's a fair question. And it's a question I hear in one form or another with great frequency from people who don't have them. People with tattoos, at least the ones who aren't shy and don't have attitude problems, often just start rolling up their sleeves as they're asking, "Can I see your work?" Typically the question "why" is masked by a declaration, "I would never get one! It's so permanent. I might change my mind." Or, "I wish my husband had never gotten a tattoo. He was drunk and picked something really stupid and embarrassing off the wall."

That's a good place to start. Being drunk is a very good reason NOT to get a tattoo. Not only is your judgement impaired as you make an important decision, but the alcohol thins your blood, causing excess bleeding which will force out ink. You'll not only risk ending up with a stupid tattoo, but a bad tattoo that doesn't reflect the quality of the artist. And you might have a hard time holding still enough to allow the artist to do their best work. Think about what you want. And prepare mentally, not alcoholically, for the pain. If pain is your main impediment, choose a spot for your first tattoo that is less sensitive, such as thigh or shoulder, and/or use a local anesthetic. And although "flash off the wall" is the bread and butter of the industry, all the artists whose work you really want on your body would rather do something custom, something unique and personal that you'll treasure for the rest of your life. Something that they'll be proud to put a photograph of in their portfolio.

That said, let's get back to the real question. "Why?" There are a lot of reasons. And although for many people tattoos are decidedly "wrong side of the tracks," as tattooing has moved into the mainstream, that view is fading fast. And American tattooing is in an unprecedented golden age. The general quality and variety (Traditional, Tribal, Photo-realist, Bio-mechanical, Surrealist, Comic Book, Japanese, Conceptual, etc. It's dizzying!) of the work I see has gotten so impressive over the last decade that it is now fairly easy to find an artist whose skill and creativity can make your dream tattoo a reality. So if you have any inclination whatsoever, now's a great time to do it. But that assumes you already want one (or two, or three) and probably already have your reasons lined up, not to mention lots of image ideas. "Why?" is a subtler question.

Now I would never try to talk anyone who really doesn't want a tattoo into getting one that they might regret later, but from many conversations over many years with many people who hesitate, I am convinced that a lot of people secretly want major tattoo coverage. There's something they want to express that they can't quite put a finger on. Let me share my own story. Then I'll take a stab at "Why?"

Getting a tattoo had never been on my adolescent fantasy radar. I had friends who had them, but I've always been a lone wolf who followed his own trail, disinclined towards anything that smacked of trendiness. Then I had a conversion experience in my early twenties. In retrospect it's pretty silly, but at the time it just developed a logic of its own. One day I heard a wacky little news story on the radio that radically shifted my perspective. Elvis had been dead a couple years and the impersonator fad was in high gear. The announcer claimed that at the current rate of proliferation, by the year 2000, every man, woman and child in America would actually be an Elvis impersonator. As a young and impressionable musician my immediate reaction was, "Holy Shit! How will I ever get a gig? All those sideburns, aviator sunglasses, enormous belt buckles, karate poses. How ya gonna stand out in that crowd?" Then it hit me, the ultimate gimmick. I would have my own niche. I would be the Elvis Impersonator that didn't look like Elvis, didn't sound like Elvis, didn't dress or groom like Elvis, didn't do any Elvis songs, didn't say "Thank you, baby," between songs. It was brilliant. My career and future were assured.

But then I thought about it for a minute. How would anybody even know that I was an Elvis impersonator? Again inspiration intervened. I would design the Official Elvis Impersonator Logo. It could be put on T-shirts, stationery, business cards. Eventually you could just tattoo it on every infant before they leave the hospital after birth. Feverishly I set to work and within minutes had a basic sketch. Lightning Bolt, TCB. Simple, elegant, profound. I'm not sure why I rummaged in my fly tying tools for a bodkin and started wrapping a small wad of cotton yarn around its point. I don't remember why I had bought that bottle of India ink. About four years earlier I had seen a friend give himself a crude tattoo of his girlfriend's initials with a ballpoint pen and a safety pin, so I understood the basic principle. But I'm not really sure there was any rational decision making process involved. Fate had taken over. I now had a very bad tattoo on my shin. It's possible that there may have been a fair amount of alcohol involved. I don't remember.

