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Tiann Pae
Dr. Brent House
English 101
10 May 2013
Voodoo
April 10, 2013 around 5 pm, it was a warm spring day with a gray, over cast sky.
Walking into town, I could smell dew in the air: A rain storm was on its way. Worried would get
caught in God’s tears, I ran to the tattoo shop. Before I walked in the sign hanging off the side of
the building read, “Voodoo Tattoo” in green script. When I approached the door, a small sign
said “please wipe your feet” on regular printing paper. Entering the shop, I walked up three
stairs. Once my feet touched the wooden floor, my eyes tried to absorb all the artwork hanging
on the walls and pillars. Every wall had a piece of work nailed to the wall.
Some paintings were by the tattoo artists themselves. Others were three dimensional
pieces of art from home and conventions people went to. Two black book shelves sat across from
the bar table filled with various artifacts ranging from two-headed pigs in a jar to an antique
Buddhist elephant while the other had an assortment of books. The second book shelf was over
flowing with every book you could find at your local library. There were books on Marilyn
Monroe, Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean, Mythology, and WEIRD MARYLAND, as well as
the tattoo artist’s personal books filled with their sketches of tattoos.
Standing still, fascinated by my surroundings, I felt that the air was clear. The shop was
very calming and inviting. The employees were friendly. Over the alternative rock music, I could
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hear the loud buzzing sound of a tattoo artist working on their new piece of art on a fresh canvas.
In the corner across from the bar table, where the artists met their clients, I noticed an old arcade
game, “Arkanoid”, waiting for someone to play. While I looked around the shop, I browsed
through each artist’s portfolio.
Every tattoo in the books was filled with talent and patients. I could tell that tattooing was
not just a way of putting food on the table or getting the bills paid on time: it was their passion
and they were pretty damn good at their job. Each artist took pride in what they created and
wanted the best for every client they, whether the tattoo took over 7 hours or 15 minutes to
complete.
The shop was divided by the sketch table that sat in the center of the room. Below the
sketching table was an Indian elephant head bedazzled in red jewels on its tusks and forehead. I
stepped up where the artists created their master pieces. Bright lights illuminated the back of the
room. Against three walls were metal desks with what looked to be wooden cabinets. I couldn’t
tell because of the collage of stickers. Above the desks, two shelves overflowed with the rainbow
in bottles. Leather chairs were scattered around the second half of the room, waiting to be sat in.
Two large leather beds were placed on the right and left side of the room. Both resembled dentist
chairs, but were less intimidating and dreadful to sit in.
Bad Mojo
He is more on the shorter side standing about 6 inches taller than me with short black
hair slicked to the side like a fifty’s greaser. He goes by the name Uncle Trashcan. When his
nephew was younger he could not pronounce his name and ended up calling him Uncle
Trashcan. Since then the name suck. He was well groomed with two silver rings around his lips,
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also known as snake bite piercings. Along with his snakebites, he also has a metal ring through
the middle of his nose, known as a septum piercing, just like the cartoon pictures of bulls with a
piercing through their nose. Both of his ears had brown disks, called gauges, the size of silver
dollars, if not bigger. His left arm was a covered in ink with only his elbow bare. Both hands had
small yet intricate tattoos details on them. Where rings normally wrap around a person’s finger
were small tattoos. The tattoos on Uncle Trashcan’s hands, the knuckles, spelled out “BAD
MOJO” and “HIHER GUN”. Under his chin was a skull with lightning bolts coming out from
the sides colored in bright yellow ink with his nickname, “Uncle Trashcan” written in fluent
edgy cursive. His right arm had three fading tattoos waiting to be redone. Behind his right ear
was a blue fly sitting waiting for its next meal.
Pounding the Skin
A male client came in for a tattoo of an owl. He wanted to incorporate a crown,
diamonds, and an hourglass into his picture. Uncle Trashcan’s sketch was phenomenal. As I
watched him draw the owl, I thought it would take him approximately a half hour to draw. I was
wrong; he finished his sketch within five minutes. Every line was crisp and perfect. He
incorporated everything his client asked for. The owl’s feet held an hourglass and two diamond
necklaces; while a crown hovered above its head like a halo. After sketching the tattoo Uncle
Trashcan went to the Thermo Fax machine that transferred the design into a blue stencil that was
later transferred on the client’s body. As Uncle Trashcan prepped his station the client and I
struck up a conversation about school and what our majors were. Minutes late, Uncle Trashcan
was ready to go.
