ink at the end of the tunnel

I’m beginning to feel like this last year’s incredible load of work, death, illness and mayhem may be closing out, finally. I looked at a web site I built for the project I’ve been working in to see when we created it; I was thinking, five, six months ago. In fact it was just about […]

I’m beginning to feel like this last year’s incredible load of work, death, illness and mayhem may be closing out, finally.

I looked at a web site I built for the project I’ve been working in to see when we created it; I was thinking, five, six months ago. In fact it was just about one year almost exactly, which in my mind signifies the start of this whole thing; the day I started working on what was presented as a simple, short-duration project.

Best-laid-plans and all that crap.

I feel I should knock wood saying it, but it looks like the worst might be over. Though when I say knock wood, I mean it that way, since my superstition begins and ends with how many swallows of water cures hiccups.

Meanwhile, I look out at blue sky and try to re-learn the skill of concentration on one task at a time; something I find I’m doing poorly at still, as it’s taken me two hours of interruptions to finish typing this sentence.

It’s been, though, a brutally long year. My struggle now, both at work and in real life, is to try to back up and figure out all the things I’ve put off for months, and take care of them now, in the short window were there might be time. I’m ahead on some fronts; my motorcycle is running again, I finished my taxes on time (last year’s were completed just before the october deadline), and my bills are in some state you might call paid. I’ve gotten a significant amount of yard and house maintenance done since the weather turned nice.

On the other hand, I have a month’s worth of laundry to put away and will be lucky if I can get my garage ‘spring cleaning’ done before fall.

The thing is, these mundane tasks actually feel good; it’s been so long since I’ve felt like anything was actually finished in my life that just planting a new lemon tree in my yard or clearing my desk off feels like a victory.

Part of me wants to take this time to just do nothing; but I can’t yet. I can’t really rest yet. It’s like those first few days of a hawaiian vacation, when my nervous system can’t get off silicon valley time, and and I can’t just sit and watch an ocean or a sunset without thinking about what I will, should, or could do. I can’t stop twitching.

I’m still in that crush-time mindset; the list of things to do is still growing faster than I’m cutting it down; but I’m cutting it down in order of what I care about now, instead of in order of whomever screams first and loudest.

What this means is that my to-do list includes a tattoo; next week I go in to see orly at Humble Beginnings.

I found some good representations of what I’m getting – in concept and style anyway; take a look at the ‘Marquesan’ and ‘Polynesian’ links by Rob Deut of Indepedant Vision; anything with stylized faces gets you to the right territory. Sorry, it’s all behind a stupid flash interface so I can’t direct link; but damn, he’s a great artist; alas, he’s in the netherlands.

I’m working hard to get my head back together, and I can’t think of anything better for than than a little productive pain. I’m hoping this isn’t the last tattoo I actually start work on this year, even if it’s the last this summer (I try to avoid tattoos in teh summer; new tattoos tend not to like sun, sand, sea, and chlorine, which are (one hopes) part of my summers. BUyt as soon as this one’s done, I’m reasonably sure I’ll have my mind best to another, though I’m not sure if it’ll be on my back, or if it’s time to start on the legs again (or, for all I know, more work on my arm). BUt it’s been way too long, and I feel the need to continue.

what tattoo are you getting?

Several people have asked me what it was I was planning to get on my arm. I’ve been trying for an hour to find a decent example of what I have in mind and for some reason, the only things i can find are a few personal tattoo photos, which I don’t really want to […]

Several people have asked me what it was I was planning to get on my arm.

I’ve been trying for an hour to find a decent example of what I have in mind and for some reason, the only things i can find are a few personal tattoo photos, which I don’t really want to link to (it’s sort of poor form, with other people’s tattoos, unless they’re posted someplace like bmezine). And anyway it’s still not right.

My right arm is blackwork; the upper arm has an older sort of abstract ‘tribal’ style tattoo, which is what we were all getting in the days when anything black and pointy could be called ‘tribal’. But since, I’ve gotten better educated on the artistic traditions behind tribal and prefer to stick closer to the original source, artistically. This means I try to work with people who understand polynesian tattooing, and who can work with specific island styles.

On my forearm, I wear one piece in a Maori style, from New Zealand, and then several smaller sections in a Marquesan style. The inside of my upper arm carries on the Maori look in a hammerhead design. YOU can see a cartoonist’s interpretation of that on the side bar of my blog, which is fairly accurate all things considered.

Because my arm is a patchwork of styles and different pieces, it looks unfinished to me. So I can either take the remaining space and locate individual smaller designs in open space, or I can unify the whole with ‘filler’ designs. IN Japan they do this with wind bars, waves, or other background, filling space between major design elements. In western tattooing, one might fill in with stars or some such military motif, given most classic american tattooing was inspired by navel aesthetics.

