virgin (tattoo) diaries, pt. 5

If you're following my adventures in ink, you'll remember my latest dilemma: to colour or not to colour.

As if it was even a question! C'mon. I am actually incapable of monochromatic, let alone grayscale. Hubby puts his foot down at one accent colour in each space (*pout*) so my house is definitely a compromise. When it comes to my body, though, he has zero say. I'm a walking bag o' Skittles, mostly. He's OK with it, provided I don't push it on him too much.

I try, though, because I'm a giant pain in the ass.

I had the remainder of the work done in October (yeah, I'm shit at timeliness) and I am absolutely in love. Smitten! I decided 5 minutes into my appointment, however, that I just wouldn't be totally satisfied to leave it as-is. I like to meddle with things, over-work them. It's why I can't make pastry to save my life (I'm my mother's biggest failure). But David's a total pro and won't lead me astray. I'm saving up to get some additions to it, maybe in the fall. More flowers, more confetti, more awesome.

I'm probably not going as far as getting sleeves, but I definitely feel like it has the potential to be even more spectacular if we expand it. Just a little.

It feels right. It feels like me. It was worth the pain. (It hurts, you guys. A lot. Like hot Exacto-knife slashes, over and over. Don't let anyone tell you that it's like "a million bee stings" because that's an understatement. And a bloody lie.)

I may be reconsidering my original tattoo body map. I'm thinking that I like concentration: fewer, bigger pieces. David does amazing things with poppies and I'm so very fond of his animals. He'll be seeing a lot more of me.

Of course, now that I'm hooked, I'm stocking up on inspiration. Here are some gems, for your eye-feasting pleasure:

virgin (tattoo) diaries pt. 3

I did it.

You wanna say I'm all mouth, yeah? OK, sometimes I talk a big game. Sometimes I sissy out. But this is my year, remember? I'm just doing it. All of it. Bunce wondered aloud if we really do "get things out of our system". Maybe we just scratch the itch and enjoy some temporary relief. I think I'll always be itchy.

(Like my 5-day-old tattoo. Oh, the itching.)

There are some people in my life who share my affliction. 30-something going on 16? You know who you are. I guess I'm just trying to figure out how to satiate my inner irrational teenager while staying within the confines of my responsible adult existence. Cabin in the Woods of the soul. Spoiler alert! I'm making sacrifices to my demons.

My demons are happy.

My actual 16-year-old self didn't rebel with a hasty, amateur Daytona Beach dolphin ankle tattoo. I experimented with hair colour and pierced my nose on a New Year's Eve dare, offering up my guinea pig face to a beauty school freshman. My folks weren't especially strict about that stuff but I remember them being pretty anti-tattoo (until, at 50, my mother beat me to the punch) and I wanted to be a good girl. Also, I was quite self-aware at 16. I was fickle and flighty and pretty uncomfortable with being me. Not an ideal candidate for permanence, right?

I never wanted a dolphin. I always wanted a bird (see? I'm not being impulsive). It doesn't mean anything. It's just pretty. And while that might sound like a silly reason to choose a specific tattoo subject, I think it's smart. An aesthetically pleasing representation of nature will never cease to be relevant.

{ get ready... }

I'm 33. I feel 16 (angst and all) but I know who I am now. I'm comfortable in my skin (itchiness aside). And I decided I might be – well, I AM – the kind of girl who chooses a full-forearm tattoo on her very first go.

My first of two sessions at Archive was last Thursday. I was hella nervous but I was pretty sure that it was the good kind. Like first-date-with-cute-boy nervous. Not STD-test-after-unprotected-sex nervous.

David was a total pro and just an awesome person. The atmosphere (non-pretentious, clinical-but-cozy) was ideal for a first-timer like me. The pain was probably hiding under adrenaline and good conversation, so it wasn't as excruciating as I'd been made to believe. I also told myself that it was less horrible than roller coasters and and PAP smears and job interviews. It was. The last portion of the shading started to get to me, however, and I realized that 2 hours was probably my threshold. No matter – David finished a beautifully-executed starling perched among wispy freesias (a whopping 7x4" piece) in time for me to be home for dinner.

In a month, I'll get my colour done. I can't imagine loving it any more than I do, but I'm a sucker for colour. All of them. RAINBOWS!

 { this guy will be making a lot of cameos in my photos. forever. }

In the meantime I'm trying to ignore the fact that I am molting. Molting! Yeah, like a seagull or a tree frog. JUST PIECES OF MY BODY FALLING OFF. I would generally be inclined to pick at and "encourage" this process. I'm a picker. But I have been strongly advised against it. Forbidden! Put me in a straight jacket. Please.

I blubbered "It completes me!" after admiring it (again) in the mirror tonight. Hubby was surprised to learn that he hadn't already been the last piece of my wholeness. I'm sure he and ink-bird will learn to live harmoniously.

And if they don't? Tattoos are a lot more permanent than marriages, so you can guess how that will go down.

(Totally kidding. He loves it.)

More non-iPhone photos when I start looking more like a girl and less like a reptile. 

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Read more about my adventures in ink here and here.

virgin (tattoo) diaries pt. 2

One month! One month!

If you haven't read Part 1, you can do so here. Lazy? Here's the gist: wanted a tattoo forever, finally committed, booked a super in-demand artist, had to wait 6 months for my appointment. Well, 6 months is now 1. 40 days, to be exact. I'm not quite sure how I haven't been bursting with impatience. Well, I have. But what can I do? I haven't even seen the final drawing yet. Really, I'm not even sure he's started it yet, but I'm trying not to be THAT girl. I'll bug him in a couple of weeks, yeah?

All of this waiting has not allowed doubt to creep in, like you might expect.

Nope. In fact, quite the opposite. I've already decided on my next THREE tattoos. Oh boy. Here's the thing: if, in an interview, say, you asked me to name my greatest weakness, I'd probably not say "getting caught up in things" but that would be the truth. I'd likely choose a strength disguised as a weakness ("I'm such a perfectionist."), something that didn't paint me as a flake prone to too-romantic whims. But I am that. And well, I'm "caught up" in this thing. 

I suppose I should wait for my 1st before being so rash. Extreeeemes!

But if I love it as much as I think I'm going to, here's the (body) map of my tattoo-plan:

Lower left arm: birds & flowers
Upper right arm: bees!
Right wrist: my sis and I are getting matching word tattoos, something from our secret sister-language, natch
Leg TBD: bike (avec doggie riding in basket!)

I'm a ridiculous human.

I also just bought tickets to see Rich Aucoin (my latest music-crush) at Lee's Palace on the very same day as my tattoo appointment. Bloody gauze and front-row dancing. Yeah!

Stay tuned, my pets!
 
Until I can share images of the actual thing, enjoy some inspiration I found in my travels:

p.s. The images on the left side of each panel above are the work of tattoo artist Peter Aurisch. One day I will travel to Berlin and make him draw pretty things on me.

(Other photo sources here)