Of course, the year 2000 came and, sure enough, every man, woman, and child in America was an Elvis Impersonator! But almost all of them adopted the same strategy as I had. They were almost all in my niche! And the official tattoo thing just never took off like I had hoped it would. And, just as I had feared, I couldn't get a gig. By then I had a lot of ink. It wasn't a very linear development. Years went by after that first homemade tattoo and I never suspected that I would ever get another. Once again, fate intervened.

It was the early eighties. I got a phone call one evening from a friend. "Urban, you gotta come out and see this band." I was tired, broke, and had stuff to do at home, but Sheila was insistent. I really needed to meet someone in the band. She was very mysterious about why. "Ok, Ok," I muttered after she said she'd buy me a couple drinks. When I arrived at the Cubby Bear, she directed me to look at the arm of the guitar player in the band.

I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a picture of me tattooed on his arm. My jaw dropped. Why would anyone tattoo a picture of someone they don't know on their arm? The image was taken off of an old album cover from a record that had sold fairly well, so I knew where he got it, but still....... I was speechless. I didn't know how to react. Sure it was flattering, but.... kind of strange too. When the band took a break I walked over to introduce myself. T. C. was as surprised as I was to be meeting that way but he knew a lot about me. He had been too young to get into bars when I quit that band but had heard a lot of, no doubt embarrassing, stories. We quickly fell into easy conversation (we're still friends) and soon his shirt was coming off. He and one of the other guys in the band were in the process of covering their own and each other's bodies with home made tattoos.

By the end of the night we had exchanged phone numbers and made plans to get together to play music. And we had agreed that he would give me a tattoo. It was a male bonding thing. I didn't really want another tattoo and was rationalizing furiously. Just a little discreet one. On the shoulder, where it's covered most of the time. Just between me and T. C.

The process was only slightly more sophisticated than what I had done on my own. The "tattoo gun" was a wad of gaffer's tape with the barrel of a ballpoint pen sticking out of it. The "needle" was a sharpened length of guitar string which was bent into a loop at the dull end and placed over an offset screw attached to the business end of a motor from an 8 track player. "Sanitation" was nonexistent. Those were more innocent times. It was stupid then, when infection was the main issue, today it would be more like playing Russian roulette. I now had two tattoos. And then three. And four. I got married and my (now ex) wife and I got matching tattoos. The time intervals between tattoos were getting smaller and my ideas were getting more ambitious. And I had noticed a pattern. All my tattoos had something to do with music. I began to dream.

And then I met Jimmy Regalado, a.k.a. Virus. Twenty years younger than me, I quickly noticed a thoughtful, serious quality that was always near the hard-partying surface. Jimmy was opening a tattoo shop, Rites of Passage, in a couple of months and I would have a new hangout. I had a stalker at the time, so I had to change a lot of my social patterns anyway, trying to lose her. It was the perfect time to find a new circle of friends. And what a circle it turned out to be! They were remarkably open to having a weird, middle-aged white guy, and a country singer to boot, in the group. I was making friends for life. And getting tattoos. One of the people I met there is my good friend Nuco. He has his own unique style and technique. He mixes the colors right in the tube of the tattoo gun. I've never seen anyone else work that way, but the results speak for themselves. And he's a painter too, and a musician. Soon we were hatching ideas for big work.

The tattoo isn't done yet. As I write, Jimmy has one more session to go on my lower body. I think of it as a pair of Bermuda shorts. And Nuco and I will be finishing my upper body over the next year. I've come full circle back to that day I got my second tattoo from T. C. I now have two tattoos again. The little Elvis Impersonator tattoo from the seventies, and another much bigger one that has taken over twenty years to almost complete and will cover way more than three quarters of my body by the time it's done.

Obsessional? Maybe. But it all makes perfect sense to me. I've never kept a diary. I don't have many photos around the house, and I don't even know where they are. I have no desire to live in the past, mine or anybody else's. Got stuff to do. I have a little art on my walls, but other than that and music gear and some books, I've got precious little to show for half a century of living. I live simply, no TV, a hand me down computer that is also my stereo. The major possession is myself, fully illustrated. And I'm going to die soon and leave very little trace of ever having been here. My whole life has revolved around music and the people I love. I hope to leave some music behind that someone will value somewhere, sometime. I think all musicians do. And I hope to leave my flayed skin behind as well. I hope thereby to continue some of the conversations with other people that have given shape to my story. I'd like these conversations to continue after my voice has been stilled. And I'd like them to extend to new people, folks I never had a chance to meet when I was alive.