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The actual tattooing process did not start until 6 pm. Before his brush hit the canvas he
lightly brushed a thin coat of Vaseline on the area that he was about to work on. Coating the
body with Vaseline helped the artist see what lines he was concentrating on clearly. After
working on small areas, Uncle Trashcan took the Dr. Bronner solution, a special anti-bacterial
soap, and water to wipe down the large area and clean the skin to remove the left over ink.
After a half hour of lying down the client’s arm and side began to feel numb. We took a
ten minute break to let the client walk around and regain feeling on his left side.
During the ten minute break I asked Uncle Trashcan a couple of questions.
“Why did you want to become a tattoo artist and how long have you been tattooing?”
“I’ve been tattooing for 11 years I wanted to become a tattoo artist because it seemed like
it was the only way to escape from the consensual norm and be able to live outside of the normal
everyday 9-5 grinned and do what I like at the same time.” He told me with a smile on his face.
Once the out lining was finished, Uncle Trashcan moved on to the smaller details with in
the tattoo.
I asked the client, “How are you doing?” it took a while for him to respond. He was half
awake. I nudged him.
He responded, “The pain isn’t too bad, I didn’t start feeling it until now.”
Throughout the major and minor outlining process the client was going okay and it didn’t
hurt too much. Uncle Trashcan began to bring the owl to life with pops of color when he was
satisfied with the lines. Before prepping his colors the artist shaded with the black ink. Then he
proceeded to gather his colors off his shelf of rainbow goodness. The colors that Uncle Trashcan
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chose were; golden yellow, a light mahogany wood brown, deep maroon that almost looked like
the color of dry blood, a beautiful sea foam green, turquoise, a lovely light lilac lavender, brick
red, white and a royal blue.
Uncle Trashcan began with the brick red color on the wings. Before Uncle Trashcan put
his brush to the canvas, he would make circular motions with his hand.
Curious I asked, “Why do you make circle hand motions
before you put the machine to the client’s skin?”
He said, “It reduces mistakes and lets me look away when
putting color in.”
This is a common technique artist used. After three hours of
injecting ink into the client’s body, the masterpiece was complete. As
the client got up from the bed he could finally feel the blood flow
Photo by: Tiann Pae
through his arm again. The client’s face lit up with excitement and
amazement. The picture captured what the client envisioned and so much more. The owl literally
looked like it was about to fly away with hourglass and diamond.
History
Tattooing is more than just putting ink to a person’s body; it represents one’s status and a
sense of belonging in a group.
The history of tattooing had dated back centuries ago. The legacy of Polynesian tattooing
began over 2000 years ago. In Samoa the tradition of applying tattoos, or what they call a “tatau”
was put on their skin by hand and has been unbroken for over thousand years. The Polynesian’s
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made their tattooing tool by hand using a boar’s tooth fastened together with a portion of a turtle
shell and a wooden handle. In the Samoan society tattooing has been seen as a rank or status with
chiefs, assistance and women’s roles. The tattooing process usually began for men when they hit
puberty. The tattoo the men would receive were usually every elaborate lines and makes
symbolizing their status in the tribe and what obstacles the have overcome though out life. It
celebrated their endurance and dedication to the cultural traditions. The process for tattooing
began at dusk and continued though out the day. Men would have to take hourly breaks because
their bodies couldn’t endure the pain anymore. To finish one tattoo the entire process would last
at least three months. The pain was long and the risks of infections were of a great concern. If a
person got an infection from tattooing it could lead to death. After the long journey of being
marked the tribe would throw a large ceremony congratulating the men who lived through
getting his tribal markings.
From Head to Toe
In Japan people get their bodies completely covered in tattoos. From their chest to their
wrist and ankles people get jabbed with what looks like a paint brush is actually a wooden stick.
The tool has over 200 needles that inject ink into a person skin. The only spot they leave plank is
right in the center of their chest all the way to their belly button so the skin can breathe. The
Getting one’s body covered in Japanese art is not cheap. It can cost up to 10 thousand
dollars. It takes a life time to become covered in tattoos. One might question why someone
would want to endure so much pain and money to be covered in colorful ink. After do much
research and watching many different videos National Geographic I have come to a conclusion
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that people don’t do this for pure fun but because it’s a symbol for a sense of belonging; mostly
in gangs or mobs.
