8 • SKIN DEEP MAGAZINE
THE WOMAN IN THE WOODSW
hilst getting my latest tat-
too last month, there was a
debate going on in the room
amongst artists—about
whether the art of tattooing means the same
thing when it takes place outside of the tradi-
tional tattoo shop environment.
The chat specifically was about tattooers
travelling to others countries but rather than
securing a ‘guest spot’ at a reputable shop,
some opt to tattoo customers from the likes
of Airbnb apartments, where essentially they
can get on with the work solo, pocket 100%
of the cash (avoiding paying a cut to a shop
owner), and still get to write on their port-
folio that they’ve ‘worked abroad’. I’d never
heard about this before, but apparently it’s
a thing now (six months on maternity leave
and I’m just so out of the game).
Anyway, the conversation that ensued
amongst friends was around the fact that
such a private experience potentially robs so
much—from the customer, from the tattoo-
ist, and from the industry itself. Now I’m not
going to overtly wax lyrical about the poten-
tial issues with not working or receive a tat-
too at licensed premises, as I’m actually not
sure what the ins and outs are with regards to
tattooing laws in different countries... how-
ever the real question that arises is—does an
off-the-grid tattoo encounter behind closed
doors hold the same value as one which takes
place in a busy shop?
I’m sure for many tattooists and custom-
ers the answer is yes. I’ve been to some ab-
solutely gorgeous licensed private studios
which, for some, offer a level of security
and comfort, say, if you’re getting a tattoo
in an intimate area. But for me personally,
there’s something about getting a tattoo in
a bustling studio that makes the experience
what it is. I’ve been tattooed once before in
an unexpectedly empty shop with just my-
self and the artist present and it was eerily
quiet. The sound of other machines buzzing,
the chattering of philosophical debates like
these, the sense of community—when I look
back on that session for myself, it was very
much missing.
Don’t get me wrong, the one-on-one con-nection that you make with your artist whilst
getting tattooed is equally magical. There’s
something awesome about you both burying
yourselves in that tattoo whilst you geek out
about the subject matter, off-load personal
shit, or whatever.
But the thought of a world in which the
tattoo shop has disappeared gives me goose-
bumps. From day one, for many, tattoo-
ing has stood for (not necessarily standing
AWAY from others, but) standing together
WITH others... working stuff out in our own
little universe together as one shared com-
munity—one that can only survive if artists
can publicly share ideas and experiences, and
if shop owners get a cut to pay their bills.
The tattoo I got that day, whilst we all nat-
tered on about what tattooing meant to us,
was the first day I’d had to myself as a new
mum. Finally getting out of the house was
liberating, and sitting for two hours whilst I
talked to five or six human beings about what
I’d been up to and what I’d been through, was
the medicine I needed. Sometimes when we
get a tattoo, it’s not just to get the tattoo—of-
ten we need chew the fat together, put the
world to rights, bounce off each other crea-
tively and emotionally, re-find our own spe-
cial place within the tribe. REBECCA GIVENSMike LoveCould tattooing exist outside of the modern-day studio?
DOES AN OFF-THE-GRID TATTOO
ENCOUNTER HOLD THE SAME
VALUE AS ONE WHICH TAKES
PLACE IN A BUSY SHOP?