I got my first tattoo relatively late in life when I was around 30. Like most things in my life it had taken forever (months) to decide on, but then I had fooled myself that I was a care-free spontaneous kinda’ guy when I actually got around to having it done. I am not. For me it was agony settling on a permanent marking design for my body. I wanted to be bold. I wanted to be unique. I was not afraid of the ramifications! So I had it done at the top of my arm like 99% of all 1st timers so I could hide it away at a moment’s notice. My best friend saw it as I tried so hard to show it off without ‘showing it off’. He took one look and said that it looked like a Star Trek symbol. I was gutted. It did, a little, but not intentionally. I was a Star Trek fan, but not one that would shout it from the hills or want others to think that I would tattoo it on my arm. I didn’t show it off much after that.
A long while later, as an Englishman, I had not had much opportunity to display my tattoo without it being obvious that this was exactly what I was doing. Like the chubby man with a tattooed leg wearing shorts in the snow. We get about 3 hot days in the UK a year, and most of those will be spent inside saying how hot it is. My Tattoo remained a surprise for me alone when I caught a sight of it occasionally in the bathroom mirror as I climbed into the shower. Then we went to Florida on a holiday. I was away from home, in a strange alien place where people showed their arms off in public. Not just the last little bit below a turned up shirt sleeve, but the whole bloody arm! I joined in, and tried so, so hard to be nonchalant about the fact that my unfaded almost secret tattoo was now on display. A day later, in a Steak House, a waiter ambled over and in the reserved manner most men pay compliments to other men with, said “Nice Tatt”. I beamed. That comment is still on my minds trophy shelf of uplifting remarks, next to some others paid by ladies that I do not examine too closely in case I confirm that they are indeed cheap fakes made to look real.
My dear lovely wife then went one and two better than me by getting her own tattoos, and on her lower arm! They were real tattoos, blatant stamps of character put there for all to see, all the time. She did not tell me that she was going to have them done, just decided one day and did it. It put my months of decision making to shame. I joined her for her third tattoo, more or less on a whim, and we sat next to each other as the small sweaty men tore into our flesh with needles. She had a wrist bracelet in elvish, I had a bloody big green star put on my belly in the worship of Dr Seuss’s Star Bellied Sneeches. I told myself it was to remind me to be grateful for what I had, a common failing of mine, but a lot of the incentive was so not to be left behind in the tattoo quota by my beloved.
That tattoo really bloody hurt a lot. I sweated and got woozy for over an hour. I have never had as much pain as that before or since. I actually bit on my belt like they do in westerns (it works). But I am still proud of that one. It is silly. I am a grown man with a star on his belly. That is why I am proud of it.
Well, I had two tattoos now, both easily hidable, both rarely seen. I was fighting a battle with my consciousness as to the true meaning of tattoos. I had worked both in the music industry and the world of motorcyclists for a long time. Tattoos were common place. But why did I have them. I struggled for years until age finally crept up on me and whispered in my ear ‘Because you want to be seen as someone with tattoos’. It was true. I was not making a statement for art and individuality. I was forcible joining a strand of society that was; if anything, not the strand that find tattoos disgusting and beneath them. I wanted to join a crowd that looked cooler and more exciting to my eyes than those that did not have tattoos. I wanted to be seen as someone that had made a big decision and permanently painted their body different colours. All be it up a sleeve or under a T-Shirt. As age piled itself upon me I found this more appealing and the consequences less of a threat. What the hell, when I am 80 in an old people’s home standing naked in the communal garden shouting for my pet dog that died 10 years previously, I wouldn’t care if people thought ‘what does he look like with those saggy tattoos everywhere’, because I will be able to think ‘I had fun when I was younger and it doesn’t really matter now’.
With this ethos, I started to feel more comfortable about showing off tattoos. I had gone off my first one, but also didn’t really care as it was what it was..important to me 10 years ago. I came into some money, the car was knackered, the boiler was playing up, my eldest daughter was just about to start university, the garden was embarrassing the neighbours, and being a responsible adult nearing 40 I thought ‘why not spend the money on getting a bloody massive tattoo’!
I visited my favourite shop ‘Borders’ up the road and drank expensive coffee in their comfy chairs, and flicked through endless tattoo magazines looking for inspiration. I took photos of the ones I liked, then smiling put the magazines back on the shelves. After a few weeks I had a style decided, and then I saw the work of an artist I liked a lot. He was within visiting distance, and I went for it. The actual design I worked on quite quickly this time. I had already worked out that I would never find the perfect tattoo, so I settled for one that I liked for its essence and simple meaning. I drew up some images and made an appointment to see Kamil
My new tattoo was based on animation by Genndy Tartakovsky which I loved. The tattoo style Kamil specialised in was borderless colours, quite different at the time from the norm. Kamil was great, understanding and respectful. My previous tattoo parlour experiences smacked of pretentiousness. Kamil called me Sir to start with, and listened to my wishes and worked with them. The sessions lasted for 2 – 4 hours each, and I had about 25 hours work done. It took a year, and finally I had my arm back, complete, unswollen and not wrapped in cling film. Now I want the other one done, so I am saving. I may be in that old people’s home before it gets started, but why not...why not.
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