Quarantine considerations

Since starting my PhD research in October 2017, I’ve had imposter syndrome. Not only in regards to my research, in which I have spent hundreds of hours in a room alone trailing through literature that I’m not academically trained to fully comprehend as a ‘designer’, but also in regards to my tattooing practice, where irrespective of the number of tattoos I produce, I feel like my skill level remains the same. I was under the impression that this is normal in the first few months, but in time it would gradually become less prominent. It hasn’t.
 
Despite reassurance from all three members of my supervisory team that my research is going well, and despite reassurance from my mentors/colleagues at the tattoo studio that my tattooing practice is legitimate, the insecurity I have felt regarding my work has remained. When the global pandemic of covid-19 happened and the majority of the UK had to self-isolate from the middle of March 2020, I was no longer able to work in the storage cupboard/office that I had been situated in within the university, or tattoo in the studio, with the change of environment allowing for a subtle change in perspective.
 
Since self-isolation, I have been attempting to write-up parts of my thesis that are possible to write without on-going studio practice. This includes the formal writing of the autoethnographic material I’ve produced, and a contextual overview of existing understanding of contemporary western tattooing practice. One of the on-going themes of concern within my research is adhering to the very restrictive 40,000-word count that practice orientated PhD research allows, while trying to write about a discipline that is as social as it is practical. After having writing up 50% of one of my six chapters on the non-material role of the tattooist, in which I draw upon my autoethnographic writings, I found that I had hit over 30% of my allocated word count. In an effort to reduce the word count, I have since rewrote the chapter as a potential academic journal entry, which is currently under reviewal for publication. If published, this would then allow me to summarise the findings, and expand upon them within my thesis.  
 
Attempting to write a literature review without access to a library is also difficult. Though with many disciplines, academic journals are the primary source of up-to-date citation, tattooing hasn’t been subject to the same manner of scholarly analysis for the most part. Matt Lodder (2018) has described much of the academic work on tattooing as ‘research tourism’, in which academics use tattooing as, “…a diversion or offshoot from their primary research angle” (in TTTism and Schonberger, p.503). This is true of much of the academic work on tattooing, which is primarily concerned with the tattooee, rather than the tattooist, and asks questions regarding tattoo motivation, marketplace, social behaviour, etc. This has resulted in relying on a few key texts (namely Sanders and Vail, 2008) and more contemporary coffee table style books, for the material of relevance. This has meant purchasing them to own, as many only exist in print and the library is not accessible for the foreseeable future.
 
Though the gap in the literature was apparent prior to writing, it was not until formally attempting to write it up that I recognised the potential value of my own research. Perhaps my attendance at various other training workshops and conferences from numerous other fields had amplified my own insecurities surrounding my applicability as a researcher (very frequently I have left an event such as those described and felt like a working-class fraud with insufficient intelligence to make a meaningful contribution or ability to write a decent piece of academic material). While critically analysing the literature against my own research questions, I began to recognise the void my work would be able to partially fill. In having to work from home, I have been in the company of the non-professional version of myself, with a new routine and lifestyle that is not transferrable to the pre-quarantine world. Despite all the problems that this brings with it (there are legion) it has also allowed a little more space to recognise the value of my work and my validity to construct it.

What do we mean when we talk about tattoo 'meaning'?

While re-visiting numerous articles surrounding meaning and identity within tattoos (such as Sundberg and Kjellman, 2018; Kjeldgaard and Bengtsson, 2005; Carmen, Guitar and Dillon, 2012), I noted the tendency for simplification of findings and the implication of meaning as fixed, or as Sullivan (2001) terms it, ‘dermal diagnosis’ (p.17); as if a tattoo received at the age of 18 means the same thing as it does at the age of 30. The straight-forward presentation of meaning of tattoos in academic literature (i.e. a lighthouse design symbolising guidance) fails to recognise layers of nuance that exist as a motivation for tattoo acquisition. When conducting research involving interviews with those attaining tattoos on their specific motivation, the assumption is that there is some clear-cut meaning that is in the realms of communicable vocalised explanation. It is also assumed that the design denotes singular authorship; as if the way the tattoo appears on the body is the result of an individual interaction, rather than a contingently collaborative process between tattooist and client, as is often the case.
 
I considered the nuance of tattooing meaning by drawing upon my own experiences of being tattooed with a subject matter that is sentimental in nature; my deceased dads handwriting. My dad suffered from severe depression and subsequently, alcoholism, from an early age in his life. In the 1970’s, he founded a progressive rock band named, ‘Cirkus’ (in reference to a ‘King Crimson’ track, from the album ‘Lizard’) in which he was the main song writer and drummer/backing vocalist. The band enjoyed relative success, releasing their first studio album in 1973. Growing up, my dad would often play the music he had created on Saturdays when I would go and visit him, since his separation from my mam at a very early age. I remember not being particularly interested in the music, which was an extension of the turbulent relationship with him that I had more generally due to his absence and the feeling of discomfort I had in being around a guardian figure who was inebriated, without understanding what inebriation really was.
 
As I grew older and began to become interested in music and learning to play the guitar, I turned to my dad for lessons. He was able to teach me some basic chords and was enthusiastic about my interest, however his ongoing relationship with alcohol had led to a diminishment of skills and ability to teach. This then led to further frustration, continued depression, and a stronger reliance on drinking. My relationship with my dad fluctuated through adolescence, but my visits to see him eventually became more out of desire than duty. We introduced each other to numerous musicians, and I would often show him new pieces of music I had written with the sincere desire to impress him, and I trusted in his musical knowledge and feedback. He was always very supportive.
 
As I began to become to tattooed on my right arm over 12 years ago, I formed a good relationship with the tattooist. He was around 15 years my senior, and in addition to representing the romance of tattooing that I found so alluring, I admired his ability to lead a lifestyle that allowed him to engage with a creative medium and pursue his own interests. Though not old enough to be a paternal figure to me at that age, he played a significant impact in my personal growth through the example of adulthood that he represented, and that I aspired to achieve for myself. He created a full sleeve over the course of a year and a half, with one of the latter pieces being a scroll of paper in a bottle on my inner forearm. The sleeve is in a traditional-western inspired style, with no specific meaning attributed to the subject matter for the most part, which was chosen based on visual appreciation and resonance with the practitioner. Though my dad didn’t like tattoos, he always advocated personal sovereignty, and so never discouraged my choice to become tattooed.
 
As the years passed, my relationship with my dad matured, and he went through phases of becoming more and less ill. I became more appreciative of his music, and felt like I finally understood it after practising music myself for a number of years. I actively listened to the CD of his first album ‘one’ and resonated specifically with the first track, titled ‘You Are’. The original LP pressing of his album is a collector’s items amongst prog-rock connoisseurs and is very rare thus valuable. My dad sold both his records and the CD versions of his music for money to survive, but had made sure he made a CD-R copy before doing so, with hand written track listings. I interpreted this act to be representative of the extremity of his situation; he created an authentic and creative expression of beauty that symbolised a significant achievement, that was only ever going to monetarily increase in value, but he was in a position where he needed to trade this for money for his survival and sustenance of his addictions.
 
As he grew older, his resistance to his own ageing furthered the tendency to drink and the walls of his rented apartment in which he lived alone became more tainted with stagnancy and sadness. He died of heart failure after what is believed to have been a deliberate decision to no longer take his medication on Easter Sunday 2016, and his body was found on the floor of his passageway 4 days later by my sister. She had a key and visited after not hearing from him when trying to make contact and becoming concerned. His funeral commenced around a week later, and I carried the side of his coffin containing his body into the church alongside his brother and my cousins, while the track ‘You Are’ played. I hadn’t fully accepted the grieving process until this point. As the ascension of tones of the introduction to the song played in rhythm with the pace of my footsteps, accompanied by the weight of my dad’s body on my shoulders and the years of burdened suffering that it had housed, I felt a wave of emotion pass through my body in perfect synchronisation, to be expelled in an outpouring of cathartic tears as I took my seat. The song played out as I waited for the service to commence and my grief to begin its course, as part of a curriculum that I am still undertaking.
 
Shortly after my dad’s death, I made the decision to hand in my notice for my job as a content editor in the fashion industry (a position I had no interest in, and had taken solely as a means of generating income to survive), and travel to Asia where I had previously felt at home, until I ran out of the small pot of money I had saved. My hope was that I would find employment in Thailand, Indonesia, or India, and be able to live there for some time, and the decision to go was inspired by the reminder of the impermanence of all things that my dad’s death at the age of 62 presented. When I ran out of money from travelling after 3 months, I returned to Sunderland, and in an effort to not live an existence based on fear in favour of one based on fulfilment, I reached out to the owner of the Studio in which I now work as a tattooist.
 
