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theleaveswant Jan. 8th, 2013 09:45 pm)
theleaveswant Jan. 8th, 2013 09:45 pm)Now and then I'll read a story—a good one, often one where it's clear from the level and quality of detail in other places that the author has done research, made a serious effort to know whereof ze speaks—and I'll be sitting there, scrolling happily along, until one of the characters gets tattooed, and then *brake screech* Some minor or major inaccuracy will throw me out of the story, sometimes irretrievably. I have five tattoos myself now, so I'm moderately well-acquainted with the process, and I notice when somebody's Doing It Wrong (for example, describing the process—not the sensation—as “burning”, or talking about changing bandages on a tattoo that's still bleeding two weeks after it was applied).
I'm not sure why this in particular is such a peeve for me, when I let some other kinds of errors slide more easily, but it is. It bothers me even more in 'professional' media, where producers can reasonably be expected (by me, anyway) to pay somebody to make sure they're getting things right, and especially in cases where I know people involved in the creation process actually have tattoos and ought to know enough to correct any errors, because under circumstances like that I can't see any excuse for botching things as badly as they usually do. One friend I complained to about this suggested that the reason representations of tattooing in mainstream media are such a dog's breakfast is that producers don't want to be blamed for “encouraging” folks to get tattoos . . . except that they still show tattooing, and they usually mess up by making the process look a lot quicker, cleaner, and less painful than it actually is, so I suspect it's more to do with laziness/the ignorant assumption that they already know everything they need to about tattooing (and kink, and paganism, and so on) from copying other media depictions that also got it wrong.
Of course, there's not much I can do about mainstream media (at least not until the fannish proletariat seize control of the means of production and implement a utopian meritocracy—I mean . . . *cough*), and really not a lot I can do about fandom, either. What I can do is put my knowledge out there, somewhere it might be accessed by fan writers and others who care about getting the details right, and hope it'll come in handy when you sit down to write that story about Steve Rogers tagging along the day Darcy Lewis spends her first SHIELD paycheque making a start on her half-sleeve, gets captivated by the process and the flash on the walls and decides to have his old unit insignia inscribed over his heart, or the one where Annie Edison walks in on Abed Nadir in the shower and discovers the full-colour art deco shrine to Farscape covering his back and is understandably brimming with questions (somebody please make these happen).
Please note that I am speaking from personal experience here, as a middle-class white cis woman from central Canada who got her first tattoo at age 20 and collected four more from four artists at two studios in different Canadian cities over the next seven-and-a-half years; from accompanying friends to the shop when they got inked; from talking to other friends about tattooing; from hanging out for a while in the Tattooed Knitters & Crocheters board on Ravelry and a few other online spaces; and from wandering into a whole lot of body mod shops over the years to check them out as a potential client or just out of curiosity. Some parts of the tattooing experience that I describe below are pretty universal, while others are probably more particular to my own experience; if other folks want to chime in to discuss how this does or doesn't resonate with your tattooing experiences, or to fill in any of my gaping holes of ignorance (for example home tattooing using improvised materials, cover-ups, or tattoo removal), that'd be hunky-dory. Finally, I'd like to note that this is not so much an essay as it is a bunch of loosely connected, theoretically factual statements.
Preparation
Many, probably most, tattoo studios also offer piercing, but not all tattoo artists are piercers or vice versa, so depending on how many of each a particular place employs both services might not be available at all times. Some studios also offer other aesthetic/body modification practices (e.g., cutting or branding) or bring in people who perform other arts as guests. Generally studios that offer piercing will also sell piercing jewelry, and some shops sell other merchandise such as apparel, skateboards and related products, art prints, counterculture literature, drug paraphernalia, etc.
Probably most studios have at least one private room, for clients who are more comfortable that way and for performing work requiring more nudity than is legally or socially acceptable in full view of the public, but some also have open-plan studio spaces where people might be tattooed in sight of each other or in sight of the body of the store or the studio waiting room. These situations obviously present slightly different logistical concerns re: cleaning and safety, as well as privacy (and therefore exposure/exhibitionism & voyeurism). All studios/artists should have current training in preventing transmission of blood-borne pathogens; if certification is not prominently displayed you canrun ask for proof and/or get a tour of the shop's standard safety procedures (more on this below).
Many mod shops today have websites with artist profiles describing training, influences, strengths, and preferred styles, as well as photo galleries with examples of past work, so you can often research artists pretty easily before you book an appointment. They might also have, and 10-20 years ago definitely would have had, physical albums in the shop with photos of the artists' previous work. These are portfolios, not menus—they're meant to demonstrate an artist's range and particular skills so you can evaluate whether he'd be a good match for what you want, not to suggest that this is all he can do, and will often include a mix of flash and other generic simple designs as well as more complicated custom work. It's generally considered in poor taste to copy someone else's custom design exactly without permission/a damn good reason. The relatively simple, often cliché tattoo designs frequently displayed on the walls of studio waiting rooms are called “flash”, and are there by tradition, to add flavour and indicate the function of the studio, as well as to give customers who don't come with a particular plan ideas of what to get. They may be drawn by artists in the studio or bought from flash artists/distributors, and in some shops may carry stickers or other markings indicating approximate price at that studio, so you can estimate how much you can expect to pay for a piece of equivalent size/complexity.
Some artists/studios take walk-ins, some operate by appointment only, and some follow more complicated schedules (walk-ins only on weekends, or open BAO on Mondays, for example). Popular artists might have wait-lists for custom work, sometimes months or years long. The studios I've been inked in used physical appointment books but other places probably store this information on computer. Some artists charge by the hour, either a standard studio rate or a variable personal rate, while others charge piecemeal for completed work; either way, you should be able to get a quote for the anticipated total (design + application + any other applicable fees) before they warm up the machine. I've put about $900 CDN into my skin so far, including taxes and tips, and it ought to be more but the artist who did my first two (Jason Pelland at Ink Illusions in Winnipeg MB) is a sweetheart and frequently undercharges. Studios commonly have a standard minimum rate to cover supply cost and set-up time, and a lower standard rate for touch-ups on tattoos performed at the shop (some, like Yonge Street Tattoos, where I got my last three, issue a credit with purchase of tattoo for one free touch-up within the first year).
If you're not there to pick some flash off the wall or with a small/simple design already planned out (bring reference pictures) but instead want to engage an artist for some custom design work, the process goes something like this: you go in, meet with the artist if she's there or, if you know you want a particular person but she's not there that day, make an appointment for a consult (you can sometimes do this by phone or email). Bring in any reference materials you have and talk about what you'd want done with them, or what you'd like drawn up from scratch. If your artist offers you advice, like saying that a bee that tiny will just look like a blob or text in that typeface will likely blur together and become illegible, listen to them, because they are not just trying to drive the price of the service up by pressuring you to enlarge the piece. It is in the best interests of the tattoo to take advantage of their expertise; you can say “no, that's the way I want it”, but don't pretend later that you weren't warned. You might have to pay a deposit now, as a down-payment on the design work, or that might come later, when you book the actual tattoo appointment (some shops, like YST, take deposits in cash and staple it to the design paperwork). You might have to present ID at this point, particularly if you're signing the waiver/'informed consent document' now rather than at the time of the appointment, either to prove age or as standard practice. You'll then return to the shop at least once, some days/weeks/months (depending how busy the artist is) later to approve the design and to book the actual appointment(s), if you haven't done that already (some places might do this by email?). Or you might approve the design on the day of the appointment, but adding the extra step of an approval visit gives you a chance to return to the drawing board if the design's not quite right.