American tattoos
Tattooing began in America in1846 by the first tattoo artist, Martin Hildebrandt. He had
is first shop in New York City where he tattooed sailor and soldiers. When Tattooing came to
America it emphasized patriotism rather than exoticism (DeMello 49). People became tattooists
by apprenticing other Tattoo artists. Even though they got little to no play, the apprentice learned
firsthand as the entire process happened. Like any other apprentice they would help the artist set
up their workshop, trace and cut stencils, clean the equipment, and fix machines. As the business
developed the tattooing industry became competitive. Many shops would try to monopolize other
customers so they wouldn’t go to other shops.
Pin it up, Girl!
During the early 1960’s the tattooing industry was going through a rough time. Certain areas
started to ban tattoo shops because of the hepatitis break out along with the memory of the
Concentration camps from World War II. People became leaving the cities, which lead to the
decline of tattoo shops. Soldiers regretted their body art and found that their families disapproved
some of their art work. When tattooists thought they would lose their jobs and passion a different
style came about in the tattooing world.
Later in the 60’s a new form of tattooing came to be
on the streets. The biker style of tattooing was
confrontational with many people. It challenged the middlePhoto By: Motoblogn.blogspot.com
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class values and the patriotic loved styles of tattoos. The new biker style gave tattooing a
negative image towards society. People who saw others with tattoos were seen as criminals or
associated them with the biker group. Bikers are a top group that’s associated with tattoos. The
biker tattoos were different from the “working class tattoos (DeMello 68). They were not
patriotic and often came off offensive. The men’s tattoos were usually placed on their arms
consisting of, skulls, and pin up girls on motor cycles, or logos.
Observation 2
Walking into town on May 3, 2013 I was surrounded by a gorgeous spring afternoon. The
weather was comfortable enough for me to get away with a short sleep shirt, long pants and flip
flops. As I walked into East Street into town, listening to “Little Talks” by Of Monsters and
Men, I could smell the freshly cut grass along with the sweet smell of flowers on the trees. In
tuned with my music, I almost passed the tattoo shop. It blended in so well with all the other
houses. The two main windows and the door had floral lace curtains hiding what was inside; to
was what looked like a home. In the right window on a big white background in what looks like
red and blue spray paint, in half cursive half pint lettering, “Elmer’s Tattooing”. If you were just
walking down town in Bloomsburg, Pa, you would probably not notice there was a tattoo shop,
unless you were specifically looking for it.
After noticing the shop I pressed pause on my music and walked up three small stairs into
the parlor. The sign on the door read “Store Hours” with a faded colored rose underneath, along
with the list of store hours.
The shop was small but very convenient for the owner. He was the only person running
the shop. The room had tan walls that were barely noticeable, though, because it was covered in
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different styles of tattoos. The only spots you could possible see the wall paper was between
each paper on the wall. The shop was close to an average size of a classroom in Bakeless Hall.
As I walked in, I could not help but notice a tall wooden counter that separated the waiting room
from the owner’s work station. Standing against the counter, attempting to look at where the art
was created, the counter came up to my collar bone. Trying to see what was on the other side I
stood on my tip toes to get a better look. On the dark wooden counter were three photo albums
filled back to back with past tattoo, along with a small box of business cards and a black bucket
with Dum Dum lollipops.
His work station was small, with only one big black chair that could fold out to become a
bed. He had two separate desks across from each other. To the left, the desk had light table
where he would trace the drawings people gave him to tattoo. Alongside the light table was a
simple stereo that played Froggy 101, a country music station. Even though the desk was small it
everything he needed to start the production of a tattoo. Across the room was his other desk,
larger than his other it had two big plastic drawer organizers that stored all his equipment for his
tattooing machines. His desk was filled with an assortment of bottles filled with every color
imaginable in the rainbow along with the soap in the squirt bottle to prep the skin for the tattoo.
Above the desk was a smaller shelf that had the different types of needles hanging off the side
waiting to be used to add color and detail to the next piece of art. Sitting on top of the small shelf
were two big glass jars that you would normally see filled with cotton balls and tongue pressers
at a doctor’s office, are now occupied with small plastic cups, no wider than the size of a quarter,
for the ink to sit in.