I was originally introduced to the studio owner on the recommendation of the tattooist who had completed my sleeve, after I requested a realistic style tattoo. He told me that there was another tattooist who had recently opened a private studio and was breaking new ground with the work he was producing. Although my existing tattooist could have taken the money and executed the tattoo, he recommended an alternative tattooist based on what served my interests, over his own (an unconventional notion in preceeding decades of tattooing). After meeting the studio owner, I went on to get both my foot and full sleeve tattooed by him, and formed another centrally important figure in my personal development. When asking for a tattoo apprenticeship, he had told me to go to university and do a course relating to visual arts, and then he could consider the position based on what I had learned. After progressing from a foundation degree to a master’s degree in illustration over the course of 5 years, I felt that I wanted to pursue a career and generate enough income to live independent of my mam, and so sought a full-time job rather than pursuing tattooing.
 
When I got back home, on a whim, I contacted the studio owner, who was now in charge of a studio of over 10 tattooists and internationally award-winning tattooist, as well as inventor/product developer. When I asked if he was considering an apprentice, he told me that the same thought had crossed his mind, and he offered me a position. In this studio, the tattooist who completed my first sleeve was now a full time resident, and I was able to learn from him amongst numerous highly-skilled others. Six months later, I created my first tattoo on the studio owners arm who had given me the apprentice role, which to this day is the most technically poor and simultaneously meaningful tattoo I’ve created to date.
 
After working in the studio for around 8 months and dealing with the grievance process of my dad in the various stages, I made the decision to have his handwriting tattooed on me. The handwriting was found on the sleeve of the CD-R of his first album, written in biro, and was visually distinctive to me from having seen it in every birthday card written to me up until the age of 26 when he died. The first track on the album, “You Are” seemed the most appropriate piece of text to have tattooed for reasons beyond it being my favourite track alone; the track was symbolic of the establishment of a connection with my dad beyond the father-son relationship exclusively, as it was the turning point from which I began to admire and see value in his skillset. It was also the track that acted as a vehicle through which I navigated into the first stages of my grievance process during his funeral. The open-ended nature of the words feels like an answer from him to questions that I haven’t yet asked, that can be interpreted in multiple ways with the consideration of what he might say.
 
I opted for the same tattooist who completed the scroll of paper in a bottle tattoo for me over 10 years prior to do the piece. The scroll of paper in the bottle was indicative of a message, but the content of the message had thus far not been known. I had the words put into the scroll with watered-down black ink, to emulate handwriting and appeared consistent with the tones of the rest of the earlier executed tattoo. It was important to me to have the piece completed by the same tattooist who created the original piece, due to his impact on my path and my associated memories of a time in which I was becoming tattooed and being birthed into adulthood into a world that still had my dad in it. The tattoo being completed by that particular tattooist after a significant period had time had passed and changes in our lives had occurred, in a context where I was now working alongside figures who had already unknowingly shaped my personal growth, contributed a layer of nuance to the ‘meaning’ of the piece.

The meaning of the tattoo is not fully in the realm of communicable expression due to the contingency of human existence and the necessity of language to abstract and distil into mere words what are complex, intertwined, and intangible human emotions. The link between tattooing as a medium with embodied meaningful imagery is only partly accurate, and many tattoos are obtained for their visual properties exclusively. The understanding of tattoo meaning (where meaning is actually there) that is presented in academic literature can only partly represent the ways in which meaning comes into and out of focus for the tattooee from the time of production. This blog post has aimed to provide an example of how tattoo meaning is contingent, layered, and nuanced, in such a way that is not sufficiently acknowledged in existing literature on the topic.

I advised that the tattoo would take multiple sittings, and warned that the area of the body is particularly painful. I made a particular effort to clarify Kacper understood this by repeating it a few times, as he was keen on sitting for a full day for the first session at the set discounted rate of £250, which is still required if the client chooses the end the session early. This is a system set by many studios, as the tattooist Is often unable to find a client should the client they are booked to tattoo for a full day end the session early, and thus potential earnings are lost. I explained that we would tattoo as much as possible in the day, and book another session to finish it off based on how many hours are forecast. I suggested a total capped cost of the tattoo at £360; this was a maximum price, and stated to allow sufficient time to complete the tattoo to a high quality, with the understanding that it would likely take less time than the price suggests and thus be priced accordingly. Kacper and Maček appeared to both be happy with all that was discussed. After finding a suitable date to complete the tattoo, I requested a £100 non-refundable deposit to secure the time slot. This is common practice within many studios, and prevents any loss from having spent time on designs for clients that don’t end up being tattooed due to the client absence.
 
After signing a form stating that he agreed with all the terms outlined, and Maček translating the terms when necessary, Kacper handed me a handful of £20 notes. I can’t recall the specific value, but I noticed that there was far more than £100 which is all I needed to take from him, so I politely returned the excess, attempting to light-heartedly explain that he didn’t need to leave as great a deposit as he handed over in a such a way that would not embarrass him. I noticed that Kacper had no other visible tattoos other than what he had shown me, and considered that he was likely nervous on 2 accounts; the first being organising an experience that was both unfamiliar, painful, and potentially emotionally evocative, and the second being that he is in an environment in which he could not fluently communicate in a culture different to what he was used to. I felt a strong desire to ensure that he was comfortable and understood everything I had said, which I had to contend with while also not patronising him by over explaining myself.
 
After securing the appointment and writing the details on an appointment card, I asked that Kacper email me the reference image, and the text that he would like added to the design, for me to prepare in advance of his appointment. A few days later, I received an email with all of the relevant information, from which I prepared the design. As the design was of 2 wings, I sourced various images of birds such as eagles with fully spread wings, and put them onto photoshop together as a reference sheet, alongside the tattoo that was shown to me as a source image. This sheet was then printed at a4 size, and used as a series of reference images to create a pencil sketch of a wing in a style that was similar enough to Kacpers desired style, but distinct enough to not be plagiarised.
 
It was considered that only one wing would be necessary to draw as the design could be replicated and flipped, with deviations being made from the stencil in the actual tattooing procedure. This pencil sketch was then traced with a calligraphy-nibbed fine liner and tracing paper, before being scanned and placed into Adobe Photoshop, where it was flipped and edited slightly to make it not 100% symmetrical and appear more natural. The finished wing design composite was then printed, and text drawn in a similar style to the image added in pencil onto the print out. This was then traced in a similar fashion to the above, before an alternative text option was also created. This was to give Kacper more options in his design choice. Both texts where scanned into the computer and placed into the file containing the wing design, and 3 variations of placement where created.
 
On the appointment day, Kacper arrived alone, without Maček, who he told me was working that day. After he had completed a consent form, I showed Kacper the design options, from which he selected the version I personally favoured also. I printed the design at various sizes, and asked Kacper to follow me up the stairs where we could asses what size was the best fit for his chest. In most circumstances, the sizing process is completed while the client is in the waiting area, but as in this case it would require Kacper to remove his t-shirt, I thought it more respectful to allow him more privacy. As we walked up the stairs, Kacper reminded me in an almost apologetic tone that his English was limited. I assured him that it was not a problem, and that as long as he could inform me if he needed to stop at any point and let me know he was OK, then there were no issues. While shaving Kacpers chest and applying the stencil, I found that Kacpers English was far better than he seemed to believe, as we were able to engage in general small-talk. Prior to his appointment, I was anxious that I would struggle with applying the stencil and having it cover up Kacpers existing tattoo effectively, but I didn’t want to communicate this to him in fear of appearing inept.
 
Kacper explained to me that he was from Gdansk in Poland, and had been in the UK for 6 months working in IT. While chatting with clients, I often hope to connect in some way and share something about myself as a means of making them more comfortable and the space more open, and so I told Kacper that I had a good friend who was from Gdansk, who had taught me some basic phrases. Kacper appeared to be very surprised and delighted by this, which was expressed through his laughter, as I (no doubt badly) spoke the 3 phrases that I could recall. The laughter was loud in such a way that suggested more of the release of tension in an uncomfortable sitaution, more so than the expression of humour. Kacper translated each one into English after I said it, and appeared more comfortable immediately after such an exchange. I couldn’t explain in logical terms the reason why, but I couldn’t help but immediately like and care for Kacper, in a similar fashion to how I might for a younger brother, despite the age gap not being particularly wide. Perhaps the delta between cultural contexts made me perceive Kacper as more vulnerable than he actually was, and I felt compelled to try to connect with him.
 