Some people recommend waiting at least six months or a year between choosing a design and getting it applied, to make sure that you really want it, won't change your mind, and won't regret having it once it's done (because tattoos are permanent; yes, removal is available, but even contemporary laser methods are complicated and painful, require multiple visits, carry no guarantee of total success, and often leave scars). I understand and respect this reasoning, but I have not followed the advice myself. I do not regret any of my tattoos; there are a few things I wish I'd done differently with a couple of them but they're not things I can change now and they don't bother me nearly enough to contemplate removal or cover-ups. At the best of times I love my ink: I love that it's art that I chose and commissioned and now get to carry with me to enjoy wherever I want; I love the control it represents, the ability to customize my body, to make it mine, to affect how and what it communicates. I love showing it off, using it to declare “this is me, these are the choices I make”. At the worst it's just part of my body, and not something I can or want to change. If other people have a problem with it, that is their problem.
Perforation
Assuming that you haven't just walked into the shop on a whim and decided to get inked (you can totally do this; I don't personally recommend it), but rather are setting out with or without an appointment but with the intention of Getting Tattooed Today, there are a few day-of preparations you can make to help things go smoothly. First, if you don't have an appointment, check the website and maybe call the shop to make sure that they're open and accepting walk-ins, and if you're hoping for a particular artist make sure he's there and has space in his schedule. Be willing to wait, or to book an appointment for another day. Try to get tattooed on a day when you're feeling well, and avoid going when you're sick, hungover, intoxicated (studios ought to refuse you service if you show up wasted or otherwise demonstrate conditions of impaired judgment, but not all of them actually will), or exceptionally tired. Try to eat a while before going to the shop (unless you're like my friend who can only face pain without getting nauseous on an empty stomach) and hydrate well. You might save the artist some time and effort by shaving the area that's going to be tattooed before you go in, but be careful because artists won't (or shouldn't) tattoo broken or irritated skin. Some people choose to take painkillers in advance (I don't), but avoid anything that either makes you fuzzy (this is a fairly big decision, you want to go in as clear-headed as possible) or thins your blood/causes you to bleed more profusely.
There are basically three parts to the process of getting tattooed: signing the paperwork, paying for the tattoo, and actually getting the tattoo; the order of occurrence is somewhat flexible but all three should happen at some point. Payment can happen before or after the tattoo is applied; if the work is large and requires multiple appointments it might happen on the first visit, on the last, or in installments at every one. Different studios have different policies, and if you have any concerns regarding the monetary transaction aspect of the procedure it's wise to ask in advance—whoever you're talking to at the studio, at whatever stage of the process, you should feel comfortable asking questions and get plenty of opportunities to do so. Some body mod shops are cash-only, though probably fewer now than in the past. Some people feel more comfortable paying for tattoos in cash even if the shop does not require it; for them it is part of the ritual of receiving art. It is customary to tip your artist, generally more than you would tip, say, a food server, particularly if you are happy with the work she has performed. Tips can either be processed with the main payment or given directly to the artist after the tattoo is applied, and it's obviously easiest to bring cash for the latter purpose (and to stick it somewhere that you'll be able to reach once you're wincing/limping/unable to bend your left elbow because of whatever lovely pain or bandages they've inflicted on you).
Paperwork can be signed either at the appointment or at the time the appointment is booked, and generally includes client's contact information (phone or email, age, maybe physical address, signature of client or legal guardian) and some kind of waiver or document which you, the client, are required to sign in order to demonstrate that you have read and understood the agreement you are entering into, the risks you are exposing yourself and the artist to, and your responsibilities with regard to caring for your new ink. The purpose is both to inform the client about the procedure, answering questions you might not have thought to ask or inspiring you to ask them, and to relieve the artist and studio of liability should anything go wrong. The waiver may include statements like “I understand that getting a tattoo is a permanent change to the body and consent to allow [artist's or studio's name] to make this change”, “I understand that there is no way to determine in advance whether I will have an allergic reaction to the ink used in tattooing and agree not to hold [artist and studio] responsible should a reaction occur”, “I understand that it is impossible to predict the behaviour of ink once it has been applied to the skin and that some degree of fading or blow-out [blurring or spreading of ink within the skin, not as messy or violent as the word implies] is likely to occur and [artist and studio] cannot be held responsible for this, and that it is my responsibility to follow the care instructions provided to me by [artist or studio] to keep my tattoo looking its best for as long as possible”, “I understand that tattooing creates an open wound which might put a strain on my immune system, and that if I experience any pre-existing conditions which compromise my immune system I have researched the additional risks of getting a tattoo and consulted my physician as necessary, and I understand that it is my responsibility to follow the care instructions provided to me to minimize my risk of developing an infection at the tattoo site”, “I understand that it is my responsibility, not [artist or studio]'s, to check the accuracy, spelling, and meaning of any text or symbols before the tattoo is applied [i.e., making sure your hanzi says “peace” rather than “buttface”]”, “I understand that [artist or studio] is not responsible for any discrimination I may encounter as a result of getting a tattoo [additional waivers may be required for tattoos applied to the face, neck, or hands]”, etc. It might also include a statement indicating that you have seen and approved the final version of the design before the tattoo is applied.
Finally, there's the actual application of the tattoo. If you need to go to the bathroom or have a drink of water, now is probably a good time to do it because you might not get another chance for a while. Once you're ready you'll go to the place in the studio where the tattoo will be performed. The artist will arrange the furniture and work area so that your body will be supported in a position that is reasonably comfortable for both you and the artist while the work is done. You should remove any clothing or jewelry necessary to provide access to the skin where you want the tattoo to go and for comfort (remember that you're going to be staying very still for the next however many minutes or hours).
Unless your artist is drawing the design freehand, the outline will be photocopied onto transfer paper to create a template or stencil. This is the time to make any last-minute changes to the size of the design or the design itself, so take a good look at it. If necessary the artist will shave the skin around where you said you wanted the tattoo before wetting down the stencil paper and pressing it against your skin (some artists shave as a matter of course, others only if the skin is hairy enough that it will interfere with the application). They will ask you to look at it to make sure the positioning is correct; if it's not, they will wash the transfer off and reapply it until you've got it where you want it. This is your last chance to back out before the artist starts prepping equipment.