What I'm really gesturing at here is meaning. I'm well aware of how loaded that word has become in our post-post-post-post-structuralist world. And I'm well aware that my whole life project is unthinkable without what is usually called the "post-modern condition." But I don't find it a very satisfying condition by itself. I want more. The warriors of ancient epic fought and died for "kleos," what people say about you after you're gone. But having my flayed skin preserved and displayed is grasping for something deeper than that. Deeper? How logocentric! Yes it is. And comfortably so, centered on a logos of my choice. Paradoxical? Of course! You got a problem with that?

It is essentially a spiritual quest I'm on here. No doctrines or creeds involved, no New Age-y practices. It does require some faith, but I just call it living. And living has completely convinced me that there is a lot going on in the universe that we humans are not privy to, that we can only catch fragmentary glimpses of from time to time. I have only standard questions, but the standard answers don't work very well for me, be they scientific or religious. I have no stable concept of an afterlife, but I do have a powerful sense that I have something to do after I die. That I'll find out more about it when I get there. That it is very important. That the tattoos play a central role. And that I'll need my preserved skin at some point to complete this task. That's enough reason to get tattoos for me, but I know that won't work for you. You'd have to find your own story to enrich with visuals. You'd have to find your own images and ideas that you want to take a stand on. And at some level a tattoo is about taking a stand. Contemporary American culture is so fad driven. Last year's punk is this year's gangsta and next year's rasta. The permanence of a tattoo all but forces you to mean what you say. So what if your ideas change? If you continue to grow? Consider the alternative! My first tattoo is a crude, self inflicted scar, with a funny story attached to it. I'd never choose to get it today. But, bad as it is, I'd also never be embarrassed by it. I think it goes very nicely with my broken nose, the fading gash from almost losing my right hand, and the scar on my chin. (Mom warned me about running with sharp sticks. Did I listen?) It completes the ensemble. And I chose it.

One reason to get a tattoo is because, like Mount Everest, it's there. Many people from all over the world have been getting tattoos since a time shrouded by the mists of pre-history. And like religion, despite being dismissed by moderns as primitive, tattooing just won't go away. In China they used to execute people with tattoos just because they had tattoos. And yet people still got them. And tattoos are intimately connected with the very foundations of many cultures. The Japanese word for writing, "kiku," is derived from the same Polynesian word that the English word "tattoo" comes from. Exotic? Sure, but tattooing plays a role in the foundations of Western civilization as well. You may remember the "iceman," the remarkably well preserved neolithic hunter discovered in the Alps a few years back. He has a tattoo. It is cruciform, even though he died thousands of years before the common era, well before the origins of the practice of crucifixion for executing criminals, and way before Christianity made it a symbol of hope. I'll bet there's a good story there, but we'll never know what it is.

Better documented is the significance of tattoos to the ancient Romans. The Latin word for tattoo is "character." Every new Roman soldier got a tattoo that distinctively represented the legion he had joined. This mark bound him to that legion for life. Of course it also made desertion difficult, but the primary function was as a rite of passage that subsumed the individual in the group, a group that needed to function as a unit to succeed. The stability of Roman society depended on the legions, so the tattoo was a sign of "character," in the sense that we use the word. It represented solid, committed citizenship, sacrifice for the common good. Gang tattoos are a vestige of that practice. So are modern military tattoos. No longer mandatory, they sure are common. That recent recruit, fresh from boot camp, getting U.S.M.C. tattooed on his shoulder may not know it, but he's participating in a traditional rite of passage that goes back thousands of years before the founding of our republic.

I wish we could be more honest with ourselves about our all-too-human needs for ritual. And I wish we could evolve a more open ended set of rituals to bind us together as a people. Rituals that give play to the actual diversity of contemporary American society and yet emphasize all that we have in common. Rituals that could extend that commonality beyond the merely local and immediate concerns that typically balkanize this very complex culture. Perhaps there's a place for tattoos in these new rituals. Why not? It's worked before in a lot of different cultures. I'm not holding my breath while waiting for that to happen! And I'm not passively waiting for someone else to do it either. I'm working on it. I'm getting tattoos! Won't you join me?