As the stencil dried, I asked Kacper if he had eaten anything in preparation for the appointment as advised. He told he had eaten four sandwiches, holding up four of his fingers while doing so, and laughing in the acknowledgement that this was a healthy sized breakfast in preparation for the tattooing. He then pointed to the printed design, and explained that the date on the design was the date of his mother’s birth and death. I told him that I was sorry to hear of his loss, and he convincingly assured me that it was OK; it was convincing in that his eyes did not seem to indicate any shift in emotion in the topic being introduced from when we were discussing sandwiches, however it was apparent it was still significant to him, or no date would be necessary to add to the design he was getting tattooed. The recognition of the memorial nature of the tattoo, alongside the compassion and empathy I already felt towards Kacper as a Polish person living in a city that has historically not been very tolerant of those from outside of even its region, never mind country, made me feel additionally responsible to ensuring a positive experience for Kacper.
 
After setting up the basic materials and finding a suitable position for the tattooing procedure, in which I could ensure a tight stretch of the skin, and Kacper could stay still for a prolonged period of time, the tattooing procedure began. This started with the right-hand side of the tattoo which was where the existing tattoo was already, with the decision for doing so being based on the importance of getting the cover-up side correct more so than the non-tattooed side, and the recognition that the stencil will inevitably fade as the procedure continues making the accuracy to printed design increasingly more difficult. After creating the first line of the tattoo, I could sense Kacpers discomfort in the tension of his body and rigidity of posture. I offered him some kitchen roll to have in his hands, to reduce the sweat that was naturally coming from his palms. I asked if he was OK, and he insisted he was fine. At this point, he was not moving frequently as can often be the case when a client is in pain, and he sat very well. Kacper asked me when he could next go to the gym, and I asked if he trained with weights, or cardio. With a straight face and matter-of-fact tone, he expressed ‘cardio, because I am fat’, which I didn’t feel was particularly true, and felt a sadness in that Kacper saw himself this way and stated so in such a objective manner.  His expression of disdain towards his body image reminded me of myself and my life-long issues with bodyweight and eating disorders, and of younger brother who has similar issues. I felt I wanted to make peace with his insecurity in the way I am unable to do for myself, but I recognised that this was not appropriate. I told him that cardio was fine, but to avoid weights as stretching the areas close to the tattoo may irritate it and interrupt the healing.
 
Tattooing Kacper was my first time tattooing a chest, and I found that I had to adjust from seated to standing at various points to create a sufficient stretch of the skin. In doing so, I found myself in unnatural positions that made me feel very physically uncomfortable, but where necessary to ensure the line quality that was required. I found this particularly stressful, as in addition to the physical pain I was causing Kacper, I was also experiencing my own pain, and found that the stencil was fading due to the natural sweating of Kacper through the painful procedure. At this point, I committed to tattooing the most crucial lines to ensure the design was rendered in its intended shape, valuing the more gestural shading lines lesser in specificity of replication from the printed design than the core shape of the wing. I also ensured that I tattooed the date of death before the stencil faded, given the significance of this part of the tattoo.
 
After completing the first part of the basic shape of the right-hand side of the tattoo, I asked Kacper to stand off the massage bed, and lay down on the opposite side of it so I could tattoo the left side of his body. The same procedure was followed, with slightly more confidence from having undertaken tattooing the right-hand side, but also exhaustion in having done so. Kacpers breathing was becoming increasingly unsteady as the tattooing procedure commenced, and when I occasionally looked at his face I noticed that he was squinting. I asked at regular intervals if he was OK, which he assured me was, and I insisted that I get him a drink of water as I noticed a white deposit around the corners of his mouth and I worried that he may be dehydrated. After completing the second outlining stage of the tattoo, I suggested that we take a lunch break as it was around 1pm, and the session was set to end at 5pm. After cleaning it with green soap (a combination of witch hazel and aloe vera antiseptic soap) I wrapped Kacpers tattoo in cling film, and asked him if 25 minutes would be a sufficient lunch break. I told him he could have longer if he liked, however he stated that 25 minutes was fine as he had prepared more sandwiches.
 
As there is no food allowed in the tattooing areas, I asked Kacper if he could eat in the waiting area. The morning of the appointment I had had an argument with my partner, which by the time I arrived at work was resolved, however in my distraction I had forgot my lunch. I left the studio to get some lunch, and on my return noticed a few of my colleagues outside the studio smoking cigarettes and chatting, while Kacper was stood alone with his vaporiser pen, looking down at his phone. As a non-smoker, I felt that I wanted to ask my colleagues to attempt to engage with him, but I considered how it was not appropriate or reasonable, or possibly necessary to do so, and how if I were in the equivalent scenario I would likely prefer to be alone.  Despite this consideration, i couldn’t help but feel that I wanted Kacper to not be isolated. I ate my lunch and had a 1-cup French press of coffee brewing while I did so. Kacper returned inside of the studio, and took a seat on the couch a little further away while typing on his phone. After finishing my salad, I pressed the coffee, and with the French press in hand to indicate what I was asking visually, I approached Kacper and asked if he would like to have half of my coffee. He took a moment, before saying that he would, and I handed him half a paper cup of black coffee, pointing out where the milk and sugar was kept should he need any. After cleaning the press, I invited Kacper back upstairs to commence with the tattooing.  
 
The remainder of the tattoo involved relining areas, saturating the lines to create a varied line weight, and adding a heavy amount of detail to suggest feathers. I asked Kacper if he could position himself the way in which we started, suggesting that we would start with the right-hand side first. I removed the cling film from Kacper that was wrapped around his shoulders and chest, wiped down the bodily fluids that had naturally occurred in the time that the tattoo was wrapped, and began the tattooing process. As I made the first mark, I noticed a much more severe and obvious sense of discomfort from Kacper.  I tried to continue with conversation, and asked Kacper what sandwich filling he had, to which he told me was a combination of "cheese, ham, and ketchup...but Polish ketchup!" - he expressed this with pride and enthuisiasm, pointing as he did so to indicate the distinction from British ketchup. Despite the enthusiasm, I could see he was in a lot of pain, and choose not to pursue conversation in fear of being an additional irritant to the needles I was inserting into his already traumatised skin. As i tattooed, i noticed that the pigment was not appearing to go into his skin at a dark enough saturation. I questioned multiple parts of my practice. I stopped to refill my ink pots with black ink despite them being over half-way filled, in the assumption that the frequent moving from the body to the ink caps of the needle may have resulted in watering the ink in the pot down with the blood that was on the needle. This was not sufficient, and the lines where still not going into the skin as I required them to.
 
I adjusted my needle cartridge, thinking that perhaps there where faults with the cartridge I was using, but this did not appear to be the case. I adjusted the voltage that the machine was running at, sweating and feeling flustered while doing so, worrying that the voltage could be high enough to be risky and contemplating my options. When this didn’t seem successful, I switched to a more familiar machine, thinking that perhaps the ‘drive bar’ that makes the needle go in and out was not machine was not sufficiently engaging. While this helped to some extent, I still found that every line I produced was causing a lot of bleeding and evidently a lot of pain to Kacper, but not delivering the results. I attempted adjusting how I had Kacper positioned, and in what was no doubt apparent, adapted my own standing/seating position in numerous ways in a very flustered fashion. I did not vocalise any of my concerns, however my body temperature, redness of tone, and constant adjustment no doubt communicated my distress more lucidly than any vocal expression would be able to.
 
After much frustration, the tattooing began to go the way that I needed it to more so than it had previously. As I glanced up at Kacper, I noticed how much pain he was in, which was evident with all of the movement he was making with his hands, feet, and legs. I continued to ask him if he was OK or if he wanted to stop for a break, but felt that if I asked him a further time it could irritate him. I considered how in addition to tattooing him successfully, I also had to attempt to not make him aware of how much I was struggling with the procedure, both on a material and a non-material level. I knew I would have failed in disguising my distress, but also recognised that how I felt will have been almost irrelevant to Kacper, who was undergoing far more of a difficult time than I was on a physical level at minimum. This requirement to maintain professionalism in difficult situations contrasted the part of my role I had considered in the past of being vulnerable and open with clients to allow them to feel comfortable, and I recognised I was required to exercise a degree of constraint that I had failed to demonstrate with Kacper.
 