Your artist will probably at least offer to explain what she's doing as she sets up her work area; if she does not you are allowed to ask. The set-up procedure generally includes cleaning work surfaces with disinfectant soap and covering them with plastic wrap; testing the tattoo machine and putting a plastic cover over the working parts; fitting the machine with a fresh, sterilized needle from a sealed package; placing paper towels and a soap rinse dispenser nearby in preparation for wiping down the tattoo-in-progress; and mixing inks in brand-new little plastic cups. Your artist should be able to explain the biohazard precautions she's taking, such as how the sharps and other materials which will become exposed to ink and blood will be disposed of in order to avoid cross-contamination between clients. She will wear gloves (usually nitrile rather than latex because latex allergies are common) and will probably change them between setting up the station and actually beginning to tattoo, and might also wear a disposable mask over her nose and mouth to prevent breathing or sneezing on your tattoo or inhaling any airborne blood or ink, and safety goggles or glasses to provide the same mutual protection to and from her eyes. Once the artist is ready to begin she will wash down the patch of skin she'll be working on one more time with disinfectant (nothing fancy, just antibacterial soap diluted with water; most of the places I've been in use a soap that smells like lemon Pine-Sol so mopping floors makes me happy because of the positive olfactory associations with getting tattooed).
Every artist I've gone to has had the same basic routine for starting the tattoo: they tell me they're going to start with a short line so I can get used to the feeling and tell me to take a deep breath, then start tattooing on the exhale. After that first line they check in to see how I'm doing and remind me to keep breathing if the pain gets bad, and then they proceed with the tattoo.
Many tattoo enthusiasts will talk about the endorphin high that comes from getting tattooed. This is definitely something that I have experienced, but it's worth noting that not everyone reacts the same way. Personally, I find that the “high” of tattooing has a slow build and generally peaks at around 45 minutes or an hour in with a feeling of light-headed euphoria which lasts for about half an hour, after which time fatigue and discomfort start to creep back in. I haven't had any marathon (3+ hour) or multiple-session pieces done (yet) so I can't say much about that, but I know that it's not uncommon to take breaks so that you and the artist can both stretch and recharge when you're working on a long session. Oh, and in case you hadn't heard: tattooing does hurt. How much depends on who's getting tattooed and where and can be affected by a host of factors that can affect pain processing, such as mood and hormone fluctuations, but there will be some pain. This doesn't mean that it's not also pleasurable, or that you need to be a masochist to enjoy it (although I am); I know plenty of people who do not identify as kinky or who claim not to have a masochistic bone in their bodies who still enjoy the process of tattooing as well as the result. With regard to tattoo location, I find that the pain is more intense where the skin is thinner or where there are more bones, blood vessels, or major nerves closer to the surface; my most recent one, for example, hurt most at the ends, closest to my elbow and armpit, and the one on my hip hurt most where it runs up to the edge of my hipbone.
I know “it hurts” isn't a very specific description of sensation, even for an area like pain where the English language is so underdeveloped, so I'll try to be more specific with regard to my experience. What surprised me most about the feeling the first time I got tattooed was that I expected a “buzzing” pain, like you sometimes get catching a mosquito in the act of biting, like something jarring a nerve, but it's actually more of a “ripping” pain, like a fish hook or a cat's claw is being dragged through your skin and tearing as it goes. It feels hot and sharp and sort of jagged, which makes perfect sense when you understand how a tattoo machine actually works. The machine, sometimes called a tattoo iron or a tattoo gun (some people defend the name “gun” on descriptivist grounds because it's pretty widely used and the machine sort of looks like one, others fiercely oppose it because it implies a kind of violence which is not present in the act of tattooing or because it suggests that the tattoo machine “shoots” the ink into the skin, which is not actually the case), consists of a motor which propels an armature bar to move the needle head up and down. It works sort of like a cross between a sewing machine and a nib pen; the needle tip is dipped into the ink cup to fill a small reservoir in the shaft with ink, and then the rapid thrusting of the ink-covered needle punctures the skin, leaving traces of ink behind. The “ripping” feeling is caused by the artist dragging the moving needle simultaneously across and through the surface of the skin, drawing the design into the skin. Machine motors these days are most often powered by electromagnetic coils, although rotary and pneumatic tattoo machines are also available, and operators usually control them with an on/off foot pedal. Artists can achieve different effects (e.g., line work vs. shading) by using different machines or adjusting the settings on the machine to change cycle speed or depth of penetration. So: penetration with a sharp object (that gets duller the longer it's used, another reason long sessions hurt more), friction and vibration from high-speed needle movement and immune system response to invasion sending blood to the wound site, and dragging through resistant elastic material (skin) = sharp, hot, and jagged.
Even if you're getting the whole tattoo done in one sitting, that doesn't mean that the machine is constantly running and cutting into you. For one thing, the artist is drawing, and that means lifting the stylus (needle) from the canvas (you) between strokes and pausing periodically to wipe debris away from the developing art to check how it's coming along (in this case wiping down the tattoo with a soap-dampened paper towel to clear away blood and ink welling out of what is effectively a shallow cut). Generally the artist will start by laying down outlines, tracing over the stencil to make its temporary markings permanent before they get washed away, with black ink (or whatever colour you've agreed on), before adjusting needle settings to start “colouring it in”, whether that just means filling in thick solid lines with more black, adding non-black colours, or applying detailed shading using various opacities of gray. Just like tracing or drawing with long sharp lines feels different than scribbling to colour something in when you're doing it on paper or another surface, it feels different when it's done on you with needles. Depending on the design you may be expected to give input as the tattoo progresses, or you may be encouraged to just lay back and enjoy the experience.
When the tattoo is finished, or when you reach the stopping point for this session, the artist will clean the tattoo thoroughly with soap rinse and ask you to look it over, usually in a large enough mirror so that you can see the full effect. If you're happy that it doesn't need any further touches the artist will tidy up the work area (prepping sterilizable materials for a trip through the autoclave and gathering ink cups, blood-and-ink-soaked paper towels, plastic coverings, etc., for disposal by a medical waste company) and apply a layer of ointment and a bandage, usually consisting of an absorbent pad and a layer of medical tape or vet wrap, depending on what will stay put better and impede movement less for the particular tattoo location. He will provide you with care instructions and complete any remaining paperwork before you leave the shop.
Any piece of media (television show, movie, book, fic, etc.) that implies that the tattooing process is now over by depicting a person walking out of the shop with a clean, finished, unbandaged, painless or tender but not otherwise sore, itchy, bleedy, or scabby tattoo is either lying or just plain wrong—what you have when you leave the shop is an inky wound; the healing process that transforms this into a lasting, visually pleasing piece of body art will take several days more.
Aftercare
You might feel a little (or a lot) woozy once the tattoo is complete. That's likely just an adrenaline crash and it's nothing to worry about, although you might want to be careful getting home or have a bit of a rest before you try. It might help to drink water and/or eat something to get your blood sugar back up. Even if you feel well, it's probably wise to avoid any taxing mental or physical labour for a while after getting your tattoo.
Different artists will have different recommendations for how best to care for your tattoo, and it's best to listen to any specific instructions your artist gives you, but the general protocol runs something like this:
In my experience, the tattoo only really hurts, in a dull warm throbby soreness way, for a day or two after it's done, and feels tender to the touch for a few days after that. The tenderness gives way to itching which goes away after another few days, but the tattoo is not officially healed until the scab is completely finished forming and flaking off. If you do run into any problems with healing, you can contact the studio for advice, and if you need a re-touch to tidy the tattoo up once it's healed it is best to go back to the same artist who did it in the first place (it's best to check with the studio about re-touch policies in advance).
