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A long time ago, I asked three of my favourite bloggers: Liz, Diana and Melly if they could answer a few questions about tattoos. I wasn't sure about what I wanted this post to be but I knew I wanted to dedicate a post to getting inked. Their answers have been riveting and inspiring and I do hope you'll find this post as exciting as I do.
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My half-sleeve is a tribute piece dedicated to the memory of my late grandfather. The tree is the Poplar from his & my grandma’s backyard, complete with the rope swing he constructed for all of us grandchildren when we were kids. I have a penchant for owls & so it was only fitting that I had one perched atop one of the branches. Owls are also tokens of good luck.
I love tattoos and what they represent for different people. I’m estatic about the fact that few generations from now, they will be totally accepted in our society and workplaces. I’m a firm believe that that should already by the case. We don’t judge people based on the color of their skin anymore do we? That should go for red, blue, purple on your skin too.
Liz -
SrslylizMust read:
Needles & Ink
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I have had a love affair with tattoos as far back as I can remember. I was intrigued, intimidated, amused, baffled, and inspired by them. I only saw them on men, but very rarely on women.
During college, I worked at a piercing shop for a brief time. There was a tattoo shop next door. On my break, I would go visit, and watch the artist pierce soft skin with electric needles. I was watching art come to life. I wanted to be a part of it. To be included in a culture within. I dated a boy I met in the piercing shop. Just the fact that he had a tattoo was attractive (I was young and dumb). We got tattoos together, would hang out at tattoo shops. My eyes were fixated on tattoos, not the boy, and thus, my affair ended with him, but my love affair lasted with the permanent ink.
Most girls grow to love ballet, clothes, shoes, or boys. I grew to love the culture of tattoos. I didn’t travel the world and discovered myself like most younger people. I got tattooed and discovered myself in the process.
Tattoos don’t identify me as I once thought when I was younger. Whenever I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see me, not the tattoos. I was a girl when I first was tattooed, and as I grew up, my tattoos grew with me. Thus, making me a beautiful woman, rather than the woman with the tattoos.
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Tattoos work like happy dust for me. Whenever I look at them, I smile, I remember why it was there in the first place and savour the memory, it keeps me going. It's no wonder why my tattoos so far are childlike/fairytale-related. The end product (I hope!) is to have a tiny happy island of things I love on my lower left calf.
I don't see my tattoos as an extension of my style, in fact, they are two very separate things. They exist for the spirit and the imagination in me and frankly, I don't know where my 'style' lives inside of me, haha, never thought about it!
Two of my tattoos were done out of heartbreaks. One, a tiny heart on the edge of my left foot - I got the idea when the line "my heart has sunk to the bottom" flowed out of my pen on paper. The second, two rainbows, each on one calf but they meet to form a third rainbow when I stand with my feet together - I got it inked after I gave up hope of not finding my precious cat, Fatboy, who went missing for three days. I needed some kind of a charm, a good thing, to lift my spirits and what better than a rainbow. You wouldn't believe it but when I got home that night, I found him.