The procedure commenced, with Kacpers movements resulting from the intensity of the pain making it increasingly difficult to execute materially. I also felt incredibly distressed at having to be repeatedly engraving a line in a surface that was evidently causing agony, which was clearly communicated somatically. Each baby wipe that I used to wipe away the excess ink appeared to be a lot more red than it was black, making the process feel like a torture procedure more than the positive experience that I aspire for each of my clients to have.
 
I felt conflicted knowing I had to continue as part of my occupation; knowing that I was causing such intense pain for a client who I already felt empathetically connected to through his vulnerability; knowing that I had to deliver a certain quality of output that I didn’t feel I could achieve the way I had thought I was capable of previously; knowing that Kacper would have to pay me a sizeable sum of money in exchange for what he had to suffer, with what I thought would be results he would be unhappy with; knowing that the studio expected to make their half of the money from the tattoo total cost; Knowing that the studios reputation was carried in part through me; knowing that the tattoo studio was recommended to Kacper by a trust worthy friend for its internationally award-winning reputation, to be what I felt was let down, while in a foreign country in which connections where limited; knowing that I had made a sizeable and permanent mark on Kacper as a young man of 21 years of age, when taste is subject to change, and knowing that the tattoo I had produced was covering a one he was already unhappy with – a tattoo that was in honour of his deceased mother with wings representing her angelic presence in Kacpers life. While finishing the details of the right-hand wing, I considered if I was capable to being a tattooist, if experiences such as this are representative of the future of my career.
 
The first wing was complete by around 4pm, when I asked Kacper if he wanted to continue and make a start of the right-hand side, or if he would prefer to stop for the day for a reduced price, and continue another day to finish it off. It is discouraged to offer a reduce price in the studio as they also loose out, however I was willing to ‘take the hit’ myself financially to stop having to continue causing the trauma I had been commissioned to any longer while in the state of mind that I was.  I knew that I absolutely wanted to stop at this point, but Kacper was keen to continue after having a toilet break. I wrapped Kacper up in cling film as he went to the toilet, and while he was gone I tried to hold myself together through drinking cold water, stretching, and taking deep breaths. When Kacper returned, he used a translation feature on his phone to ask questions regarding continuing on the tattoo, suggesting that he might prefer to stop at this point. I explained that we would have to wait 4 weeks for the tattoo to heal, but could finish it one go then. Kacper opted to take this option.
 
After knowing the tattooing was finished, I told Kacper we could properly clean down his tattoo and he could see it in the mirror. I used green soap to get rid of any excess ink and blood, and walked Kacper to the mirror. He expressed that he liked how the tattoo looked, however I sensed that he was perhaps being polite. I wasn’t 100% certain if this was reflective of my own state of mind and thus not true, or if Kacper perhaps just didn’t seem as enthusiastic because he was exhausted from all the pain that had been caused. I photographed the tattoo , and while wrapping him up with cling film as a protective layer from outside debris, I asked again if he was happy with the tattoo, and he said yes in a way that was more convincingly enthusiastic. I was relieved by this, but also felt selfish for wanting him to make me feel better after having caused so much pain myself to him. I told Kacper to take as long as he needed to get his possessions together, and that I would meet him at the studio desk downstairs when he was ready, where I would prepare an aftercare information sheet.
 
As Kacper approached the front desk, we realised that he could not book his next appointment at this point as he didn’t have his work rota. I advised Kacper to simply email me when he knew of his availability, and that we would find an appointment that suited him from there. I charged Kacper £200 rather £250, and was not questioned by the studio for doing so. I thanked Kacper for getting tattooed by me, desperately wanting to express my emotional resonance with him, while knowing that I was unable to do so. Kacper thanked me, said goodbye, and left the studio to purchase an aftercare product prior to going home.
 
Later that evening when approaching the front door of my one bedroom flat where I live with my partner, I felt an intense build up of emotion that increased in dominance in syncopation with the turn of my key in the door. My partner said hello from the kitchen, to which I replied while entering the bedroom to hang up my jacket. She came into the room, looked at me, and asked if I was ok. As I went to explain I burst into tears, explaining the experience to her. She assured me that the tattoo looked good, and was supportive and empathetic to the experience. After some discussion, she suggested that I email Kacper and make sure that he thoroughly understood the aftercare instruction with the language barrier being in place, and also checking that he is happy with everything – which I did. I didn’t hear back from Kacper until the following day, however he assured me understood everything and was keen to come in to the studio to get the piece finished soon. 

Reflections and Considerations from Practice

When telling my colleagues of the experience the following day, they expressed that ‘days like that will happen’, and told me that I can make an excuse ask them to come to the room in which I work to see if they are able to help in any way. They had recognised the desire to not reveal any insecurity to a client to maintain a demeanour of professionalism and not worry the client, and acknowledged that this is part of the experience of the role of a tattooist. They also consoled me by explaining that the chest is an area that many have struggled with until they have over 7 years of experience, and that often in situations like the one I described, the tattoo is better than the practitioner thinks it is.
 
I showed my colleagues a photo of Kacpers tattoo at the point we got to, and they told me they thought it worked well and was a good piece. I trusted their sincerity, and was appreciative to be part of such a community of practice. We then went on to discuss how there is a void in the acknowledgement of these aspects of tattooing as a professional creative industry in favour of the more glamorous representations of the medium. This conversation echoed the importance of recording such experiences, representing the insecurities, concerns, and uncertainties in a reflective and confessional manner, in order to gain an authentic understanding of what the past 3 years have taught me is a layered and complex practice. 

Alice
(Names changed for confidentiality purposes)

​Alice came into the studio with who I assumed to be her mother, but as I later found out through the conversation that occurred during the tattooing process, was actually her step-mother. My introduction to Alice as a client was based on my availability to tattoo at the moment in which she happened to enter the studio, versus that of my colleagues, who were all tattooing or about to be tattooing at that point. As I sat on the computer, scanning in a design I had prepared for a future upcoming appointment, a colleague who happened to be at the desk area and dealing with Alice’s request shouted to me, “Adam, do you want to make some money?”. I knew that that meant performing a walk-in tattoo (tattooing without a formal appointment). Despite being an important part of the role of the early-career tattooist, I often dislike doing walk-in tattoos for reasons I will now outline.
 
Walk-in tattoos tend to require a lot of time to set-up the equipment and create a design that suits the client intention, comparative to how long the tattoo takes to complete. They also can be difficult to place on the body in a way that appears visually correct based on the variable ways in which the tattooed area can be seen, and can thus take multiple attempts to get right (wrists are a good example of this, as a design may appear central when relaxed, but aligned more to the left or right when the arm is bent). Tattoos of this nature tend also to be more spontaneous in how they have been approached by the clients, who often say things such as, “I knew if I didn’t get it now then I’d probably never get it”. This means that as a tattooist, I have to contend with the knowledge that the client to whom I am making a permanent mark upon may not desire the tattoo in the near future in the same way as they do the day it is created, in contrast to those who have considered a piece for a prolonged period of time. This is not always the case however, and sometimes clients simply lead busy lives working irregular shift patterns, and as such cannot commit to a formal appointment.
 
As walk-in tattoos are generally relatively small (typically taking under 20 minutes of actual tattooing), every aspect of the piece is explicitly visible, including any lines or colour-packing that is less successful than other areas. With larger tattoos where there is more coverage, factors such as this are less visually apparent due to other details of the overall composition. This means that there is a greater requirement for skilled craftspersonship, which as a junior practitioner, is less honed than that of my senior colleagues. Coupled with the acknowledgment that many walk-in tattoos (from my experience of both tattooing and working on the studio desk) are sentimental in nature to a varying extent, the level of responsibility to produce a high-quality output feels greater, making tattooing of this nature as a junior tattooist particularly anxiety inducing.
 
On an objective economic level; walk-in tattoos will generally be charged at £40 (the studio minimum charge), from which I will earn £20. Should the tattoo require a free touch-up due to any pigment being lost in the healing process (which can occur for numerous reasons), then the full process of setting up, tattooing, and cleaning down the work station must be repeated, with no economic gain. In some cases, walk-in tattoos can lead to returning clients for larger pieces that are more suited to the tattooists preferred style of working, leading to greater economic gain over a prolonged period of time. Often, however, walk-in tattoos are sought by those who generally choose to have only a few smaller pieces, and if they return, may request tattoos that are similar in size, placement, and the difficulties that can accompany this that have been outlined.
 