It will take a variable amount of time after your tattoo is complete for the other 'itch' to kick in—that's the itch that whispers “more . . .” (You may have already noticed, very few tattooed people stop at one.)
In-progress picture of my second tattoo, a stylized banjo (old logo of the Winnipeg Folk Festival) on my right hip. This photo was taken during the pause between applying the black outline of the banjo and starting to colour it in; there's some redness in the irritated skin around the tattoo and the smears of ink on my skin and the paper towel tucked into the folded-over waistband of my jeans to protect them from stains.
Here's Jason's blue nitrile-gloved hand during a pause in applying the first colour (blue), smearing the excess ink as he wipes the tattoo.
Here's Jason cleaning the tattoo after all the colours are applied; a few little spots of blood are welling through the yellow ink and ink of all colours spattered on the paper towel, which is also damp from the soap rinse.
The freshly applied finished product.
This is a picture of my latest tattoo, a black feather on the inside of my left upper arm, which I got this summer while (but not entirely because) I was writing this pseudo-essay. I took my camera with me to the studio but forgot to ask to use it while I was there, so I have no in-progress pictures of this one. I didn't have an appointment for this one but showed up at YST around 11pm, an hour before they closed, willing either to see whichever artist was free or to book an appointment for another day. Jen was able to take me that night; she took the reference picture I brought (a blown up print-out of a sketch of a crow feather) and made a quick sketch from it, adjusting a few details to discourage lines blurring together, and led me up to the studio. This photo was taken the following morning, immediately after removing the vet wrap bandage, so the skin of my arm is still scored and lumpy from the tight bandage and the tattoo itself is still ointmenty.
A close-up of the tip of the freshly unwrapped feather, showing some purple lines leftover from the edge of the strip of transfer paper used to apply the stencil (two lines from two attempts at placement before we got it just right).
Another close-up of the fresh tattoo; it's a little hard to see the patches of blood against the grey shading of the barbs, but they're there.
On the edge of my bathtub, the bandage I had just removed: a strip of purple vet wrap and two squares of absorbant plasticky bandage, lined up overlapping the way they had been pressed against my skin and displaying clearly the mirrored impression of my new tattoo in transferred blood and ink.
New tattoo after its first washing, showing more clearly its position on my arm.
The absorbant squares flipped over to show their outsides, showing that the tattoo bled enough that in a few places the blood soaked right through.
Later on the first day. Some inflammation (redness and heat) around the ink.
Day two; the skin is starting to dry out and contract, which means it's time to start moisturizing.
Three days later, starting to peel. This tattoo is healing/peeling from the centre out
A closer view of the peeling tattoo, showing the outer scab layer starting to lift and curl away from the healed skin underneath. The details of the healed tattoo are already not quite as crisp as when it was freshly applied, because the ink has moved around a bit as the skin healed over it.
A piece of scab, a strip of dead skin with ink in it matching the tattoo design. If I spread it out before it dried out too much I could match it up to the place on the tatto where it came from.
More peeling; large sections of the tattoo are now healed and exposed. Six days after the tattoo was applied.
One more day of peeling and the tattoo is mostly healed. Only small patches of scab remain on the ends of clumps of barbs and the tip of the feather's quill end. The tendrils of scab hanging off the edges show, like the patch of shed skin above, the details of the tattoo from where they were attached.
Twelve days after the tattoo went on and it's pretty much healed; the skin is still a little dry and tight and there's still a halo of peeling skin around the edges from where the scab lifted away from the healed skin underneath, but the scab proper is basically gone.
A close-up showing the halo described above around the quill end of the feather.
A second close-up showing the dry, puckered skin towards the tip of the feather (this is before the day's first coating of moisturizer).
Three days later, the halo's almost gone and the skin on the tattoo is not noticeably drier than that around it; the tattoo is officially healed, though still sensitive to sunlight and so on. Notice too how shiny the black ink is compared to the un-inked skin.
A follow-up shot three months later to show how the healed tattoo is holding up.
A recent-ish picture of part of my first tattoo (outlines of a leafless tree with two solid black crows in its branches, on my left shoulderblade). This one is now almost eight years old and has been sunburnt a couple of times (oops) so it is understandably the most blurred and faded of the lot. Interesting tidbit: the heavy black lines on my tattoos, especially this one and the letters on my "spine" label, react to stimuli like heat and impact (i.e. flogging or slapping) by swelling up relative to the surrounding skin. You can trace the raised lines like a woodcut.
The banjo on my hip, nearly six years later.
One of my few tattoo regrets is not adjusting the placement on this one a little higher or lower so that the "stitches" on this one (a printed label reading "spine" apparently sewn onto the skin at the top of my thoracic spine with looping thread casting a shadow on the skin below it and the needle left stuck through the skin on the left-hand side, pointing northwest relative to the cardinal direction points emanating from midpoints of the sides of the rectangular label, my adaptation of the art for Veda Hille's 1996 album Spine designed by my name is scot) didn't have to go around that mole. Oh well.
Another shot of the spine label, showing more of the thread and needle heading up the back of my neck to poke out over the collar of most of my shirts (and yes, it is hard even for someone as flexible as I am to take pictures of my own back).
A close-up of the word "spine", showing the raised texture of the letters relative to the surrounding skin (tattoos are scars; they don't always lie quite flush with intact skin).
The ampersand between my breasts. It is supposed to be solid black; the white patches (and they are white, scar tissue, without even the scant pigment they had before getting tattooed) are where the scab did not dry enough to heal properly and evenly; the layers of skin did not separate as they should have and in places the peeling went too deep and took the ink with it, leaving little strips of scar. I could get it touched up, but I rather like the accidental marbled effect.
I'm not sure why this in particular is such a peeve for me, when I let some other kinds of errors slide more easily, but it is. It bothers me even more in 'professional' media, where producers can reasonably be expected (by me, anyway) to pay somebody to make sure they're getting things right, and especially in cases where I know people involved in the creation process actually have tattoos and ought to know enough to correct any errors, because under circumstances like that I can't see any excuse for botching things as badly as they usually do. One friend I complained to about this suggested that the reason representations of tattooing in mainstream media are such a dog's breakfast is that producers don't want to be blamed for “encouraging” folks to get tattoos . . . except that they still show tattooing, and they usually mess up by making the process look a lot quicker, cleaner, and less painful than it actually is, so I suspect it's more to do with laziness/the ignorant assumption that they already know everything they need to about tattooing (and kink, and paganism, and so on) from copying other media depictions that also got it wrong.
