TELLING STORIES

Tattoo artists and studios were illegal in the state of Oklahoma until 2006. People who wanted safe and legit tattoos went on road trips to the surrounding states to get their permanent ink art. Christian conservative values taught me that tattoos were ‘bad’ or ‘trashy’. It was for sure not a lady like thing to have done to yourself. A tattoo on a female was the same as a short skirt. It labelled you as ‘easy’ or ‘asking for it’. Of course, this didn’t keep me from wanting one or thinking that tattoos were super cool. It just meant my body wouldn’t be seeing one until I was no longer a dependent. Even then, it took me several years of living on my own (with Chris) before I felt brave enough for my first tattoo.

Every tattoo on my body tells you a story of the person I was in that time. At first, I didn’t see it. I sort of discovered the stories of the old tattoos while writing about the new one. A tribal elephant on my ankle tells you a story of an impulsive moment in Vegas, a woman who was discovering her wild side. My Ganesh on my back tells you a story of removing obstacles and moving into a better way of living. The words on my arm are part of my story of managing my way through sewer backups, caring for a dying husband, and then really hard stuff that comes when someone dies like getting the right size coffee can to contain their ashes. “Je suis forte.” It’s the moral of my story, a cross stitch to hang on my body as a constant reminder that if I can do that, I can do anything.

So what story does this new bit of art on my body tell?

It kind of tells the story of my past.

For the first thirty four years of my life, I lived in Oklahoma. I was born there and just like every kid growing up in the rural school system, I know the song from the musical by heart as well as the B.C Clark Jewelry jingle. I know the places they show us on Reservation Dogs. We had a nesting pair of scissor tail flycatchers living in a tree where I grew up. We saw them every year. I pulled wildflowers from the pasture. I collected native plants during my Oklahoma Taxonomy of Vascular Plants course in undergrad. The Indian Paintbrush is my nod to my Oklahoma roots. There are people and places there that I will always love even though for years Chris and I talked of moving from that state. Without Oklahoma I would not have a claim to Chris. We would not have met. His initials are part of the vintage camera in the tattoo. He bought me the first camera and saw a potential in me that I did not see and sometimes still struggle to see. The camera in this tattoo tells a story of who I’ve become; it’s me. I’m the camera.

I have always been the camera.

Later on in the evening after I got the tattoo, Michael was carefully inspecting my arm. I asked even though it was too late “It doesn’t bother you that I have Chris’s initials carved into my arm?” He was adamant in his reply. He said that this tattoo is a work of art with the native Oklahoma flower and the camera. He said “Oh, no. I’m not bothered at all. I don’t belong in that tattoo.” And he’s right. This tattoo is not part of our story and who knows, maybe someday I’ll get a tattoo that tells a story of us. Though for now, this tattoo story feels like an ending.

It feels like enough.

Special thanks to Eric at Fountain City Tattoos for taking my clipart idea and turning into something magnificent.

THIS AND THAT

Over the weekend, I had a consultation with an artist regarding my next tattoo. It has been scheduled for August and I am very excited to see what he comes up with based off all the stuff we talked about. It will be a camera and it will include Chris’s initials somewhere on the camera. That is all I can tell you. He asked me why I was choosing this particular design and I told him that I have my first photography showing coming up in September, something that every time I think about makes me want to vomit. As an artist who puts his art onto peoples bodies every day, he completely understood the vomit reaction. He’s used to working on a much shorter time frame. So I surprised him with all my planning and pushing the tattoo date to August. I’ve been sitting on this idea for over eight years. Two and half months is nothing.

But, all of this got me thinking about what I need to do to get ready for the show and I started breathing high up in my chest. I told Michael that I am not ready and he said we have time to get you ready. Then I gave him a specific task: find me space to flatten out the prints I ordered so they can be framed. He decided that his work bench in the basement would be a great space for this and immediately got to work cleaning it off. He also told me that giving him this task was very helpful because he cannot read my mind. Also, I never ask help. So he will complete this task and then sit around until I give him the next task. This turned out to be a good communication moment for us, which brings me to my next thing. It is June and since I will be out of town all week, we decided to do thing we do every year in June since we met. Every June, we make a conscious effort to have dinner at Bella Napoli’s, the scene of our first encounter. After work this evening, I will pedal my bike to Bella’s and meet Michael and the Cabbage there for half price pizza.

We are romantics.

Ten years is weird.

I have had two people in as many weeks ask me if Michael and I have gotten married. The answer is no. We have not gotten married and will not be doing so in forceable future. At least not until Michael manages to whittle my ‘hard nos’ down to a ‘fine, whatever’. He’s too busy with his education and school things to do much whittling. We can verbally renew a five year contract, though that may not happen until December. The contract renewal requires a Tiffany’s. Usually, any ole’ Tiffany’s store would do, but I really really want to go to the newly remodeled Tiffany’s in New York. The contract can sit it out in limbo for the next few month. This works very well for us and this relationship, but ten years does feel…strange. Yet, here we are still tolerating each other. Saturday, we took our growing collection of cardboard boxes and opened them up. We laid them out flat in an 18 x 10 rectangle and pinned them to the ground. The idea is that it will kill the grass and make it easier to dig out a spot for us to pour or own concrete pad. Some day we’ll put a shed on that pad. In the meantime, I keep referring to the cardboard space as my patio or (break) dance floor.

While a cardboard patio (of break dancing floor) is temporary, it is the beginning of something more permanent. I think this sums up our relationship nicely.