Examples of walk-in tattoos are shown below. As evident in images 2 and 3, in some cases clients request tattoos that would be considered upside-down by conventional standards, as they report to favour having the designs 'facing them' rather than being presented to an outsider. 

​Despite the resistance that I find myself always experiencing when asked to perform walk-in tattoos, I also find myself frequently enjoying social aspects of the process, and being able to offer a service to somebody that may provide some form of value to them. It would also be considered bad practice for me to refuse to tattoo based on my resistance from the perspective of the studio, who must adhere to business demands and not turn away custom for reasons that might be deemed unnecessary. For this reason, it is always my intention to not reveal my insecurities about my ability or my desire to avoid doing such tattoos to both my clients and my colleagues/superiors. Upon being summoned, I approached the desk where Alice and her stepmother where stood, said hello, and asked what tattoo design was being sought.
 
Alice adopted a demeanour that suggested fragility and resilience simultaneously. Writing this with retrospective understanding of Alice’s biographical narrative may make such a statement appear insincere, or as an additional attribute falsely remembered given some of her later learned contextual background – but this is not the case. I distinctly remember detecting a sense of hardship in the moments of our first interaction; a sense I only picked up on through having encountered people close to me who have lived through difficult or traumatic experiences in the past, and been able to continue to survive in the World without being overcome with fear. Alice had a child-like wisdom to her presence; child-like in the sense of engagement and presence with the moment, not considering the before or after, and wise in the acknowledgement that nothing was forever, and thus recognising that enjoyment is a necessary condition of living a rich life. These assertions may be my personal projections and not representative of Alice’s own sense of self, however they are necessary to include to elucidate on the variable factors that contribute to the experience of the practitioner, and how that affects the nature of practice.
 
She looked like she was in her early 20’s at first glance, but after talking for slightly longer it seemed that she may have been closer to her later 20’s. Alice told me in a soft midlands accent that she would like to have an infinity symbol with a heart and paw print incorporated into it, with the name of her deceased dog underneath, tattooed on her forearm. As she described what she wanted, her step mother showed me her own wrist, which was a similar design to that which Alice had described, and while showing me her tattoo said, “just something like this”. Alice’s step-mother adopted a maternal and protective demeanour, but in such a way that she respected Alice’s independence to make her own choices, and merely wanted to support her when necessary. This was evidenced in the way in which they both interacted with each other, in a manner that reminded me of siblings who have a significant age gap, more so than mother and daughter. A design such as what Alice had requested is not something I would produce for artistic gratification, but is often expected to be requested with walk-in tattoos, as such subjects are commonly reoccurring.

​I felt as though my interaction was with Alice and her step-mother as a pair, rather than Alice as an individual based on our design consultation, and so I told both that the tattoo wouldn’t be a problem to produce. I asked if she had any particular requests for the style of font, and she expressed that she didn’t. I photographed the tattoo of Alice’s step-mothers arm as a visual reference from which to base the design upon, and informed them both that I would need around 40 minutes to set up a work station and produce a design. I suggested they could go and have a coffee and return afterwards, as well as stating that they were welcome to wait in the reception area if they would prefer to. Opting to return to the studio 40 minutes later, Alice and her step-mother left for a coffee while I created the design.
 
I had recognised the design on Alice’s step mothers’ arm from seeing it on various other clients. This is often the case with smaller tattoos that can circulate on platforms such as ‘pinterest’ with titles that relate to the subject (e.g. ‘mother and daughter tattoo’ or ‘infinity symbol tattoo’ etc). As the tattoo for Alice was motivated in part by it matching her step-mothers, I opted to look for the source image from which her step-mothers tattoo was produced using a ‘google images’ search. Numerous versions of the same design where displayed, as both graphic symbols and tattoos. I found a version of the design that most closely resembled the source image I was basing the design upon, and dragged the image into Adobe Photoshop.
 
In an attempt to avoid directly copying the design in its entirety, I adjusted the thickness of part of the forms based on my own aesthetic sensibilities, by selecting the outlines of the shapes, contracting the selection by around 7 or 8 pixels, feathering the edges, and deleting the appropriate selection. I then added a text box underneath the image, and found 3 different fonts that I felt confident tattooing, all of which were relatively simple. From my experience creating tattoos of a similar nature, clients tend to opt for cursive or italic fonts, and I went to select a font from the dropdown selection, I noticed that those at the top where the styles that had been most frequently used.
 
On an a4 sheet, I created 3 versions of the design with the different writing styles. These where copied and pasted, and adjusted slightly in size to make them larger, before the process was repeated, and the sheet printed to show to Alice on her return into the studio. The pieces where composed in rows, and each row was cut out, allowing Alice to be able to select first a size she would like to have the tattoo produced at, and then which versions of the design she would like to opt for. After preparing the design, I set up the tattooing booth, brought an additional stool for Alice’s step-mother to sit on during the procedure, and came back to the front desk awaiting Alice.
 
Alice and her step-mother arrived with various shopping bags, and a bottle of Lucozade, assumingly in the knowledge that blood sugar can be lowered during the tattooing process and it is necessary to restore it. After greeting both of them, I approached the seating area and showed them the design, which they seemed very happy with. Opting for the italic font and smallest version of the design, I placed the paper cut out against the intended area of skin to be tattooed to test its suitability. Alice was very easy-going with this process, and seemed content with each step. I asked if she was sure on everything, in case she was uncomfortable to state that she would like any alterations in the sometimes-intimidating setting of a tattoo studio. I attempted to make it apparent in my tone of communication that I was happy to make any alterations if necessary, which I absolutely was, but she told me that everything was perfect, and that she really liked the font. Her step-mother echoed these sentiments.
 
After making the stencil, I invited Alice and her step-mother to my tattooing booth, which is located upstairs and is independent from the other tattooing areas. I have deliberately attempted to create a space that is far removed from the traditional tattoo shop in many ways, in that the music selection is often ambient or jazz themed, and the designs and images on the walls are eclectic in source and not centred around the typical motifs of skulls, roses, demons etc. This is in order to both satisfy my personal aesthetic sensibilities, and assist in making the client feel more relaxed in a potentially new environment. As we entered the room, I invited both Alice and her step-mother to hang up their jackets, place their bags wherever they would like to, and to take a seat.
 
As I prepared and placed the stencil on Alice’s arm, I began the ‘small-talk’ process that is a necessary part of the durational tattooing procedure, and often ends up being the gateway for real conversation to enter. I asked Alice if she had other tattoos. She showed me her existing pieces, which where themed around her love for music and her pets, and where a similar size to the small tattoo she was getting today. As I applied pressure to the stencil, I noticed that Alice’s arm where relatively thin and seemed fragile. The necessity of touch in various aspects of the tattooist role is inherently intimate, and I felt that I wanted to be mindful of Alice’s comfort level on a physical and psychological basis. As the stencil dried, I invited Alice to take a seat on the tattooing bed and get comfortable while the stencil dried for 10 minutes, while I would go and get a number of needle cartridges to complete the piece. I offered both Alice and her step-mam a drink of water, to which they were thankful, but declined, before setting up the remainder of the equipment.
 
I returned, and asked Alice to lay face down on the tattoo bed with her arm out on a cling-film wrapped arm rest. I asked Alice if she was comfortable or wanted to adjust any aspect of how she was seated, but she seemed comfortable how she was. I informed Alice that I was about to begin the process of tattooing, and that if at any point she would like to stop for any reason, to just let me know. After positioning the printed design next to Alice’s arm at the same orientation of the tattoo, I began the tattooing procedure, asking how it felt after creating the first line. She expressed that it felt fine, which I didn’t doubt through what her physiology communicated to me, as her body seemed relaxed, and her breathing steady. As I continued tattooing, I asked Alice if she was in employment or in education or anything of a similar nature. It was at this point this she told me that she was in remission from a brain tumour and had had an operation 4 years ago in Sweden, from which she was still recovering.
 
Not wanting to pry too much into this topic, I navigated around it as respectfully as possible, trying to decipher how comfortable a topic of conversation that it was for Alice and her step-mother. In a nonchalant manner, they both went on to explain how Alice, her siblings, parents, and step-parents had travelled to Sweden for 6 weeks to have the operation. I didn’t get the impression that the topic was uncomfortable in any way to discuss, and felt more of a sense of triumph than sadness, which I found admirable. They went on to tell me how expensive the cost of living was in Sweden, and how they didn’t care too much for the food there. They then turned the conversation on to me, and asked what questions such as, ‘what is the strangest tattoo you’ve ever done’, to which my answer was likely unsatisfactory due to my relative lack of experience to other tattooists who have anecdotes of tattooing obscure subject matter, or intimate body parts.
 