Of course, there's not much I can do about mainstream media (at least not until the fannish proletariat seize control of the means of production and implement a utopian meritocracy—I mean . . . *cough*), and really not a lot I can do about fandom, either. What I can do is put my knowledge out there, somewhere it might be accessed by fan writers and others who care about getting the details right, and hope it'll come in handy when you sit down to write that story about Steve Rogers tagging along the day Darcy Lewis spends her first SHIELD paycheque making a start on her half-sleeve, gets captivated by the process and the flash on the walls and decides to have his old unit insignia inscribed over his heart, or the one where Annie Edison walks in on Abed Nadir in the shower and discovers the full-colour art deco shrine to Farscape covering his back and is understandably brimming with questions (somebody please make these happen).
Please note that I am speaking from personal experience here, as a middle-class white cis woman from central Canada who got her first tattoo at age 20 and collected four more from four artists at two studios in different Canadian cities over the next seven-and-a-half years; from accompanying friends to the shop when they got inked; from talking to other friends about tattooing; from hanging out for a while in the Tattooed Knitters & Crocheters board on Ravelry and a few other online spaces; and from wandering into a whole lot of body mod shops over the years to check them out as a potential client or just out of curiosity. Some parts of the tattooing experience that I describe below are pretty universal, while others are probably more particular to my own experience; if other folks want to chime in to discuss how this does or doesn't resonate with your tattooing experiences, or to fill in any of my gaping holes of ignorance (for example home tattooing using improvised materials, cover-ups, or tattoo removal), that'd be hunky-dory. Finally, I'd like to note that this is not so much an essay as it is a bunch of loosely connected, theoretically factual statements.
Preparation
Many, probably most, tattoo studios also offer piercing, but not all tattoo artists are piercers or vice versa, so depending on how many of each a particular place employs both services might not be available at all times. Some studios also offer other aesthetic/body modification practices (e.g., cutting or branding) or bring in people who perform other arts as guests. Generally studios that offer piercing will also sell piercing jewelry, and some shops sell other merchandise such as apparel, skateboards and related products, art prints, counterculture literature, drug paraphernalia, etc.
Probably most studios have at least one private room, for clients who are more comfortable that way and for performing work requiring more nudity than is legally or socially acceptable in full view of the public, but some also have open-plan studio spaces where people might be tattooed in sight of each other or in sight of the body of the store or the studio waiting room. These situations obviously present slightly different logistical concerns re: cleaning and safety, as well as privacy (and therefore exposure/exhibitionism & voyeurism). All studios/artists should have current training in preventing transmission of blood-borne pathogens; if certification is not prominently displayed you can
Many mod shops today have websites with artist profiles describing training, influences, strengths, and preferred styles, as well as photo galleries with examples of past work, so you can often research artists pretty easily before you book an appointment. They might also have, and 10-20 years ago definitely would have had, physical albums in the shop with photos of the artists' previous work. These are portfolios, not menus—they're meant to demonstrate an artist's range and particular skills so you can evaluate whether he'd be a good match for what you want, not to suggest that this is all he can do, and will often include a mix of flash and other generic simple designs as well as more complicated custom work. It's generally considered in poor taste to copy someone else's custom design exactly without permission/a damn good reason. The relatively simple, often cliché tattoo designs frequently displayed on the walls of studio waiting rooms are called “flash”, and are there by tradition, to add flavour and indicate the function of the studio, as well as to give customers who don't come with a particular plan ideas of what to get. They may be drawn by artists in the studio or bought from flash artists/distributors, and in some shops may carry stickers or other markings indicating approximate price at that studio, so you can estimate how much you can expect to pay for a piece of equivalent size/complexity.
Some artists/studios take walk-ins, some operate by appointment only, and some follow more complicated schedules (walk-ins only on weekends, or open BAO on Mondays, for example). Popular artists might have wait-lists for custom work, sometimes months or years long. The studios I've been inked in used physical appointment books but other places probably store this information on computer. Some artists charge by the hour, either a standard studio rate or a variable personal rate, while others charge piecemeal for completed work; either way, you should be able to get a quote for the anticipated total (design + application + any other applicable fees) before they warm up the machine. I've put about $900 CDN into my skin so far, including taxes and tips, and it ought to be more but the artist who did my first two (Jason Pelland at Ink Illusions in Winnipeg MB) is a sweetheart and frequently undercharges. Studios commonly have a standard minimum rate to cover supply cost and set-up time, and a lower standard rate for touch-ups on tattoos performed at the shop (some, like Yonge Street Tattoos, where I got my last three, issue a credit with purchase of tattoo for one free touch-up within the first year).
If you're not there to pick some flash off the wall or with a small/simple design already planned out (bring reference pictures) but instead want to engage an artist for some custom design work, the process goes something like this: you go in, meet with the artist if she's there or, if you know you want a particular person but she's not there that day, make an appointment for a consult (you can sometimes do this by phone or email). Bring in any reference materials you have and talk about what you'd want done with them, or what you'd like drawn up from scratch. If your artist offers you advice, like saying that a bee that tiny will just look like a blob or text in that typeface will likely blur together and become illegible, listen to them, because they are not just trying to drive the price of the service up by pressuring you to enlarge the piece. It is in the best interests of the tattoo to take advantage of their expertise; you can say “no, that's the way I want it”, but don't pretend later that you weren't warned. You might have to pay a deposit now, as a down-payment on the design work, or that might come later, when you book the actual tattoo appointment (some shops, like YST, take deposits in cash and staple it to the design paperwork). You might have to present ID at this point, particularly if you're signing the waiver/'informed consent document' now rather than at the time of the appointment, either to prove age or as standard practice. You'll then return to the shop at least once, some days/weeks/months (depending how busy the artist is) later to approve the design and to book the actual appointment(s), if you haven't done that already (some places might do this by email?). Or you might approve the design on the day of the appointment, but adding the extra step of an approval visit gives you a chance to return to the drawing board if the design's not quite right.
Some people recommend waiting at least six months or a year between choosing a design and getting it applied, to make sure that you really want it, won't change your mind, and won't regret having it once it's done (because tattoos are permanent; yes, removal is available, but even contemporary laser methods are complicated and painful, require multiple visits, carry no guarantee of total success, and often leave scars). I understand and respect this reasoning, but I have not followed the advice myself. I do not regret any of my tattoos; there are a few things I wish I'd done differently with a couple of them but they're not things I can change now and they don't bother me nearly enough to contemplate removal or cover-ups. At the best of times I love my ink: I love that it's art that I chose and commissioned and now get to carry with me to enjoy wherever I want; I love the control it represents, the ability to customize my body, to make it mine, to affect how and what it communicates. I love showing it off, using it to declare “this is me, these are the choices I make”. At the worst it's just part of my body, and not something I can or want to change. If other people have a problem with it, that is their problem.
