Beneath her left breast, close to her heart, Sarah Dwyer has inked a list: “1 Milk, 1 Bread, 1 Butter (unsalted), and 1 egg.” The list is in her deceased mother’s handwriting, a girlish mix of cursive and print, in black ink. Dwyer had wanted a tattoo of her mother’s handwriting since her death a few years earlier. “My mom passed away from cancer when I was 23,” she said. “About a year and a half later, I fell into a deep depression. I lost my job and was hospitalized. One day when I was feeling really down, I couldn’t focus, so I started flipping through this old notebook I had. I came across the list. My mom always forgot to place the online order for the milkman, and so on delivery mornings, she would always grab whatever was closest to write her list and leave it for him. It used to annoy me because she would use my notebook.
“But then I discovered this [list]. And now I have this everyday example of her life. Since she passed, I knew I wanted a tattoo in her handwriting, but I didn’t know of what. Once I found this, I got it tattooed right under my heart. On her birthday.”
For more than a year now, I have been interviewing people about their tattoos for Inked: The Tattoo Project, a series of vignettes about people and their tattoos. I can’t map my interest in the topic to a single moment. It came to me over time—born of conversations I would get into with servers at restaurants and coffee shops and with the realization that I didn’t have to wait to publish their stories. I could use Instagram, and the platform’s limitations—2,200 characters per post or about 300 words—would force me to be concise, something I’m always working on in my writing.
What is wondrous about this project is the generosity of the interviewees: college and graduate students, tattoo artists, powerlifters, professors, mothers, rape survivors, authors, entrepreneurs, writers, artists, and more. To my surprise, people, most of them complete strangers, gladly, even eagerly, shared their stories, and almost never did the stories begin with, “I got wasted and . . .” In fact, more often than not, the tales were stories of love or self-determination, hope, loss, triumph, or belief. And while they can be categorized as illustrating some shared trait, each tattoo story is also uniquely evocative with its own, distinctive voice. As a series, they unveil the great cross-section of humanity for whom writing on the body serves a totemic purpose, a commitment to memory and meaning.
My plan and progress to date
At this point, I’ve conducted about 50 interviews and published half that number. My plan is to publish about 100 interviews on Instagram before writing a book proposal. Nowadays building a platform goes a long way in convincing a publisher to take a risk with a concept book—especially one that would be expensive to produce for all the color photos required. Followers are considered potential customers.
In the earliest phase of this project, the pieces I wrote were far longer than Instagram allowed. I was including biographical information, the tale of each tattoo the person had, and their philosophy about tattooing. Then I would take a close shot of the tattoo and publish it. As the project has evolved, though, I realized that I was, to borrow a journalist’s phrase, burying the lead. Some interviews were clunky as people rarely speak in complete sentences and I wanted each piece to be written in the first person. And the close-ups of the tattoos struck me as flat. I wanted to see the whole person. So, I started stripping the pieces down to the single most compelling stories told and adding my own words and phrases to achieve flow. I also started using photos that gave the subjects some context. Once done, I shared the pieces with the subjects, disclosing that I had editorialized and inviting them to suggest whatever changes or alterations they would make. This has worked well. I now call the pieces co-creations because the subjects and I are definitely working together in a way that is not straight journalism, nor memoir.
If I have my way, the interviews will be presented just as they appear on the Instagram posts I’ve included at the end of my artist’s statement. I am not intending to write a history of tattoos—that’s been done and done again according to my research. That being said, I have assembled a rather extensive reading list for myself that includes fiction, Melville’s Moby-Dick, Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man and Something Wicked This Way Comes, and Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy, non-fiction, Tattoo History by Steve Gilbert, Queequeg’s Coffin: Indigenous Literacies and Early American Literature by Birgit Brander Rasmussen, Bodies of Subversion: A Secret History of Women and Tattoo by Margot Mifflin, and The King James Bible, among other sources. I also will follow up on the suggestions I received in class; namely, to consider the following:
- Holocaust tattoos.
- Indigenous people’s body art.
- Nautical tattoos.
- The work of Phyllis Wheatley, slave tattoos, and branding as ownership.
- Women using tattooing to reclaim their bodies after mastectomies.
- The body and the way a tattoo writes over it.
- Face tattoos as the last taboo in the United States.
- Maori and Inuit women reviving face tattoos.