As the tattooing progressed, the conversation moved back and forth through different topics, and Alice’s step-mother expressed how her tattoos are imbued with meaning. Alice stated that getting this tattoo had aroused her appetite for getting further pieces. I asked what subject matter she would like, and she stated she hadn’t thought of anything at that point, but likes the idea of tattoos that have a humorous element. Humour appeared to be a big part of how Alice and her family have navigated through what I can assume would have been a troublesome and traumatic period of time, and on numerous occasions Alice’s step-mother would explain various ‘in-jokes’ that they had together to me. Alice suggested that an eye-ball would be a good subject matter for a tattoo, to which her step-mother laughed and agreed enthusiastically.
 
When I asked why, it transpired that at some point in Alice’s treatment, damage was caused to her right-eye. Alice was lying face down as the tattooing commenced, however as this was explained to me, I recalled how she wore her fringe over her right eye, making it difficult to notice. Alice’s step-mother explained how part of their ‘banter’ involved mocking each other on aspects of themselves, and she stated that occasionally they would send text messages of eye-themed ‘emojis’ as part of their rapport. It seemed apparent that this mockery came from a place of love and acceptance, and was part of the healing process of dealing with an otherwise difficult permanent change in aesthetic appearance and general health. I considered how Alice’s causal and easy-going nature to the minute details of the tattoo that I was producing for her was likely present as comparative to her eye, the tattoo particulars where almost superfluous.
 
As I was tattooing the final details of Alice’s tattoo, I couldn’t help but feel an emotional resonance with her spirit and a sympathy for her; sympathy that was not necessary given her gracious approach to life. I recognised how my sympathy was not exclusively to her and her triumphant story of recovery from a life-changing ordeal through positivity, a loving community, and humour, but to an almost archetypical personality type that I recognised. Her gentle, passive, and kind demeanour coupled with her midlands accent reminded me of a figure in my life who shared many common experiences of dealing with difficulties with resilience and determination. Though the biographical specifics between Alice and my connection differed, the nature of narrative shared similarities. This connection between Alice and the figure to who she represented to me was only made upon later reflection, but felt in the moment of the experience as a gathering of emotion that was felt in my body, and expressed through the sincere presence of compassion and wish of wellbeing for Alice and her family. This feeling stuck with me.
 
Upon completion of the tattoo, I invited Alice to take a look at it in the mirror. Before doing so, she showed her step-mother who said she thought it was ‘lovely’, and took a photo to send to her other family members. I realised that despite the tattoo evidently being a homage to a pet, at no point during our conversation did the specifics of the tattoo meaning come up. Alice told me that she liked the tattoo, and after photographing it for my own records, I wrapped the piece in cling film. While doing so, I asked Alice and her step-mother what their plans where for the remainder of the day. Alice informed me that she had her first kick-boxing lesson later that evening, which she said she was learning as a means of self-defence and to get build up some strength. I considered how this exemplified the impression of her resilience of character that I had previously noted. I told Alice and her step-mother to take their time getting their belongings together, and that I would meet them at the front desk when they were ready and go over the aftercare procedure.
 
While waiting at the front desk, I annotated an aftercare slip with the key details of how to look after a tattoo, in preparation to explain vocally. As I explained the procedure to Alice, I noticed again how she had her fringe covering her eye, and felt emotionally stirred in the recognition that despite the abundance of strength and ability to deal with the problems she had been dealt, Alice must have felt a sense of self-consciousness about her appearance to try and obstruct her eye from her vision of others. This reminded me that my short experience with Alice or many other clients can only ever be telling of a limited amount the multiplicity of realities that exist in each individuals conscious experience of existence. 

Reflections and Considerations from Practice

Later that evening, I told my partner about my experience in tattooing Alice, and I found myself getting emotional while doing so. Even in recording the experience in writing, I find the presence of emotion that cannot be categorised in the singular. It is more the amalgamation of compassion for others in recognition of the fragility and impermanence of existence, sadness surrounding the insecurities ever present in others and in myself that are culturally and sociologically ingrained, and admiration for the resilience of the human spirit to prevail. The presence of these emotions may be uniquely my own, based on my individual nature and sense of being in the World, but the experience of being personally affected by the presence of a client while tattooing is not just unique to me.
 
Tattooing is a medium through which many people express what they deem significant. Combined with the durational and thus conversational nature of conduct, many clients open up about their lives and share aspects of themselves with the tattooist. The way in which that affects the tattooist can vary based on how their own personal baggage, with examples such as my account of tattooing Alice illustrating how factors such as client demeanour and a small amount of contextual background information can initiate an emotional response. In a more direct example, I have been in the studio when some of friends/colleagues have produced memorial tattoos, and have been in tears after the client leaves the studio. This autoethnographic is an attempt to illustrate how tattoos are produced on humans, by humans, and as such require the presence of a person, not just a practitioner. In counselling, the role of a supervisor is to assist the counsellor in dealing with the various issues that are experienced as a role of working with individuals. Perhaps a similar system would be valuable for the occupational health of the tattooist.  

​Booking
 
Linda came into the tattoo studio on a Friday afternoon to make an appointment for a small piece. As a junior tattooist, part of my role still involves helping out on the desk (booking client appointments, taking payment from clients etc.), which I was doing on this occasion. After greeting Linda who told me that she wanted a tattoo on her ankle area, I asked to see a photograph of what she was hoping for. At an estimate, Linda was aged somewhere around her 50’s. She was of average weight and tanned complexion, with around 2 or 3 relatively large (distinguishable from a distance) tattoos on her arms, and as I came to see when she showed me where around her ankle she wanted the tattoo to be placed – a smaller text tattoo of a name on her ankle.
 
It is often the case (in the post-industrial town of Sunderland, at least) that when discussing tattoo designs/placement with clients who have fairly limited tattoos and are of a particular age, that expectations may not be realistic. An example may be that the client wants a large piece of text tattooed in a small area – unaware that the tattoo ageing process may make the piece illegible over time. Similarly, a client may request a portrait of their dog / child / partner, but be only able to provide a photograph that is of low resolution for the tattooist to use as a reference which would be insufficient to complete the piece with desirable quality. This wasn’t the case for Linda however, and it appeared that she had considered the piece by her confidence in placement, size, and design simplicity. This consideration was also apparent in her tone and demeanour, which appeared to be confident and defined.
 
Linda showed an image on her mobile phone, which she had indicated she would like to be tattooed above her ankle. The design looked as though it was from a sign that had been placed in a public space such as a train platform community notice board, or in a doctor waiting room, and read, ‘You are not alone. Not now. Not Ever. Don’t Give Up’. In the centre of the design was a silhouetted icon of the Disney character Mickey mouse, but with an additional circular silhouette with a hollow inside that was placed on each ear, to suggest the ears where expanded. On initially looking at the design, I had not considered that the circular shapes inside of the ears where indications of expanded ears, as I was looking at the image from a purely pragmatic standpoint in regards to its suitability as a tattoo, to be placed above the name already tattooed on the ankle. Though I recognised the design was not the traditional portrayal of ‘Mickey Mouse’, the significance of the deviance from the original icon at that point was not relevant to my assessment of the design translation from screen/print, to skin.

Linda stated she wanted the silhouette to be coloured ‘a nice purple’, which she reinstated when making the booking, and around 2.5 x 2.5 inches in size. I assured Linda that we could gather together some pre-mixed coloured ink bottles on the day, and she could select the purple pigment of her choosing. I told her that the tattoo should take around an hour, and I was able to do it for her for £40 (the studio minimum charge, and my hourly rate). Linda was suitably satisfied with this, and booked to have her tattoo on the following Tuesday, leaving the full tattoo cost as a non-refundable deposit. When leaving a deposit, it is necessary that the member of desk staff inform the client that the deposit is non-refundable prior to taking the money. I made Linda aware of this, and she confidently assured me that she would definitely arrive for her appointment, which I didn’t doubt. I asked Linda to email me the image, from which I would prepare a design. This is ordinary practice within the studio and ensures that the reference image from which the tattooist produces a design adheres to the clients request appropriately.
 
