Sitting 11

Date: May 4, 2012
Time: 2.5 Hours
Breaks: 1 (five minutes)
Total Tattooing Time: 38 hours

I had just rolled out of bed and I noticed an 8:45am text from Rubendall: "I have a cancellation at noon today if you want it.  Let me know."

"I left a message at the shop last night," I replied.  "I'm definitely taking it.  Seeya then."

The night before, I had left my phone at home as I traveled to a neighbor's house for a few Manhattans and a rousing game of scrabble (as much as I love Words With Friends, you occasionally gotta roll analog).  So, when I returned home to discover a voicemail from the shop manager, I promptly rang up the shop to confirm the appointment.

When I arrived at the Massapequa location, Rube said, "That was a funny message you left last night - were you out drinkin?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think I'd had that much to drink," I replied.

"Well, ya didn't sound drunk, but you definitely sounded like you were trying to hold it together," he laughed.  "We've all been there.  That's why I texted you this morning to see if you were still feeling up for it."

With a waiting list like Rube's (booked through 2013), there's no way in hell I'm ever turning down an open appointment.

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It was a short session today - all blue fill on the lower back (pictured above and below the waistline of my kimono), all sitting upright in a chair.  This time around, I managed to get comfortable in the chair and I actually found it a lot easier to deal with than lying face-down on a table.  Sometimes the table is fine; other times I just can't get my neck comfortable or the pillow positioned properly or my beard winds up getting mashed into my mouth.  As I've said before, every sitting (or "laying") is different and you never know how well you're going to hold up until that needle punctures the skin.

This session was pretty smooth sailing, presumably because we weren't running over a lot of bone (fortunately, we've already knocked out most of the lumbar/sacral area with the black/grey shading).  What I really love - and what I hope is apparent in the photographs - is the way that the scales are showing through the water.  It's always fascinating to me to see the way color and grey shading interact, creating depth and dimension.

With any luck, we'll be able to finish up the remainder of the blue scales at my next sitting - which includes the claw on my right buttock and the tail on my left - at which point we'll continue on to finish the face and begin the belly-scales in red.

Until then... summer is here, kids.  If you're gonna spend any time in the sun (even just through the window of your car) don't forget to break out the 50-SPF sunblock and protect your investment.

Oh, and in case you're interested in a female perspective on the bodysuit process, my lovely lady recently had her hips/ribs done by Daniel DiMattia of Calypso Tattoo.  She blogged about her process over here.

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[Ed. Note: I realize that this blog entry is almost four weeks overdue.  Admittedly, I scabbed up pretty good and couldn't get a decent photo during the first two weeks, but I promise to stay a little more on top of the process.  But, shit... life is what happens while you're trying to blog.  


Or something like that...]

Sitting 10

Date: April 17, 2012

Time: 3 hours

Breaks: 1 (10 minutes)

Total Tattooing Time: 35.5 hours

We've begun the face!  

While I've caught a few glimpses of it in the mirror, I'm glad to have finally gotten my girlfriend to take a few photos so I can actually see it.  I'm incredibly happy with the shades of blue that we've chosen (and that my body has accepted the pigments*), as well as some of the very subtle greens that Rubendall has added to the whiskers around the face.

The areas around my lats/armpits have gotten exceptionally scabby - as usual - but it fortunately doesn't look like I'm on the verge of dropping any ink.  Once again, a million thanks to my caring girlfriend for diligently lubing up all the hard-to-reach spots on my spine.

This session was at the Bowery location, so we were paid a visit yet again by the very talented photographer, Joe Lucas, who's been documenting a few of my sessions as well as Rube's other clients.  While he doesn't have a website just yet, he told me that all of his tattoo-centric images (along with video interviews with the artists) should be online shortly.  I'll be sure to keep you posted once that launches - I've seen a few of his prints and they're gorgeous.

As you can probably tell from the images, today was a LOT of spinal work which always pushes my sanity to the brink of collapse.  I can't lie: when it came time for a smoke break, I ran up the block to the Spring Lounge to  quickly grab some liquid anesthetic.  The problem was, my hands were shaking so badly from the adrenaline/shock that I spilled half a vodka-tonic in my lap.  Undoubtedly, everyone sitting around me must have thought that I had one brutal, Bukowskian case of the DTs.  All I can say is: thank the gods above for creating the straw.