- The Facebook Tattoo Revitalization Project
My project has been met with much applause and some scorn. One college friend wrote me an angry email saying he would no longer follow the stories because what I was doing was nothing more than chronicling the banal stories of freaks. And yet he would seem to be in the minority. Tattoos’ popularity is surging. In August of this year, The Wall Street Journal reported that 47 percent of Millenials have at least one tattoo and that the industry raked in $1.6 billion last year. Mine may be the last generation to stigmatize the tattoo—a tradition of disapproval that extends back to the Bible and Genesis 4:15, when God brands Cain as a warning to those who would kill him for his murderous nature: “And the Lord said unto him, ‘Therefore whosoever slayest Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.”
My own attitude of curiosity is markedly like that of Melville. My first exposure to tattoos were those of my uncle, a sailor. I was enchanted by them and by his stories. So when I first encountered Melville’s Queequeg, he fascinated me. A decade before the publication of Moby-Dick, Melville wrote his observations of tattoo artists at work in his memoirs of life aboard a United States Navy frigate. Some shipmates, he writes
Excelled in tattooing or pricking, as it’s called in a man-of-war. Of these prickers, two had long been celebrated, in their way, as consummate masters of the art. Each had a small box full of tools and coloring matter, and they charged so high for their services that at the end of the cruise they were supposed to have cleared upward of $400. They would prick you to order a palm tree, an anchor, a crucifix, a lady, a lion, an eagle or anything else you might want . . . Roman Catholic sailors usually sported a crucifix on the arm in order to be assured of decent burial in consecrated ground in Catholic lands far afield. There was one foretopman who, during the entire cruise, was having an endless cable pricked round and round his waist, so that, when his frock was off, he looked like a capstan with a hawser coiled round about it. This foretopman paid 18 pence per link . . . Besides being on the smart the whole cruise, suffering the effects of his repeated puncturings, he paid very dear for his cable” (Gilbert, 125)
In my literature review, I also learned that the Mystic Seaport Museum has the design book and tattooing instruments of one of the first professional American tattoo artists, C.H. Fellows. Photos of his drawings show his tattoos to be as fine as etchings in some cases. I am excited to see and study his work.
The goal in doing this project is to delve into the mystery that is a person’s psyche. I have great admiration for people so passionate about an idea, so affected by a loved one, or so moved by an experience that they would commemorate it by inking their very bodies. I have never been so moved. But I am moved by their stories because they come close to the bone. They are reflective of some deeply held belief and are told true. And each time I hear a new story, I am reminded of a passage from Moby-Dick: that of Queequeg working on his coffin. Melville writes:
Many spare hours [Queequeg] spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings, and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body. And this tattooing, had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.” (Melville 351)
I don’t kid myself that I will ever solve the riddle of a person, nor fully capture “a wondrous work in one volume,” but I can document the mystery.
Sample posts:
Sarah:
“It’s an order for the milkman written in my mom’s handwriting. My mom passed away from cancer when I was 23. About a year and a half later I fell into a deep depression. I lost my job and was hospitalized. One day when I was feeling really down, I couldn’t focus, so I started flipping through this old notebook I had. I came across the list. My mom always forgot to place the online order for the milkman, so on delivery mornings, she would always grab whatever was closest to write her list and leave it for him. It used to annoy me because she would use MY notebook. But then I discovered this. And now I have this everyday example of her life. Since she passed, I knew I wanted a tattoo in her handwriting, but I didn’t know of what. Once I found this, I got it tattooed right under my heart. On her birthday.” —Sarah Dwyer, daughter, yogi, feminist, writer, “stumbling with intention” #inked #tattooproject@sari_liz_ @the_yoga_nanny_
Kate:
“I had the Celtic cross tattooed after my grandmother passed away in 1995. I had her name, Thelma, added later. When I was in college I went to Stonehill and every Thursday after classes I would drive down to Rhode Island from Stonehill just to sit with her. She would tell stories about how she used to dance and walk everywhere. She was one of the best Italian cooks around. She truly saw people. The ties on the black belt, first degree, look like they’re coming right out of my wrist and that’s the Thai word for “black belt.” The interesting thing about a tattoo is, once you get it, it becomes a part of you. It’s a part of my story, part of who I am. When my brother saw them, he said, “Why did you get an upside down cross?” I said, “I didn’t. They’re not for you, they’re for me.” Growing up, I was told, you can’t get a tattoo. You won’t be able to get a job. You’ll never get a loan from the bank. Now, the loan officers have tattoos.” — Kate McMahon Macinanti, parent, wife, entrepreneur, teacher, school committee member, health and wellness coach, black belt, kick-boxer, compassionate, empathetic, loyal human being. #inked#tattooproject