The tattoo artist was an older man. Though he looked like he looked close to the age of
retirement his youthful personality said otherwise. He wore thick glasses with a solid black trim
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around the lenses. He had a gray eyebrows and goatee, which was the only hair on his head. His
arms were completely covered in ink. The only place you could see his skin color was his hands.
Even his elbows were covered in tattoos.
Walking into the shop, the owner was conversing with a client who seemed to be a
regular at the shop. The client looked to be no older than 50 years old. Almost every place from
his waist up had big pieces of art on his body, font and back. Trying to figure out what to add to
his collage with the artist, I noticed some most of his older tattoos. On is right lower, inner for
arm was a Japanese geisha surrounded by a colorful abstract background. While his left arm was
consumed by a large green and red snake that started slithering down is arm stopping half way
down his arm. The client also had a black and grey snake coiling round his left ribcage in what
appeared to be grey clouds. The only bare sports on his body were on his stomach but that soon
would change.
After a few minutes of debating on what the client’s next art piece was going to be, they
both agreed on a tiger.
I asked the client, “Who did all your tattoos?”
“Elmer did all of them. He’s the only one I trust to do my work. He’s damn good at his
job.”
When the artist was finished with sketching up the tiger he placed his drawing on the
right side of the client’s stomach. After prepping his work station he and the client began their
long journey of bringing the tiger to life. As the tattooing began we sat and chatted about motor
cycles, school, and relationships. As I sat in my chair drinking Turnkey Hill’s Lemonade and
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nibbling on an oatmeal cookie he offered me earlier. I became curious as to what drew Elmer
into the tattooing world.
Curious I asked, “What was your first tattoo; can you tell me about it?”
“The first that I did for someone was when I was working at the other shop. A client
wanted an old tattoo colored. It turned out okay, I wasn’t my best work but I did it for free.
When I first started out tattooing it was more of a hobby and I did my work for free for friends.
My first tattoo on my body was when I was 18 years old. All my friends got an eagle on their
arm. At the time I thought I was cool so they took me to a tattoo shop to get it done. Looking
back it was a corny idea.”
“When did you open this shop on East Street?” I asked trying to hear him over the
buzzing of the tattooing machine.
“I opened this shop 13 years ago. I’ve been working in Bloomsburg since 1998 though.
Before this shop I worked at another person’s shop part time. That tattoo shop was open for two
years on Iron Street in town.”
More and more clients walked in wanted to get tatted. The owner felt bad turning away
people but because he’s the only artist he needed to space out his appointments.
The clients tattoo took about four and a half hours to complete. In the beginning the
tattoo was just a plain simple stencil but the finished product was astonishing. The tiger looked
like it could jump right at you.
Aw! You Made Me Ink…
All my life I was against getting something put on my body permanently with ink. My
mother and father always told me that if I ever came home with a marking on my body they
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would kill me, figuratively speaking of course. As a child, I never thought of getting a tattoo.
They seemed stupid and trashy looking. My friends and family kept reminding me that it would
one day shrivel up or be stretched out, depending where I wanted it, when I got older. I thought
to myself, “Why would I want something on my body that will eventually become distorted and
fade into a blob?”
Now nineteen, I find myself walking through Bristol Borough, a small town with brick
sidewalk. The unusual, comfortable January weather put me in a calming mood as my friend and
I strut through town looking at all the boutique shops. My friend and I were always looking for
new and fun adventure to do together. While we were walking around town we cross several
tattoo parlors and look at each other as if we both know what the other was thinking. Jokingly we
talked about getting a tattoo and seeing what our parent’s reaction would be. In actuality we were
not kidding. Finally, we decide we were going to do it. We are going to get tattoos!
We sprinted to the closest ATM to grab cash. Our excitement and eagerness began to
build. Neither of us has gotten a tattoo before nor have we ever been inside a tattoo parlor. The
closest I have ever gotten to the inside of a tattoo parlor was when I watched TLC’s: LA Ink. We
step into the tattoo shop and looked around. I saw a pool table in the middle of the first room. A
woman and her two little boys were hanging out on the couch. The woman was talking to her
husband, one of the owners of the shop. She was average in height, with fire engine red hair. One
side of her hair was cut super short like an army buzz, while the other half flowed down her arm
and part of her back. Her arms were covered in color. From a far it looked like multiple stained
glass paintings. As she walked toward her husband I noticed some of the details put into her art
work. Her arm was no longer just an ordinary arm it was a canvas where she could express
herself.