Perforation
Assuming that you haven't just walked into the shop on a whim and decided to get inked (you can totally do this; I don't personally recommend it), but rather are setting out with or without an appointment but with the intention of Getting Tattooed Today, there are a few day-of preparations you can make to help things go smoothly. First, if you don't have an appointment, check the website and maybe call the shop to make sure that they're open and accepting walk-ins, and if you're hoping for a particular artist make sure he's there and has space in his schedule. Be willing to wait, or to book an appointment for another day. Try to get tattooed on a day when you're feeling well, and avoid going when you're sick, hungover, intoxicated (studios ought to refuse you service if you show up wasted or otherwise demonstrate conditions of impaired judgment, but not all of them actually will), or exceptionally tired. Try to eat a while before going to the shop (unless you're like my friend who can only face pain without getting nauseous on an empty stomach) and hydrate well. You might save the artist some time and effort by shaving the area that's going to be tattooed before you go in, but be careful because artists won't (or shouldn't) tattoo broken or irritated skin. Some people choose to take painkillers in advance (I don't), but avoid anything that either makes you fuzzy (this is a fairly big decision, you want to go in as clear-headed as possible) or thins your blood/causes you to bleed more profusely.
There are basically three parts to the process of getting tattooed: signing the paperwork, paying for the tattoo, and actually getting the tattoo; the order of occurrence is somewhat flexible but all three should happen at some point. Payment can happen before or after the tattoo is applied; if the work is large and requires multiple appointments it might happen on the first visit, on the last, or in installments at every one. Different studios have different policies, and if you have any concerns regarding the monetary transaction aspect of the procedure it's wise to ask in advance—whoever you're talking to at the studio, at whatever stage of the process, you should feel comfortable asking questions and get plenty of opportunities to do so. Some body mod shops are cash-only, though probably fewer now than in the past. Some people feel more comfortable paying for tattoos in cash even if the shop does not require it; for them it is part of the ritual of receiving art. It is customary to tip your artist, generally more than you would tip, say, a food server, particularly if you are happy with the work she has performed. Tips can either be processed with the main payment or given directly to the artist after the tattoo is applied, and it's obviously easiest to bring cash for the latter purpose (and to stick it somewhere that you'll be able to reach once you're wincing/limping/unable to bend your left elbow because of whatever lovely pain or bandages they've inflicted on you).
Paperwork can be signed either at the appointment or at the time the appointment is booked, and generally includes client's contact information (phone or email, age, maybe physical address, signature of client or legal guardian) and some kind of waiver or document which you, the client, are required to sign in order to demonstrate that you have read and understood the agreement you are entering into, the risks you are exposing yourself and the artist to, and your responsibilities with regard to caring for your new ink. The purpose is both to inform the client about the procedure, answering questions you might not have thought to ask or inspiring you to ask them, and to relieve the artist and studio of liability should anything go wrong. The waiver may include statements like “I understand that getting a tattoo is a permanent change to the body and consent to allow [artist's or studio's name] to make this change”, “I understand that there is no way to determine in advance whether I will have an allergic reaction to the ink used in tattooing and agree not to hold [artist and studio] responsible should a reaction occur”, “I understand that it is impossible to predict the behaviour of ink once it has been applied to the skin and that some degree of fading or blow-out [blurring or spreading of ink within the skin, not as messy or violent as the word implies] is likely to occur and [artist and studio] cannot be held responsible for this, and that it is my responsibility to follow the care instructions provided to me by [artist or studio] to keep my tattoo looking its best for as long as possible”, “I understand that tattooing creates an open wound which might put a strain on my immune system, and that if I experience any pre-existing conditions which compromise my immune system I have researched the additional risks of getting a tattoo and consulted my physician as necessary, and I understand that it is my responsibility to follow the care instructions provided to me to minimize my risk of developing an infection at the tattoo site”, “I understand that it is my responsibility, not [artist or studio]'s, to check the accuracy, spelling, and meaning of any text or symbols before the tattoo is applied [i.e., making sure your hanzi says “peace” rather than “buttface”]”, “I understand that [artist or studio] is not responsible for any discrimination I may encounter as a result of getting a tattoo [additional waivers may be required for tattoos applied to the face, neck, or hands]”, etc. It might also include a statement indicating that you have seen and approved the final version of the design before the tattoo is applied.
Finally, there's the actual application of the tattoo. If you need to go to the bathroom or have a drink of water, now is probably a good time to do it because you might not get another chance for a while. Once you're ready you'll go to the place in the studio where the tattoo will be performed. The artist will arrange the furniture and work area so that your body will be supported in a position that is reasonably comfortable for both you and the artist while the work is done. You should remove any clothing or jewelry necessary to provide access to the skin where you want the tattoo to go and for comfort (remember that you're going to be staying very still for the next however many minutes or hours).
Unless your artist is drawing the design freehand, the outline will be photocopied onto transfer paper to create a template or stencil. This is the time to make any last-minute changes to the size of the design or the design itself, so take a good look at it. If necessary the artist will shave the skin around where you said you wanted the tattoo before wetting down the stencil paper and pressing it against your skin (some artists shave as a matter of course, others only if the skin is hairy enough that it will interfere with the application). They will ask you to look at it to make sure the positioning is correct; if it's not, they will wash the transfer off and reapply it until you've got it where you want it. This is your last chance to back out before the artist starts prepping equipment.
Your artist will probably at least offer to explain what she's doing as she sets up her work area; if she does not you are allowed to ask. The set-up procedure generally includes cleaning work surfaces with disinfectant soap and covering them with plastic wrap; testing the tattoo machine and putting a plastic cover over the working parts; fitting the machine with a fresh, sterilized needle from a sealed package; placing paper towels and a soap rinse dispenser nearby in preparation for wiping down the tattoo-in-progress; and mixing inks in brand-new little plastic cups. Your artist should be able to explain the biohazard precautions she's taking, such as how the sharps and other materials which will become exposed to ink and blood will be disposed of in order to avoid cross-contamination between clients. She will wear gloves (usually nitrile rather than latex because latex allergies are common) and will probably change them between setting up the station and actually beginning to tattoo, and might also wear a disposable mask over her nose and mouth to prevent breathing or sneezing on your tattoo or inhaling any airborne blood or ink, and safety goggles or glasses to provide the same mutual protection to and from her eyes. Once the artist is ready to begin she will wash down the patch of skin she'll be working on one more time with disinfectant (nothing fancy, just antibacterial soap diluted with water; most of the places I've been in use a soap that smells like lemon Pine-Sol so mopping floors makes me happy because of the positive olfactory associations with getting tattooed).
Every artist I've gone to has had the same basic routine for starting the tattoo: they tell me they're going to start with a short line so I can get used to the feeling and tell me to take a deep breath, then start tattooing on the exhale. After that first line they check in to see how I'm doing and remind me to keep breathing if the pain gets bad, and then they proceed with the tattoo.
Many tattoo enthusiasts will talk about the endorphin high that comes from getting tattooed. This is definitely something that I have experienced, but it's worth noting that not everyone reacts the same way. Personally, I find that the “high” of tattooing has a slow build and generally peaks at around 45 minutes or an hour in with a feeling of light-headed euphoria which lasts for about half an hour, after which time fatigue and discomfort start to creep back in. I haven't had any marathon (3+ hour) or multiple-session pieces done (yet) so I can't say much about that, but I know that it's not uncommon to take breaks so that you and the artist can both stretch and recharge when you're working on a long session. Oh, and in case you hadn't heard: tattooing does hurt. How much depends on who's getting tattooed and where and can be affected by a host of factors that can affect pain processing, such as mood and hormone fluctuations, but there will be some pain. This doesn't mean that it's not also pleasurable, or that you need to be a masochist to enjoy it (although I am); I know plenty of people who do not identify as kinky or who claim not to have a masochistic bone in their bodies who still enjoy the process of tattooing as well as the result. With regard to tattoo location, I find that the pain is more intense where the skin is thinner or where there are more bones, blood vessels, or major nerves closer to the surface; my most recent one, for example, hurt most at the ends, closest to my elbow and armpit, and the one on my hip hurt most where it runs up to the edge of my hipbone.