For the second half of the sitting, we worked on the left side of my ribs and kidneys, which was a walk in the park after all that grinding on my spinal column.  Not a lot of chit-chat during this session, excluding when the shop-manager wanted to talk to me about the latest Camus book he had just finished (I'd like to rub that discussion in the face of anyone who thinks that people who get tattooed are idiots).

Sadly, I didn't take any notes right after the sitting and the last 10 days were a whirlwind that swept my mind clear of any minutiae; I promise, gentle readers, that the next post will be a little richer.

Until then... keep calm and get tattooed!

* - The peony on my right arm (which you can see below) didn't take the blue inks too well on the first pass.  Fortunately, that problem isn't presenting itself with my back.

Overdue...

Pictures and write-up of last week's tattoo session coming soon...

Woof/Healing

Today was another three hours at Kings Ave NYC.

Fortunately, band practice was canceled this evening, so I was able to knock down some calories and cocktails before coming home at a more-than-reasonable hour.  Unfortunately, we hit a lot of the spinal column today which is a difficult place to wash and lubricate when your girlfriend is out and about with a gym-class/cocktails date with one of her girlfriends.

And while I think I worked it out for now (and will undoubtedly ask the Lil Lady to help slather me up when she gets home), this strikes me as a decent time to answer all of these requests I've received about the "healing process."

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Rule #1 of Tattoo Healing: DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOUR TATTOOIST TELLS YOU TO DO.

While Rubendall has done 99% of the work on my body over the last several years, I still adhere to the basic tenants of his healing process: Light layer of ointment (preferably Aquaphor) 2-3 times a day for a week, then hypo-allergenic lotion twice a day for the week after.  No direct sunlight, no hot water, no fragrances, no abrasives.  Seems simple enough, right?  Let the shit HEAL.  Don't smother it, don't pick at it, rub it, scratch it and for fucks safe take your loofa out of the shower for a week or two.

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Rule #2 of Tattoo Healing: IF YOU'RE HEAVILY TATTOOED, YOU KNOW YOUR OWN BODY.

I cannot tell a lie, I break Rube's rules.  I use Aquaphor for the first week and then only apply it to shit that is really scabby for the following week.  After the first seven days, I will use lotion maybe once a day on the other parts - but only when necessary - because my skin is fairly accepting of tattoos.  Sure, I bruise very easily, but no amount of moisturizer is going to help you out of that.

Just keep your eyes open and be attentive to this VERY EXPENSIVE INJURY on your body.

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Rule #3 of Tattoo Healing: DON'T BE AFRAID TO TRY NEW TECHNIQUES (PROVIDED THAT YOU'RE TOTALLY WILLING TO FUCK UP YOUR INVESTMENT).

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Rule #4 of Tattoo Healing: SEE RULE #1.

Sittings 8 and 9

Tick-tock, tick-tock / Christ, I hate that fucking clock

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Date: March 20, 2012

Time: 2 hours

Breaks: 1 (5 minutes)

Total Tattooing Time: 28.5 hours

Date: March 23, 2012

Time: 4 hours

Breaks: 2 (10 minutes)

Total Tattooing Time: 32.5 hours

Last week is what I will call a "triple," what with a single session on Tuesday in the Bowery and a double-session in Massapequa on Friday - barely any time to heal between sessions but, fortunately, we're covering a lot of acreage so it's not quite like we're running the machine over tender areas.

The color has begun, about which I am thrilled - the blues that Rube has chosen are utterly electric, as are my nerve-endings every time he runs the 5-mag over my spinal column.

The "Fruity Pebbles" phase has begun (in which I leave stains and multi-colored scabs all over our sheets each morning - "part of this nutritious breakfast"), about which I am ready to cash in several Bed, Bath & Beyond gift-cards for new linens.

Tuesday hit everything below the dragon's face, which rattled my kidneys something fierce.  On an ideal day, I would have milled about the apartment in my kimono while casually partaking in coffee, cigarettes, bacon and eggs before heading over to Bowery.  This day, however, called for two auditions before my sitting (and one afterwards) which, when combined with my mild hangover and scarfing down two hot dogs on an NYC street-corner just before my sitting... 

Yeah... you do the math.  I wasn't feeling awesome, but I didn't expel anything offensive.

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Friday brought me back to the Massapequa location and we started with me - upright in a chair - facing the rear wall of Rube's booth.

