Point of View

the Tattoo

You would have thought they were reconstructing the pyramid ruins instead of putting up a dividing wall for the installation of a pastry oven at my third place. During this little project, they have been closed in the evenings and have put quite a dent in my predictable little world. I have been forced to visit alternate Starbuck locations for my fill of coffee and atmosphere while having to jockey for a comfortable table among their regulars. It was like being the new kid at a new school; I could feel the eyes watching me while almost hearing their thoughts of “who’s this guy?”  So, from the patio of “my” third place I feel at ease once more; the planets in alignment, the air cool and the sky open with a banquet of shimmering stars. I find my table as I left it and settle in for some reflection while trying to ignore the hot sting of my freshly tattooed arm.

Since my little bike journey and my impromptu visit with Nicole, my tattoo artist, I made arrangements earlier in the week to put aside some time to get back on the table and turn Nicole loose on my “re-work” that I started almost four years ago. Initially, I had a “friend” transfer my design from paper to skin and I soon discovered that he was lacking in the skill and technique required for such a piece. Not being one to “complain” I allowed him his practice with me as guinea pig while trying to be supportive and encouraging to a new artist. My work of art, as I envisioned it was soon reduced to uneven lines and rapidly fading ink caused by a “heavy-handed” tattooist. After getting a brow-beating from Nicole for having allowed someone with such little experience near me, she agreed to restore my masterpiece, while adding some flow and symmetry of her own.
Tonight was my second sitting with Nicole and my first in her new studio of two weeks. I arrived early to allow for the customary small talk and for the nickel tour of her studio. It’s located on the west side in an up-and-coming part of Phoenix and boosts fresh paint with tasteful graphics and an artistic flare. The gallery-like theme continues into the main entrance which opens to exposed ventilation ducts and loft-like beams. The walls have an earthy tone offset with stenciled designs that flow throughout the room. The smell of fresh paint fills the air and you soon forget you are in a tattoo parlor. A glass display case houses various drawings and designs of each artist along with a portfolio showcasing their clients completed works. In one corner sits an old Victorian sofa and table where waiting clients can visit and plan out their next piece. Unlike typical tattoo studios with private rooms, this one is partitioned into little work stations where each artist openly performs their craft. Of course this means that the client is also on display for all to see and might give some clients pause depending on “where” the tattoo is going. My experience has taught me that people with tattoos consider their bodies to that of a canvass and find no shame in showing off their art.
I made myself comfortable on the black leather table while Nicole, with the cleanliness of a surgeon, laid out the necessary tools of her trade. She went right to work picking up where she had last left off; coloring and detailing the outline of my design. At this point Nicole is mostly silent as she tunes out any distractions and becomes one with her new creation. I close my eyes attempting to tune out the sensitive spots she is coloring in taking momentary glances of her progress.


The “buzz” of the tattoo gun echoes off the walls as she “fills and wipes,” repeating this process as she moves along my forearm. Occasionally my hand or fingers will twitch as she passes over a nerve but is quickly controlled by her skilled touch all without missing a pass of her “brush.” We pause for a few breaks; her to stretch, and me to have a Red Apple and before long Nicole is finishing up another section of my sleeve art. She applies a cooling spray and wipes the excess ink before wrapping my arm with non-sticking gauze. “Until next time.” she says with a smile and gives my arm the customary “pat” of completion and I reply, “Yes, until next time.”