Polynesians, at least from some places like the Marquesas where the body was often completely covered, did something similar by inter-connecting major pieces with seemingly random (though in fact composed of smaller, repeating design elements) designs. NOt all polynesian styles do this; some favor larger single pieces or single designs framed by open space. BUt one can find examples from many islands of what I mean, some as simple as plan black sections, others small, tapa-cloth-like patterns.

Since I’m tying together several different styles, the challenge is to work with all of them, or rather, not to distract or clash with any.

The idea I have is to place a single major design element – in this case a tahitian-style tiki – in the largest open space on the inside of my arm. I”m planning to plce it at an odd angle to avoid having to line up with existing designs, most of which are either in line with, or parallel to, my arm. Around it will be some related design elements intended to both fill the space, and be artistically interesting on their own, without crowding too much into the space.

This is somewhat challenging for several reasons. First, because so much of my arm is geometric, it’s hard to figure out what to line specific elements up with, in anything that needs to be symmetric (like, for example, a face). Second, it’s challenging to work in and around other artist’s work and produce a harmonious whole. A good tattoo artist can do this, if they and the wearer want (though in truth many customers don’t care about harmony, or even intentionally choose against it).

The other thing that makes this hard is that one really can’t do design like this on paper. It’s got to be felt and then composed in situ, what’s often called freehanding the design (though this is usually a miss-use; freehand means the artist improvises with the needle, rather than with pen on skin, but it’s a fine distinction).

Some very good artists can’t design on skin, for whatever reason. Training, style, habit, or simple comfort with improvisation, can limit an artist’s ability to freehand designs. And one of the key rules with tattoo is, do what your artist does best, because that’s how you get inspired work.

So I had to find an artist who understood the medium and tradition, and who is comfortable drawing things on rather than pre-rendering a drawing.

So when people ask me what I’m getting, the answer is, I don’t really know.

What I do know is who’s doing it. Sixteen months ago I dropped in at Humble Beginnings Tattoo in San Jose, Ca to talk to the owner, Orly. The place is a classic street tattoo shop; it’s not the one you send first-timers to when they need a calm, sweet, hand-holding experience. It’s not a salon; it’s the kind of place where they answer the phone tattoshop in a tone of voice that says they they’ll hang up on you if you annoy them. It’s the kind of place you feel awkward walking into if you don’t look like like part of the scene.

On the other hand, for the year or so before that, I’d been asking people polynisians all over the bay area, who did your ink and getting the same answer; Orly at HB. I’d looked at his work at a convention, and talked to one of his shop-mates, and I was pretty sure this was the place and Orly was the guy.

And of course, I am a tattoo scene guy; I’m sleeved, I have tattoos on my hands, and so many ear piercings I have to count to answer how many (six, at this point). I have work by big names in the industry, like Eddy Deutsch, Freddy Corbin, Mike Malone, and I know Ed Hardy enough to drop his name casually. So shops like that, other than in hollywood where they first check your celeb cred and then your tattoo cred, don’t look at me as if I was barely trnslucent the way they do with most walk-ins.

When I started talking to Orly sixteen months ago and explaining what I wanted, he got it. He said ‘how about we just draw that on when you come in, that would work better’, and I know I had the guy I wanted to work with.

That was just before christmas, and I’d planned to call him back and make an appointment for sometime in my holiday break. I didn’t, of course, for various reasons like being incredibly busy, deaths in the family, and, you know, the holidays. And Orly, being a tattoo artist, can be a little hard to reach sometimes. So after a month or so of trying, I sort of mentally gave up, putting it off for later.

Cut to last week. I’ve had this on the back-burners of my mind for months, but with the small lull my team’s in right now between projects, I’ve had time to look at things that want doing. Things like my taxes, home maintenance, and of course personal-gratification items like motorcycles and tattoos.

I started talking to a friend who was just going for a tattoo, and i looked at the clock and thought, hey, I think HB is open and I think Orly works mondays, I should call.

I was lucky enough to reach Orly on the first try, which means we’re back to the same plan. I’m going to go in one day soon, and he’ll just start drawing on my arm and we’ll see what happens. It’ll either work like I want or it won’t, or we’ll come up with an even better idea I hadn’t even thought of that’ll beat the hell out of anything I could imagine; because that’s how it works sometimes when you pick the right artist and let them run. Sometimes you get inspired work like my feet, or like my left arm, when you just say, here’s my concept, go. That requires both the right artist, and the right relationship; there’s a vast trust placed in someone when they make permanent marks in your skin. It’s not the right relationship for every tattoo, for every customer, but almost universally, the best, most inspired tattoos I’ve ever seen have been pure creation by the artist, not pre-planned by the customer.

I never found the image that I have in my mind for the tiki that may anchor this tattoo, so I can’t demonstrate it. But nevermind; it might not materialize in the final tattoo, or might morph into something very different than where we start. We’ll see.