 
Design process
 
Around 45 minutes from leaving the studio, Linda had emailed the image to me, from which the design was to be produced. The image was a photograph of a laminated sign taken on a slight angle. I downloaded the attachment and copied it into an Adobe photoshop a4 document, where I had intended to see if I was able to make a stencil from the photograph. Due to the angle, I was not, and so I utilised google image search to find an image for the search, ‘mickey mouse head icon’.
 
The images where all silhouetted icons, however it was only the outline of the shape that I required, and so I intended to generate a line drawing from the existing shape to utilise as a stencil and inform my tattooing process. A silhouette was isolated, copied, and pasted into the already open photoshop document. As the icon was placed alongside the image that Linda had sent to me, I remembered that the intended design included the circular shapes in the ears. I was still unaware that these shapes where indicators of expanded, but wanted to honour the original design, and so using the shape tool, created a white circle that was then placed over the ear area of the design. The placement was informed by the original photograph, and once the left-hand side of the image appeared correct, the full design was marked in the centre, the left-hand side copied, and then mirrored / placed over the top of the right-hand side of the image to ensure perfect symmetry.
 
This composite design was then selected using the magic wand tool, before being contracted by around 4 pixels and feathered slightly, for the selection to then be deleted, leaving an outline of the shape that could then act as the stencil. I composed the shape on a sheet of paper 4 times at varying sizes, and followed the same outlining procedure for a version of the icon without the additional edits to the ears. These versions of the design where also created in 4 sizes that reflect the first set, and placed on the same piece of paper. The sheet was then printed, to be shown to Linda on the morning of her tattoo so that she could pick a suitable size for her tattoo (though deviance in size from those which are printed is possible, and the sheet is merely an informed guideline in accordance to clients original stated size for the tattoo). Both versions of the image where included (traditional Mickey mouse and expanded ear mickey mouse), as at this point I was unsure if Linda simply was unable to locate a version of the design without expanded ears for any reason. 

​Appointment Morning
 
The design sheet was placed in my tattooing booth on Saturday afternoon, in preparation for the appointment on Tuesday morning when the studio opened. Linda arrived at around 10:45, 15 minutes ahead of the appointment time, and had brought another person with her. I greeted Linda with and intentional but sincere familiarity of tone, expressed through an informal “hello’, and gave her a consent form to complete (mandatory for every tattoo session, irrespective of the client is new or returning). I had assumed that Linda’s companion was simply company for the appointment, which is very common, however she had asked if she could also be tattooed with the same design, on her forearm. I checked the schedule, calculated that I should have both tattoos completed by around 1pm which would allow me to cover the front-desk so that my colleague would be able to have her 1pm lunch break, and said that I should be able to complete the tattoo for Linda’s friend directly after tattooing Linda.
 
Lindas companion was named Samantha, and appeared around 10 years younger than Linda, and had a similar demeanour of sincerity but slightly less confident and more timid. I later found out that Samantha was Lindas cousin, who had decided to get the tattoo after hearing that Linda had booked in for the piece. After both clients had filled in their consent forms, I brought over the design sheet and explained that I had included both version of the design (Mickey mouse with and without expanded ears), and asked which they would prefer. Confidently, they both opted for the expanded ear version of the design without any hesitation, confirming that the design was of significance. It was at this point that I recognised that the circles in the ears where expanders, and that the tattoo was likely a memorial of a person who both Linda and Samantha had lost. I asked both clients to take a seat while I cut out various sizes of the design, which I then brought over to them to place next to the area to be tattooed so they could gain a more accurate understanding of the placement.
 
After the desired sizes where selected, I created a stencil to work from, dealing with Lindas first as she would be getting the tattoo before Samantha. During this process, I thought back to the image that was originally sent to me as reference and the words. I couldn’t recall the specific words, but I remembered them as being something to the effect of “you’re not alone” and “never give up”. It was at this point that I made the inference that the loss both Linda and Samantha suffered was due to suicide. Though the tattoo as a symbolic memory of a specific individual was stated, the cause of death never actually confirmed and it did not feel appropriate to ask for details. It later transcended that person being memorialised was young, had expanded ears, and named Michael. My recognition of the seemingly obvious symbolic significance of the piece was so delayed due to my focus on the material nature of the brief on first encounter. I was not looking at the image to draw out any particular meaning, but merely considering if the design would work as a tattoo. I recognised that when performing the role of a tattooist, my interpretation of the same situation would be different than when not performing any specific role, as my assessment of the situation would not be guided by any particular requirements to be fulfilled.
 
 
Tattooing Process - Linda
 
As I now became aware that the tattoo I was completing was not merely pictorial, but perhaps ceremonial, the felt sense of responsibility was amplified. Interestingly, it was not the pressure to ensure the tattoo was well-executed that I felt the most crucial aspect of my role at this particular point, but my desire was to ensure that both clients where suitably comfortable at all points in whatever way possible seemed of a higher priority. I asked Linda and Samantha to come over to the booth and brought a chair for Samantha to sit in while I tattooed Linda, and vice-versa. As we walked over and I prepared Linda’s skin surface to be tattooed, I made a particular effort to keep my conversation tone light, while simultaneously trying to welcome any depth of content that she would like to share. My tone of voice contained a ‘brightness’ to try and communicate openness and acceptance of whatever Linda wanted to share with me, and when Linda started to speak about Michael, I asked questions that elaborated on the content she was already discussing (such as his taste in music and how his brother is emulating it now). The questions where along the lines of ‘…so did Michael play an instrument?”, and I had tried to ensure that what I was asking was not overly personal, but personal enough for Linda to understand that I was willing to listen to whatever she was comfortable to share, and create a space for her to do so.
 
The duty I felt to be present in such a way is not unique to being tattooist and a simple human instinct, however as memorial tattooing is commonplace, tattooists may more commonly have to develop skills in being present to ensure client comfort. While waiting for the stencil to dry, I poured ink into my ink caps, attached the appropriate needle gauge to the tattoo machine in accordance to the stencil thickness, and went to the bathroom to tie back my hair as a health and safety precaution. Linda and Samantha talked between each other at this point, and I offered them both a drink of water between the other tasks. I brought Linda 3 different tones of dark purple to choose from for the colour of her tattoo, and kept the bottle that she had selected on top of the booth area to refill for when it came to tattooing Samantha, ensuring that the tones matched. 
 
After around 10 minutes when the stencil dried, I adjusted the tattoo bed so that Linda was able to sit up asked her to stretch the tattooing leg out straight, and began the tattooing procedure, starting with the outline. As the procedure continued Linda told me that after booking her appointment with me she had looked at my social media accounts by following the links that are included on my appointment card. She recognised my surname – McDade, and contacted my uncle of the same surname who she is friends with, to see if we were any relation. My uncle informed her of our relation, and that I was his brothers’ son.
 
It transpired that Linda was active in the music scene during the 1970’s, and regularly went to local gigs. My late father, ‘Blue’ (as he was ironically referred to as due to his high decibel and distinctly decipherable booming laugh that it is likely was only ever present as a mechanism to deal with his social anxiety and life-long depression, and so actually ‘meta-ironic’), played in popular progressive rock band named ‘Cirkus’. Linda told me how she had known my dad and had enjoyed watching his band perform many times. She expressed her condolences for his death in April 2016, in which he had suffered heart failure as a result of what is believed to have been a deliberate failure to take medication resulting in the ending of a life that was burdened by a serious of health conditions such as prostate cancer, deep vein thrombosis, fibromyalgia, life-long depression and alcoholism. His 62-year-old body was found on the floor of his apartment in which he lived alone by my sister who had a spare key, around 4 days after his death based on the coroner’s estimation. My relationship with my dad was very positive overall, though we were never able to be as close as we both would have wanted due to his excessive absence and unreliability in my childhood and adolescence which was largely the result of his self-medicative relationship with alcohol to deal with his depression.  His death was simultaneously sad and relieving, as his health issues made his premature death an inevitably that had been anticipated for over half my adult life, after being told to ‘expect the worst’ when visiting him off and on in hospital over the past decade and a half.
 
Linda’s expression of condolence made me aware that she was already informed of my own loss, and we had a shared experience of grievance. As I continued to outline the tattoo – an already intimate procedure in which I am touching the clients body with my hands, with the remainder of my body in close proximity and with the client positioned in such a manner that is aimed towards informal relaxation (it is important to ensure a client is comfortable when they are being tattooed and have them in a position that maximises this), the intimacy of the exchange became more nuanced. I stated that my comparative loss was not the same and that Linda’s was no doubt more severe, as Michael was significantly younger than my Dad, who’s death had been anxiously anticipated far ahead of it happening.
 