I know “it hurts” isn't a very specific description of sensation, even for an area like pain where the English language is so underdeveloped, so I'll try to be more specific with regard to my experience. What surprised me most about the feeling the first time I got tattooed was that I expected a “buzzing” pain, like you sometimes get catching a mosquito in the act of biting, like something jarring a nerve, but it's actually more of a “ripping” pain, like a fish hook or a cat's claw is being dragged through your skin and tearing as it goes. It feels hot and sharp and sort of jagged, which makes perfect sense when you understand how a tattoo machine actually works. The machine, sometimes called a tattoo iron or a tattoo gun (some people defend the name “gun” on descriptivist grounds because it's pretty widely used and the machine sort of looks like one, others fiercely oppose it because it implies a kind of violence which is not present in the act of tattooing or because it suggests that the tattoo machine “shoots” the ink into the skin, which is not actually the case), consists of a motor which propels an armature bar to move the needle head up and down. It works sort of like a cross between a sewing machine and a nib pen; the needle tip is dipped into the ink cup to fill a small reservoir in the shaft with ink, and then the rapid thrusting of the ink-covered needle punctures the skin, leaving traces of ink behind. The “ripping” feeling is caused by the artist dragging the moving needle simultaneously across and through the surface of the skin, drawing the design into the skin. Machine motors these days are most often powered by electromagnetic coils, although rotary and pneumatic tattoo machines are also available, and operators usually control them with an on/off foot pedal. Artists can achieve different effects (e.g., line work vs. shading) by using different machines or adjusting the settings on the machine to change cycle speed or depth of penetration. So: penetration with a sharp object (that gets duller the longer it's used, another reason long sessions hurt more), friction and vibration from high-speed needle movement and immune system response to invasion sending blood to the wound site, and dragging through resistant elastic material (skin) = sharp, hot, and jagged.
Even if you're getting the whole tattoo done in one sitting, that doesn't mean that the machine is constantly running and cutting into you. For one thing, the artist is drawing, and that means lifting the stylus (needle) from the canvas (you) between strokes and pausing periodically to wipe debris away from the developing art to check how it's coming along (in this case wiping down the tattoo with a soap-dampened paper towel to clear away blood and ink welling out of what is effectively a shallow cut). Generally the artist will start by laying down outlines, tracing over the stencil to make its temporary markings permanent before they get washed away, with black ink (or whatever colour you've agreed on), before adjusting needle settings to start “colouring it in”, whether that just means filling in thick solid lines with more black, adding non-black colours, or applying detailed shading using various opacities of gray. Just like tracing or drawing with long sharp lines feels different than scribbling to colour something in when you're doing it on paper or another surface, it feels different when it's done on you with needles. Depending on the design you may be expected to give input as the tattoo progresses, or you may be encouraged to just lay back and enjoy the experience.
When the tattoo is finished, or when you reach the stopping point for this session, the artist will clean the tattoo thoroughly with soap rinse and ask you to look it over, usually in a large enough mirror so that you can see the full effect. If you're happy that it doesn't need any further touches the artist will tidy up the work area (prepping sterilizable materials for a trip through the autoclave and gathering ink cups, blood-and-ink-soaked paper towels, plastic coverings, etc., for disposal by a medical waste company) and apply a layer of ointment and a bandage, usually consisting of an absorbent pad and a layer of medical tape or vet wrap, depending on what will stay put better and impede movement less for the particular tattoo location. He will provide you with care instructions and complete any remaining paperwork before you leave the shop.
Any piece of media (television show, movie, book, fic, etc.) that implies that the tattooing process is now over by depicting a person walking out of the shop with a clean, finished, unbandaged, painless or tender but not otherwise sore, itchy, bleedy, or scabby tattoo is either lying or just plain wrong—what you have when you leave the shop is an inky wound; the healing process that transforms this into a lasting, visually pleasing piece of body art will take several days more.
Aftercare
You might feel a little (or a lot) woozy once the tattoo is complete. That's likely just an adrenaline crash and it's nothing to worry about, although you might want to be careful getting home or have a bit of a rest before you try. It might help to drink water and/or eat something to get your blood sugar back up. Even if you feel well, it's probably wise to avoid any taxing mental or physical labour for a while after getting your tattoo.
Different artists will have different recommendations for how best to care for your tattoo, and it's best to listen to any specific instructions your artist gives you, but the general protocol runs something like this:
Leave the bandage on for at least 4-6 hours but preferably no more than 12. Wash your hands before you remove it. Wash your tattoo gently with mild, unscented soap and water to remove the coating of ointment and lymph. You can use a clean wash cloth to remove this layer of gunk but be very gentle, and do not use a wash cloth to wash your tattoo again until it is completely healed. Pat the tattoo dry with a clean towel or paper towel. Do not re-bandage your tattoo. The tattoo should not bleed any more after the bandage is removed, though it might feel a bit raw (it is, after all, a healing wound), and you should do what you can to keep it clean and unmolested until it is no longer vulnerable.
For future washes until the tattoo is healed (generally takes between 10 and 14 days), wash the tattoo gently with mild, unscented soap using your fingertips (wash cloths can abrade the skin and strip away scab layers before the tattoo is ready to lose them), then pat dry gently with a clean towel or paper towel. Do not soak the tattoo until after it is completely healed—no immersing it in the bath, no swimming, and try to keep the tattooed area out of the water when you shower until the very end. Always wash your tattoo last so that you are sure to rinse away any traces of soap or dirt that might otherwise stick to it.
Apply a thin coating of lotion. How often you should moisturize the tattoo and how long you should wait before the first application depends on the kind of lotion you're using and how dry the tattoo is, which in turn depends on weather/air quality in your home, tattoo location, and the behaviour of your skin. Many shops carry specialized aftercare salves (the biggest/oldest brand is Tattoo Goo) though not all artists recommend the use of name-brand products over generic gentle, unscented moisturizing lotions (I use unscented Aveeno). I've heard anywhere from two to five applications of moisturizer per day recommended after waiting anywhere between twelve hours and three days to apply the first coat, usually with the footnote “or whenever your tattoo starts to get too dry”. The goal here is to keep the tattoo moist enough that the skin will not dry out and scab too fast, but not so moist that a dry scab will not form at all, because either of these situations will prevent the tattoo from healing properly and can result either in scarring or in loss of pigment (I actually had a bit of a problem with the healing of my fourth tattoo, the ampersand on my sternum; I'm a busty girl and even though I got it done in February and tried to avoid wearing a bra until it healed apparently my shirt is a humid country and I had trouble keeping the skin dry and taut enough for it to scab properly and what scab I did get took some of the ink with it when it peeled, as you can see in the pictures below). It's a bit of a Goldilocks guessing game, figuring out how dry is “just right”.