Tick-tock, tick-tock / Christ, I hate that fucking clock

It's one thing when I'm lying face-down on the table, but when I'm straddling that chair, I'm staring right at the clock on Rube's wall.

Tick.  Tock.

It's like staring at the clock during history class in high school on the day before summer vacation.  First, the clock gets loud.  Then, it slows down.  Finally, it starts moving backwards.

Eventually, I was face-down on the table again for a few hours but, after a few hours, things started getting rough.

Rube, I think I'm hitting the wall, man.

"Don't worry, we only got another 15 minutes."

If you're a heterosexual male, this is the equivalent of a woman telling you "don't come yet, I'm almost there."

I'm now thinking about time... 

How much more can I handle?

How many drags can I take on this eCigarette?

How many songs have rolled by on the iPod?  After all, your average song is four minutes, which puts me at 3.75 songs before I can call it quits....

Frankly, I'd rather NOT know.  Let me keep fighting the good fight and hit me with the green soap when we're done.

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A bunch of you readers have been asking me about healing & care (which I've addressed briefly in the past), but I promise that I'll get around to it before my next sitting.  

Thanks to all of you for following me on this journey, feel free to send money for Aquaphor and don't forget to follow me on twitter.

Quick Pic - Tha Blues

We did two sessions this week (a total of six hours) and began the color.  I'm ecstatic about how electric these blues have turned out.  Full post once the bruising goes down and I can get the lil lady to take a better pic...

Sitting 7 - Background COMPLETE

Date: March 8, 2012
Tattooing Time: 4.5 hours
Breaks: 2 (25 minutes)
Total Tattooing Time: 26.5 hours

Right after we finished up the lower-spine (right above the crack in all of its unforgiving, spinal-column brutality), Rube gave me a smoke break while the crew dragged out a table to replace the chair I had been A.C. Slatering.  When I came back in, I dropped trou and laid on the table awaiting what I knew was the final work on the wind-bars and waves around my ass and all of it's next-door neighbors.

Just as soon as he starts shaving my ass-crack (after all, my lineage is Scots/Lebanese/Hungarian/Russian), a Sade record rolls over on the in-house stereo.

"OH, SHIT," Rube yells as he uses his elbow to hit the volume knob in his workstation.  "Did I ever tell you about the time I saw Sade on tour?"

Which he proceeded to do, at length, as I listened patiently.

After the following three minutes of silence, he looked at me in the mirror on the wall and said, "Fuck... this is gonna go on the blog, isn't it?"

Yeah, dude... this is my lede.


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I've already said time and time again in this blog that my actual (butt) cheeks don't hurt very much when hit with the machine.  This day, however, Rube really got in there right in the crack to fill in all of the waves and background.

I don't quite care if you have a butterfly or a pair of lipstick-prints or your baby-daddy's name on your cheek, but when an artist is actually getting into your CRACK to make you look cohesive when you're standing upright...?  Well, that's a different sensation all together.  While the hand-mirror proves to me that he was quite far away from my trash-chute, I could have sworn at the time that his machine was on a direct mission to eradicate the hemorrhoids that I've been suffering in my advancing age.

Not fun in the least, but I jokingly thanked him that he had decided to do all the waves splashing out of my ass-crack so we wouldn't have to go back in there for color.

"Old trick of the trade," Rube joked.

It also occurred to me that - many years ago - Rube used a footswitch for his machine.  Now, no longer.  Obviously, I had to ask why.

He explained that the slight elevation of his foot was taking a major toll on his lower back and - if he could stop the machine expertly with his hand - why wouldn't he eliminate the pedal?

Unorthodox, perhaps... Or maybe just a man who knows his tools.  After all, I've seen my father do shit with a table-saw that yields beautiful results, despite risking life, limb and an OSHA lawsuit.

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I can't possibly begin to explain how excited I am that the "background" is done.  No more black.  No more grey.  Well, that's the theory, anyway...

But the important part is that we now start with color.  Colors that neither of us have really discussed in much detail since I proposed this project, much less when we literally began it.

I worked as a graphic designer for many years (and this economy finds me back in that line of work).  I always hated the term "pop."  Clients or art-directors would always say, "Can you make it pop more?"

Well... my backpiece is about to do just that.  And I'm fucking amped.

Talk to you kids soon...