As we spoke through the tattooing process, switching from the outline to beginning the colour, the exchange felt significantly more personal than tattooing a standard client. Linda’s design choice was semiotic in its communication of loss in that she had chosen to have it embodied, and she was additionally aware of my personal biographical narrative regarding my relationship with my dad. Though tattooing for a longer period of time invites more informal and holistic conversation than other service industries might (such as massage), the personal involvement in this instance required a combination of professionalism (ensuring client physical comfort, checking that they are OK in regards to the pain etc) and personal presence (that is, being present as Adam, with my own sense of self, rather than simply as a tattooist).
 
I told Linda that her skin was accepting the purple coloured ink very well (sometimes purple can be difficult to appear saturated depending on client skin type), and she appeared to be completely comfortable with the physical pain. She stated that she did not believe that tattoos hurt her much, and I relied on my canned tattooist response (though true) that women tend to be able to tolerate pain better than men, and that comparatively to child-birth tattoos must a ‘walk in the park’. Canned comments such as this are useful as tools for the client to recognise that they are dealing with the pain very well, and to try and help them to feel positive. It was apparent in Lindas demeanour that the pain was not actually affecting her due to her stillness, which may be inferred to be comparatively easier to handle than the grievance she was experiencing.
 
On completion of the tattoo, I wiped down all the excess ink and asked Linda if she would like to take a look at it in the mirror. On the way to the mirror, she showed Samantha who had been seated during the process, who expressed her fondness of the tattoo. Linda returned with a smile, stating she was very happy with the piece and thanking me, before her tattoo was wrapped in cling film for protection. It felt more appropriate to hug her than simply thank her for allowing me to do the tattoo for her, with the professional environment in which the tattoo was produced being the dominant deterrent to such an exchange. I asked both Linda and Samantha if they could please take a seat at the front of the studio so that I could clean down the work station and prepare it again for Samantha’s tattoo. As I proceeded to remove cling-film and protective layers from the surfaces and into the toxic waste bag, I considered how this creation of space shares parallel to that of a shamanic healing facilitator, in which a ceremonial environment is created and cleansed (though through smudged sage, rather than medical grade disinfectant) for trauma to be dealt with and navigated with the assistance of a practitioner. It was not the role of ‘shaman’ in its full array of responsibilities that I thought was comparable, but rather the attribute of the role as a facilitator for an experience. 

​Samantha
 
After taking the time to set up the space, I asked Linda and Samantha if they wanted to return to the booth. Linda sat in the chair with her mobile phone in her hand, and I noticed she was sharing a photograph of her new tattoo to her Facebook account. Samantha had a far less confident demeanour than Linda – she was much shyer in her mannerisms but wore a consistent smile. The smile seemed authentic and sincere, but as though it was just a veneer to cover up some unbearable pain that it would not be socially acceptable to make visible to a stranger. It was a genuine smile, but it was present to express politeness, rather than happiness. Though given the motivation for the tattoo, a sense of sadness was to be expected, It felt as though it was sourced in something more deeply rooted than one particular event or reason.
 
Samantha had chosen the forearm as the placement for the tattoo rather than her ankle, where Linda had placed it, and requested for it to be slightly smaller in size. I vocalised that small, often almost invisible hairs can interfere with the tattoo stencil to Samantha. As I shaved the discreet white-coloured hairs from her arm in preparation for the stencil, she told expressed that she feels she is hairier than she ‘should’ be in an almost apologetic tone. I assured her that it is very normal and natural to have body hair, and that she didn’t have to worry. The tone of shame that I detected confirmed that the other aspects of her nonverbal communication that lead to my inferences of her vulnerability where perhaps correct, and I was able to infer their presence through sharing similar traits and characteristic throughout my life. I positioned the stencil on the arm, checked that she was happy with the placement, and adjusted the bed so that she could lay down with her arm out straight on an arm rest.
 
Though tattooists have different preferences for client positioning when tattooing, I find that having clients lay down assists in the feeling of relaxation, thus helping to alleviate any nerves that may be present. Following the same procedure as when tattooing Linda, the outline was completed with the same needle gauge. As the tattooing commenced, It did not feel appropriate to discuss the death of Michael due to Samantha’s vulnerability. Instead, I opted for more ‘small-talk’ forms of conversation, and learned that Samantha worked in a retail outlet, and would be going into work later that afternoon. She stated that she thought the job was OK, and didn’t mind going in to work. Samantha’s smile was consistent throughout the conversation and the remainder of the tattooing procedure, though her responses (though very polite) where limited, and didn’t prompt many further questions to naturally occur.
 
It seemed that even speaking was painful for Samantha, which I wanted to respect for her tattoo experience. As I used my non-tattooing left hand to stretch the skin around the area to be tattooed, I felt very aware of amount of pressure that was necessary that I otherwise would not have considered. Samantha’s arms where thin and appeared delicate, and I felt uncomfortable in both putting pressure on her arm and in inflicting the pain that the tattoo process incurs. It didn’t feel appropriate to be causing additional pain to somebody I deemed to be suffering so much already. I contemplated how this feeling has occurred in other scenarios, such as tattooing people who are aged only around 18 or 19, or people who clearly find the pain more difficult to tolerate. I had to consider how my interpretation of my analysis of her situation and character would likely be at least in part my own projection, though perhaps combined with some sense of intuitive understanding.
 
As I began the colour stages there were no words that were exchanged, but the silence did not feel at all uncomfortable. As the blood rose to the surface of the saturated coloured areas of the tattoo, the process of wiping it away with a baby-wipe and continuing to extract more though the continued tattooing reminded me of my earlier comparison of shamanic healing ceremony and tattooing procedure. The pain that was being initiated coupled with the care that was taken to assure the comfort, and the necessity of the client to surrender to the sensation, reminded me of my personal experiences of dealing with trauma during an ayahuasca ceremony. The blood was the body purging, wiping it away was a means of cleansing, and the finished tattoo was the rebirth and reclamation of the sense of self.
 
As the procedure finished and after following the usual protocols I wrapped up Samantha’s arm, I attempted to keep the conversation light. Part of Samantha’s vulnerability may have indeed been the nerves she could have been experiencing in undergoing the tattooing process, as there was a sense of brightness in her tone of voice. This may have been the relief of the process being finished, the acquisition of a new embodied signifier, or the assistance that having underwent the procedure had in the grievance procedure. I thanked both Linda and Samantha, who were both charged the minimum amount for a tattoo (£40), went over the aftercare instructions, and said goodbye. They thanked me in return, generously tipped me £5, and left the studio.
 

Closing Reflections
 
The account given is very specific and unique to me as a tattooist, working in the town that I was born, and with the baggage of my own experiences that inform the lens for interpretation of the world and the people with whom I co-exist. Despite this, the nature of tattooing designs that are for the purposes of memorialising a deceased loved one is commonplace, irrespective of location. The tattooing procedure may induce amplified stress than if the piece was purely pictorial given the knowledge of the significance, and the subject matter may not necessarily be in keeping with the tattooists personal taste (as in this example, the tattooists subjective taste should not be relevant). The experience of client care may be require different skills, communication tone, and sensitivity, when dealing with memorial tattoos, and much like therapists, it is not uncommon to inherit the feelings of the client and care for their wellbeing once the procedure is over. Similarly, when dealing with performing memorial tattoos, it is not uncommon to draw upon personal experience in order to relate to the client, and create a mutual sense of trust and space for intimate exchange. This can result in reconjuring emotions in a way that otherwise may not have risen to the surface in an unpredictable fashion.
 
21st century Tattooing has been labelled a consumer commodity, which it very often can be, however it is important to recognise that not every tattoo is necessarily about the visual output alone, but the process being undertaken. Unlike traditional mediums such as painting or drawing, the tattooist’s role expands beyond the visual practitioner, as contemporary Western tattooing is a service industry. What tattooing has in common with disciplines such as graphic design or illustration is that the practitioner produces an output for a client based on their unique brief. What distinguishes tattooing however, is that the client is an inherent part of the output. Tattooists must therefore be skilled in factors that expand beyond the use of their materials alone, on a contingent and non-hierarchical basis. This blog post aims to serves as an introduction into what some of the necessary skills may be, and give an informed account of what the procedure of producing a memorial tattoo may look like.