Your tattoo will scab; do not pick at it. Your tattoo will itch, on and off; do not scratch it (if the itching gets annoying you can slap the tattoo to stun the nerves into leaving you alone for a while). Try not to put restrictive or rough clothing over the tattoo. Avoid doing anything that will reopen the wound or cause the scab to peel off before it is ready to flake off on its own.
Avoid exposing the tattoo to direct sunlight for at least three weeks (healing skin has no sun protection and burns easily, which is bad for you and for the longevity of the tattoo) and be sure to cover it well with sunscreen after that to slow the process of degradation (fading and blurring) and keep the tattoo looking as crisp and bright as possible.
In my experience, the tattoo only really hurts, in a dull warm throbby soreness way, for a day or two after it's done, and feels tender to the touch for a few days after that. The tenderness gives way to itching which goes away after another few days, but the tattoo is not officially healed until the scab is completely finished forming and flaking off. If you do run into any problems with healing, you can contact the studio for advice, and if you need a re-touch to tidy the tattoo up once it's healed it is best to go back to the same artist who did it in the first place (it's best to check with the studio about re-touch policies in advance).
It will take a variable amount of time after your tattoo is complete for the other 'itch' to kick in—that's the itch that whispers “more . . .” (You may have already noticed, very few tattooed people stop at one.)
In-progress picture of my second tattoo, a stylized banjo (old logo of the Winnipeg Folk Festival) on my right hip. This photo was taken during the pause between applying the black outline of the banjo and starting to colour it in; there's some redness in the irritated skin around the tattoo and the smears of ink on my skin and the paper towel tucked into the folded-over waistband of my jeans to protect them from stains.
Here's Jason's blue nitrile-gloved hand during a pause in applying the first colour (blue), smearing the excess ink as he wipes the tattoo.
Here's Jason cleaning the tattoo after all the colours are applied; a few little spots of blood are welling through the yellow ink and ink of all colours spattered on the paper towel, which is also damp from the soap rinse.
The freshly applied finished product.
This is a picture of my latest tattoo, a black feather on the inside of my left upper arm, which I got this summer while (but not entirely because) I was writing this pseudo-essay. I took my camera with me to the studio but forgot to ask to use it while I was there, so I have no in-progress pictures of this one. I didn't have an appointment for this one but showed up at YST around 11pm, an hour before they closed, willing either to see whichever artist was free or to book an appointment for another day. Jen was able to take me that night; she took the reference picture I brought (a blown up print-out of a sketch of a crow feather) and made a quick sketch from it, adjusting a few details to discourage lines blurring together, and led me up to the studio. This photo was taken the following morning, immediately after removing the vet wrap bandage, so the skin of my arm is still scored and lumpy from the tight bandage and the tattoo itself is still ointmenty.
A close-up of the tip of the freshly unwrapped feather, showing some purple lines leftover from the edge of the strip of transfer paper used to apply the stencil (two lines from two attempts at placement before we got it just right).
Another close-up of the fresh tattoo; it's a little hard to see the patches of blood against the grey shading of the barbs, but they're there.
On the edge of my bathtub, the bandage I had just removed: a strip of purple vet wrap and two squares of absorbant plasticky bandage, lined up overlapping the way they had been pressed against my skin and displaying clearly the mirrored impression of my new tattoo in transferred blood and ink.
New tattoo after its first washing, showing more clearly its position on my arm.
The absorbant squares flipped over to show their outsides, showing that the tattoo bled enough that in a few places the blood soaked right through.
Later on the first day. Some inflammation (redness and heat) around the ink.
Day two; the skin is starting to dry out and contract, which means it's time to start moisturizing.
Three days later, starting to peel. This tattoo is healing/peeling from the centre out
A closer view of the peeling tattoo, showing the outer scab layer starting to lift and curl away from the healed skin underneath. The details of the healed tattoo are already not quite as crisp as when it was freshly applied, because the ink has moved around a bit as the skin healed over it.
A piece of scab, a strip of dead skin with ink in it matching the tattoo design. If I spread it out before it dried out too much I could match it up to the place on the tatto where it came from.
More peeling; large sections of the tattoo are now healed and exposed. Six days after the tattoo was applied.
One more day of peeling and the tattoo is mostly healed. Only small patches of scab remain on the ends of clumps of barbs and the tip of the feather's quill end. The tendrils of scab hanging off the edges show, like the patch of shed skin above, the details of the tattoo from where they were attached.
Twelve days after the tattoo went on and it's pretty much healed; the skin is still a little dry and tight and there's still a halo of peeling skin around the edges from where the scab lifted away from the healed skin underneath, but the scab proper is basically gone.
A close-up showing the halo described above around the quill end of the feather.
A second close-up showing the dry, puckered skin towards the tip of the feather (this is before the day's first coating of moisturizer).
Three days later, the halo's almost gone and the skin on the tattoo is not noticeably drier than that around it; the tattoo is officially healed, though still sensitive to sunlight and so on. Notice too how shiny the black ink is compared to the un-inked skin.
A follow-up shot three months later to show how the healed tattoo is holding up.
A recent-ish picture of part of my first tattoo (outlines of a leafless tree with two solid black crows in its branches, on my left shoulderblade). This one is now almost eight years old and has been sunburnt a couple of times (oops) so it is understandably the most blurred and faded of the lot. Interesting tidbit: the heavy black lines on my tattoos, especially this one and the letters on my "spine" label, react to stimuli like heat and impact (i.e. flogging or slapping) by swelling up relative to the surrounding skin. You can trace the raised lines like a woodcut.
The banjo on my hip, nearly six years later.
One of my few tattoo regrets is not adjusting the placement on this one a little higher or lower so that the "stitches" on this one (a printed label reading "spine" apparently sewn onto the skin at the top of my thoracic spine with looping thread casting a shadow on the skin below it and the needle left stuck through the skin on the left-hand side, pointing northwest relative to the cardinal direction points emanating from midpoints of the sides of the rectangular label, my adaptation of the art for Veda Hille's 1996 album Spine designed by my name is scot) didn't have to go around that mole. Oh well.
Another shot of the spine label, showing more of the thread and needle heading up the back of my neck to poke out over the collar of most of my shirts (and yes, it is hard even for someone as flexible as I am to take pictures of my own back).
A close-up of the word "spine", showing the raised texture of the letters relative to the surrounding skin (tattoos are scars; they don't always lie quite flush with intact skin).
The ampersand between my breasts. It is supposed to be solid black; the white patches (and they are white, scar tissue, without even the scant pigment they had before getting tattooed) are where the scab did not dry enough to heal properly and evenly; the layers of skin did not separate as they should have and in places the peeling went too deep and took the ink with it, leaving little strips of scar. I could get it touched up, but I rather like the accidental marbled effect.
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