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My friend and I approached the owner. We began to sign the health waver forms as he
took our ID’s and scanned them into his computer. The three of us struck up a conversation
discussing what my friend and I wanted.
“So what were you two ladies thinking of getting today?” he asked us.
“I would like the word ‘transform’ on my wrist.” My friend expressed with a hint of
excitement in her voice.
My friend came to the conclusion of getting the words transform on her wrist because
every year give her a chance to change, to grow become wiser and it was another chance to
become anyone she want to be.
“And what about you?” As he took my health waver form.
“I was hoping to get the infinity symbol with the word FORGIVE going through the
bottom left loop.” I told him politely.
Since my senior year I saw on Tumblr, a blog website, the infinity sign becoming more
and more popular. I wanted the infinity symbol tattooed on me with a word through it. I thought
the words “love” and “family” were too common. I wanted a different word. Over the years I
have learned that humans are imperfect and everyone makes mistakes. I believe it is important to
forgive but never forget.
He sketched both of our designs on the computer. Since our ideas were mostly text he
used the computer so we could choose what font we wanted for the words. Once we both settled
on a script he asked, “Who wants to go first?” My friend was a champ and volunteered. When it
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was time to place the design on her arm it look the artist about five
tries to get it centered perfectly on her wrist.
A little hesitant I watched as the buzzing needle entered her
skin. She told me the pain did not kick in until the tattoo artist got
to the letter F. After a half hour went by and her tattoo was
Photo By: Lynnea Straley
complete. The artist rubbed Vaseline over her wrist and covered it
with a paper towel. It was my turn to endure the experience of “being inked” for the first time. I
could feel my nerves building. My palms started to become sweaty as I walked towards the black
bed.
I was unsure if I wanted to get my tattoo from the same parlor as she did. I hesitantly sat
in the chair contemplating if I still wanted to get my piece of art. The artist and my friend could
read my fear, as if it was written it all over my face. “Are you sure you want to get this done?”
She asked me. I nodded my head and the tattoo artist proceeded.
“Where do you want this?” he asked as he held my design in his hands.
“My left rib cage, please.” I answered confidently.
I originally wanted to get it on my ankle; it would be less noticeable and fairly easy to
cover. Someone told me if I got it on my ankle the ink fades faster because of constantly shaving.
Then, I thought the top of my foot but after hearing how painful it was to get it there I crossed it
off the list. After battling over the placement of my tattoo I finally decided my left rib cage. It
was subtle enough spot where no one would see it unless it was summer time. With the dream
job I want I cannot have any tattoos showing. It’s unprofessional and could possibly offend a
client.
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He prepped my skin with the cold clear liquid as he gently placed my design on my skin.
He got his station prepped again and ready to go. I laid there as my nerves finally struck my
body. The needle touched my skin. My body wanted to twitch away; knowing that it would
completely mess up my art I tried my hardest not to move.
The pain did not start until he got to the word
FORGIVE. The F and G was the most painful because the
tails were elongated. After sitting through the pain it was
complete. I was satisfied with me art. I was proud I got it
done and it always reminds me that people make mistakes
Photo By: Lynnea Straley
in life and even though a situation can be painful it’s better to forgive but never forget.
Beautiful Master Piece
After doing all my research and observations I realized that not every tattoo shop is alike,
nor are the artists. Each artist brings their own creativity into their designs. Some are great at
drawing a tattoo from their minds; others are good at tracing other pictures then later adding their
own flare of color into the picture. It is what makes them memorable and talented.
Being a part of this culture has made me realize that the tattooing culture has been
through a long journey. The different styles of tattooing have come from various parts of the
world. I have been under the impression that a majority of all tattoo shops and people were in a
gang, did time in prison, or scary people. During one of my observations it finally hit me that
tattoo artists are just like everyone else in society trying to making a living out of something they
love to do. As well as people who get tattoos themselves. Everyone expresses themselves in their
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own way. Some might sing, write poetry, dance or longboard and others like have art on their
body.