Robin:
“At the time, I was starting to wonder if maybe it was time for a career change. I found a card from my dad that ended with the line, ‘Trust yourself, your instincts are good. Love, Dad.’ I took it as a sign. It was exactly the kind of boost I needed to be a bit braver and take the leap. I thought if I was going to make such a big change, I should get a tattoo to go with it and remind me of it every day.” — Robin, writer, entrepreneur. #inked#tattooproject
John:
“At 20, I had this weird identity crisis. Something big was missing in my life. Everyone I met had this false idea of who I was. I felt inauthentic. I started my mindfulness journey, and that whole opening up pushed me to consider ways to take care of myself that aren’t really taught in school. One night, I allowed myself to have all the thoughts. There was a bubbling up and a release. It was a liberating, solidifying moment, a revelation. I ended my relationship with my girlfriend. I found out that girls were not for me. I thought, Wow, now I’m really me. I have to take on the world as I really am, the truest expression of myself. The symbols are kanji and together mean, “Great being of light shine down on me and be my friend.” I came across it through my Reiki master journey. The surrounding triangle symbolizes what it is to hold space and what it feels like to give Reiki. Reiki is so complementary to what I’m learning in school: namely, how we, as pharmacists, treat and manage disease. In Reiki, we learn how to heal dis-ease, which really soothes my soul. Reiki allows me to express that part of myself not expressed in the classroom. I see myself becoming this holistic practitioner. Eastern medicine, Western medicine: I’d advise against choosing just one. We have body, mind, and spirit. If we truly want healing, we should have a full pool of the modalities at our disposal. We don’t have to draw a line in the sand.” — John Hoolahan, 6th-year pharmacy student, Reiki master, meditation teacher, “just a facilitator of expansion.” #inked#tattooproject @john_hoolahan@rxeiki
Tabitha:
“My sister and I got the coordinates of Mt. Kilimanjaro tattooed on us. We wanted to have a way to honor this thing we did. When I was younger, there wasn’t space in my life for the career of my heart. I felt this opening in my life coming. I was turning 40, and I wanted to do something hard. At 15,000 feet you basically try to breathe and put one foot in front of the other. To be on the highest point in Africa, at 19,340 feet, — it was a profound experience. It’s an accomplishment akin to having a child. And something happened — a space opened up that allowed me to listen differently. Less than a year later, I started writing my book.” — Tabitha Lord Jorgensen, wife, mother, writer, award-winning author, lover of cats and chocolate. “Not a doctor, but I play one in my books.” #inked #tattooproject
Liam:
“There’s definitely a philosophical influence at work: The circle, Nietzsche, the Übermensch. In the throes of teenage hormones and depression, when you think nothing matters, there’s an opportunity to make something new and better. It’s an opportunity to choose what will matter to you. You can be the best possible version of yourself, the virtuous superman. You can be the person who acts in a way that does not leave you feeling dishonest to yourself or others around you. This, the Darksign, is about my desire not to give in to my own hardship. When you’re faced with an ordeal that feels endless, it is in your best interest to rise to the challenge. It’s about what you can do when you take a curse and turn it into a boon. You have to appreciate the struggle. You have to power through and love the challenges. That is when you learn to love life. This mark is a covenant with myself. You can’t let the final chapter of your story be, `And, then, they gave up.’” — Liam Dougherty, student, educator, vanguard, friend, “endurer and, perhaps, unconquered” #inked#tattooproject
Chapin:
“The first is a ‘lupin’ flower because ‘lupin’ is Luke and Chapin combined. The heart one is what my dad puts at the end of all of his notes. I think Luke and I really became as close as we are after I went to Australia for the year. Not having each other at hand whenever we wanted for an entire year really puts the stupid sibling fights into perspective. So when I got home, we put all those behind us and focused more on being friends. We jam in the car together to whatever music comes on. I pride myself in being one of the first, if not the first, persons he shows new music to, and we lean on each other during the tough times. I think that’s really where our bond stems from. You can enjoy the good times with almost anyone, but it truly takes a sibling to understand exactly where you’re coming from during the bad times. They often know you better than you know yourself.