Marks and scars and lusts

The wound in my hand wasn’t as bad as all that; the following morning the pain was gone entirely, leaving behind only a vague tenderness. More interesting, though, was the leathery texture my skin has now. It’s like it’s someone else’s hand, when I feel it against my skin. The ridges and whorls are burned entirely away in a few places, leaving only the exact imprint of the pan’s handle on my palm and fingers.

The only discomfort, amusingly, is when I put on my one my skull rings on my left middle finger.

In any case, marks lead to marks; I’ve been thinking about tattoos.

I think it’s time I got back to work on long-shelved tattoo projects. With things at work getting back within the range of ‘normal’ at work, my mind’s had a small amount of space to wander.

I called a local shop today, and sometime in the next three or four days I need to visit to pay a deposit and arrange a start date. I’m planning to finish my half-naked right arm.

It just feels like time. And the other things I’m obsessing over are harder, both financially and logistically, to manage just now. Yesterday I started to fantasize about boats and diving and tropical breezes, and spent a few minutes looking at trips to cozumel or la paz or some such lower-cost diving destination; though in truth the windows I have for travel this year are small, and, well, we all know what finances are starting to look like in the next weeks or months, for most of us.

It’s not a surprise I’m a creature driven by desire; one of the things that tells me how hard I’ve been working, how buried I’ve been, is that my mind starts to re-direct the energy of avaricious thoughts into basic survival. I stop thinking about who and what and where I want, and think about how to get through a day without losing more ground.

It’s clear that I feel better, despite (or even because of) a little pain and a visually striking injury. It’s clear because I’m now looking at motorcycles, thinking, how can I swing a new bike; I’m planning tattoos, trips to warm, sunny beaches, and fantasizing about who-and-what I’d be doing in any given scenario.

I feel like me when the low, simmering desire begins to come back. So that must be a good thing.

Remind me, though, not to shop for any new motorcycles. At least not this week.

All Wrong

Tonight, I was cooking dinner; Grilled pork chops, bulgar wheat, and oven-roasted baby carrots. Now, when I’m roasting stuff, I often use a heavy frying pan. I own a number of very good such pans, and they go easily from stovetop to oven. Most of my frying pans have nice, stay-cool handles. No matter how […]

Tonight, I was cooking dinner; Grilled pork chops, bulgar wheat, and oven-roasted baby carrots.

Now, when I’m roasting stuff, I often use a heavy frying pan. I own a number of very good such pans, and they go easily from stovetop to oven.

Most of my frying pans have nice, stay-cool handles. No matter how hot the pan gets, the handle stays touchable. At least, that works when you’re on the stove top.

I have trouble learning some things though. Little things, like fire burns.

So of course when my carrots came out of the oven, I plated them nicely, and then turned to clean up, picking up my frying pan to move it toward the sink.

The handle – like the rest of the pan, and the carrots that were in it, and the inside of the oven – was something like 375°F. And of course I don’t have the sense to just drop a hot pan, but instead, tend to set it down carefully (respect for my cooking gear runs deep; much deeper, evidently, than self-preservation or pain threshold.

You’d think eventually I’d learn, right? Well, ok, maybe not. Not if you know me.

There’s really nothing like the sound of skin sizzling, is there?


After plunging my hand into icewater, I took a look and found a handful of blisters in a palm similar in color to the pork I’d just taken off the grill. Guess I don’t have quite the calluses I used to.

This I thought, is going to smart a bit.

I finished my dinner, and then washed down a double handfull of vicodin with a Duval. And then wrapped my hand in ice and figured, you know, what goes well with vicodin?

Morphine.


She had black hair like ravens crawling over her shoulders
All the way down
She had a smile that swerved
She had a smile that curved
She had a smile that swerved all over the road
It’s all wrong all wrong
All wrong all wrong
She had a way of making people feel good to be around her
As it should be
It’s all wrong all wrong
All wrong all wrong (x2)
All wrong
And when she laughs I travel back in time
Something flips the switch and I collapse inside
It’s all wrong all wrong
All wrong all wrong (x2)
All wrong


I don’t do favorites lists the way I once did.

I used to have lists; favorite albums, favorite bands, favorite songs. Favorite concerts. They’d be ordered (if fluid), and they’d be conditional (favorite songs to have sex to, favorite driving albums).

I had them ordered and ranked, and at one point even sorted my Lps by favoritness, rather than alphabetical.

It’s all way too much work for me now; and in any case it’s generally too fluid to mean anything beyond right now.

There are exceptions. I can pick a favorite single album; I have a list (un-ranked, but consistant) of my five favorite jazz albums. So when one of my daughters asked me the other day, what’s your favorite band, instead of my usual I don’t have a favorite (an answer they hate), I found I had one.

Morphine.

I don’t need more on the list than that; If I think about it I start feeling like Dick and Barry from High Fidelity. But there’s that one.