When I got the tattoo, his immediate reaction was ‘I’m using this in mine.’ Imitation is the highest form of flattery I suppose.” — Chapin, student, sister, daughter “wandering her way through life at the moment” #inked#tattooproject
Rebecca: “Marking the body is an intimate act. I get tattoos as a way to deal with anxiety. When I was a child, I had extreme OCD and was obsessed with counting things in fives. The number 5 calmed me; so I have tattoos of the nautical pennant for five, double-five dominos, five tally marks. I played a parental role in my family from a young age. My father had bipolar disorder. His parenting was anxiety-inducing. I worried about the tenuousness of his happiness. I’d be in the car, in the passenger’s seat, counting the lines on the road, fearing my father would jump out of the car and leave us. I also have a tattoo of the text from the T.S. Eliot poem “Four Quartets”: “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” I got it after my dad passed away. It really is a message to myself that I can carry on even without the most important person in my life; that I can build myself and my identity anew while not changing at the same time.” — Rebecca Millsop, teaching philosopher, artist, partner, sister, animal lover, avid reader, logic puzzle nerd #inked#tattooproject @rebecca_v
Kellie:
“Three of the four tattoos I will have — I have three now — are related to my dad. The next tattoo I get will be of the musical notes that are at the beginning of ‘Harry Potter.’ My daughter, my father and I read the books together. My father died before the last book was published. Before he died, I told him, ‘I will go to your grave and read you the final chapter.’ I did and left the book jacket on his grave. When my sons were born prematurely, my father went to all their doctors’ appointments with me, and when they were diagnosed with autism, he went to all their therapy appointments with me. They weren’t verbal when he died. He said, ‘They’re not going to remember me.’ Maybe through the tattoos and the telling of their stories, I can help them to remember.” — Kellie Mulligan Gaunya, mother, black belt, advocate, runner, yogi, wife, sister, daughter #inked #tattooproject
Tim & Joyce:
Tim on his Fighting Irishman tattoo: “Why did I get it?! Hell, I was 19.”
Mom: “He got it with the wrestling team. They were all getting diseases.”
Tim: “Wait. What? No, it wasn’t the wrestling team. I brought a friend home, so when I told her, she wouldn’t kill me.”
Mom: “I told him, ‘Don’t spend any money on me ever again. Spend your money on getting that removed.’”
Tim: “Look at you. You’re getting upset now. It’s 30 years later.”
Mom: “All those years, I took care of all you guys’ skin, and you go and do that! What if your girls got tattoos?”
Tim: “Well. I’d go through the roof.” — Tim Reilly and his mom, Joyce Reilly fighting Irish #inked#tattooproject
James:
“The girl? She killed someone. I watched this documentary, Penelope Spheeris’ ‘Decline of Western Civilization, Part I,’ about the punk rock scene in California in the ‘80s. I go to Google images, and I look for ‘Decline of Western Civilization’ images, and this girl comes up. This homeless gutter punk. She’s sneaking a beer. I like her. So I’m getting it done, and the artist and I start wondering who this girl is. We both agree we’ll try to find her so we can send her a picture of this thing I’ve done. I found out that the girl in the picture, in my tattoo, was in ‘Decline of Western Civilization, Part III,’ was a featured character, Spoon. Her boyfriend was Squid. And the filmmakers follow them around, Spoon and Squid. When the documentary’s over, you learn that Spoon was arrested for Squid’s murder. She found him cutting another girl’s hair, and she grabs the scissors and, in a jealous rage, she stabs him to death. In ‘98. She got off. It was not long after the whole Lorena Bobbitt thing. I track down the woman who took the picture, Cat Palmer. She tells me, ‘I shot that image at 17. I don’t suppose you know if Spoon’s still alive. People want her dead.’ So, Spoon, this girl, she may possibly be alive and living underground in Washington State. So I’ve got Picasso’s ‘Rape of the Sabine Women’ and Alex from ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and, yeah, a murderer on my arm. How’s that for a story?” — James Ferry, MA, MFA, Ph.D. candidate, fiction writer #tattooproject #inked
Heather:
“Trying to get pregnant was the absolute worst time of my life. I felt as if I had somehow failed as a woman. I felt as though my husband and I were drifting further and further apart from one another when all we wanted was to create something pure and beautiful. We went through seemingly endless rounds of IUI, IVF, and ICSI. When my sanity was at the breaking point from the hardship and the hormones, we finally conceived. My most meaningful tattoo is of the Pleiades, “The Seven Dancing Sisters,” a star constellation. Each star is annotated with a number: 04, 21, 08, 09, 37, 7.3, and 20. They translate into April 21, 2008, 9:37 a.m., 7 pounds, 3 ounces, 20 inches long — all the deets of Livi’s glorious arrival into our lives. When I got the tattoo, I didn’t realize the Pleiades was a star cluster within Taurus, Livi’s zodiac sign. When I found out, I felt comfort in my choice, almost as if her appearance in our lives was meant to be. I painted the Pleiades on the ceiling of her room, directly over her crib, to protect and guide her. It sounds somewhat hokey, but it was where I was at at the time. The Seven Dancing Sisters of Pleiades seemed like the perfect, nurturing totem to place above our miracle child — these seven playful, dancing women shining down on our little one.” — Heather Rigney, writer, author, artist, underwater fire-breather #inked #tattooproject@mermaidslovesushi
