Scars Beneath the Skin: An Ancient to Modern Day Art Form
Written by Alyana Sabb
“If they only knew the girl with the tattoo, like I do.”
Miguel enchants us with this line, planting the seed of an image of a girl with a tattoo. Suddenly, we want to know more about her, as does he. What does she look like? What is her name? And most importantly, what is this tattoo that makes her such a standout? What experiences inspired her story?
Well, that girl is me and she could be you too. There’s a shroud of mystery surrounding this persona. A pretty girl that beckons you closer. An innocent look in her eyes, a smile on her face. That itself would leave a mark so permanent on your soul, like the tattoo ink etched deep in her skin.
In his song, Miguel leaves us with a warning: as we do what we need to do to get where we need to go, be careful not to completely lose ourselves. We know life is a journey of crazy twists and turns, highs and lows, lessons and blessings. Along this path we experience many deaths and rebirths, shedding the skin of our past selves so that a new version can emerge. Transformation of this magnitude can be so grandiose that when we look in the mirror we don’t immediately recognize the person we see. This isn’t always a bad thing.
The ink of my tattoos go beyond the surface. As I shed my old skin, their images are still imprinted. These tattoos are a roadmap of my journey so far. I can follow each depiction back to the start, recalling each moment that birthed its inception, so that I don’t forget who I have been no matter how far I’ve traveled from who I used to be.
One of my most prominent tattoos, the one that gets the most stares and questions, is my blackout piece on the upper half of my right arm. The initial intention was not to have a blackout, but an image of a young woman with a printed turban wrap giving you a snarled look. She was to be an addition to an already growing sleeve, an extension of my red ink guardian dragon that kisses my neck, lays across my shoulder with its spiked tail hanging down my arm. The message was clear: don’t fuck with me, I am divinely protected.
At that phase in my life, I felt like I was healing from experiences in which I had been taken advantage of emotionally, professionally and spiritually. I was mentally fragile but began taking the necessary steps to provide a safer environment for myself in my physical spaces and relationships. Ironically, however, in the moment of me getting this tattoo I did not speak up. The artist was quite stubborn in his own vision of how he wanted the tattoo design to be executed. He wanted to practice his black and gray realism skills, while I simply wanted an outline piece. This clash in vision should have been my first red flag, but alas I allowed him to proceed.
It was painful. Shading, wiping, rough hands on my delicate skin. Not much consideration from the tattooer that this would be a mark on my body forever. In the end, what I was left with was a shadowed image of a girl with a contorted face and random background abstract circles. This exact situation gives all the naysayers ammo to continue with their stipulations that tattoos are a negative thing. Here I was, with a large, darkly inked piece screaming “Hey, Look at me”, that I ultimately hated. Every tattoo lover's worst nightmare.
Despite this, I knew I was not alone in my artistic plight. In fact, according to a study done in the U.K., at least 1 in 3 people regret getting one of their tattoos.
Still, researchers in the same study found that not even half of those who did have tattoo regret would get it removed. I could resonate. Despite this not being the execution of the tattoo I had in my mind and saw in the artist’s initial drawing, I did not get it lasered off as many people suggested I do. First, I tried to get it covered up thinking it can be turned into an abstract piece. I even added a spider and its web, which symbolizes patience and persistence as the spider spins its web and waits to catch its prey. I was determined to make this piece into something I could love.
When the cover ups did not work out, I did research on alternative ways people covered tattoos that they did not like. That is when I first considered the idea of getting a black out. While deemed controversial, especially when seen on non-black individuals due to the hypocrisy it seemingly delegates, the idea that I could create a blank canvas for future designs was appealing to me. Many hours, bouts of pain, and a few hundred dollars later, the birth of my new statement piece came into fruition.
From far away you see the smooth vastness of the black ink complimented by the garden of flowers in negative space on the back side of my arm. It blankets over my spider web (to be placed elsewhere) and glides around my dragon who still serves as protection over my body and energy. When you come closer, however, you can still see the scars of the previous imagery. The flower petals and stems, the curves of a headwrap, the outline of the continent of Africa, the almond shape of the girl’s eyes, the lift of her lip.
My tattoos aren’t the only ones that have history on them. In fact, tattoos have been appearing on bodies for many centuries. A prime example of this is Otzi the Iceman. This mummy was found 5,500 years ago, frozen near the Italian-Australian border adorned in ink. A man from another era, Otzi lived during the Copper Age and was preserved naturally in the ice until hikers accidentally found his body, along with clothing and equipment in 1991. Drawn across his body appeared 61 tattoos, including some on his left wrist, lower legs, lower back (tramp stamp???) and torso. They were made by a needle piercing the skin, and then rubbing charcoal into the wounds. Though much research has been done on Otzi, a lingering question I have is what do his tattoos represent for him and his culture?
Much like me, there are many reasons why people get tattoos. According to the Pew Research Center, 32% of Americans have at least 1 tattoo, 69% of people got tattooed to honor or remember something/someone, 47% got a tattoo to make a statement about their beliefs, and 32% got inked to improve their personal appearance.
Though tattoos have a complicated history in America, many cultures see tattoos as symbols of purity. They can be a societal rite of passage or represent a religious ritual. In some cultures, it may be the only way to be considered beautiful. The Ancient Egyptians for example, who were initially given the credit of being one of the earliest pioneers of the artistry of tattooing, adorned their bodies with intricate tattoos symbolizing their devotion to gods and goddesses. Indigenous tribes such as the Maasai people in East Africa also adorn their bodies with intricate patterns that pay homage to their age, social status, and bravery. It serves as a visual language that shares important information about the individual throughout the village.
Polynesians practice the art of tattooing as a means of storytelling, to preserve their culture through the elaborate designs in their skin. The Pacific Islands, such as Samoa and Fiji, ink bold and symmetrical designs to reflect strength, courage, and social standing of the wearer. They are traditionally given using a hand tapping technique, making each piece a unique work of art and requires immense skill. In fact, I have been asked if I was of Samaon descent because of my blackout tattoo, marking this significant connection between certain cultures and tattoos.
Some of my tattoos are meaningful, having familial or spiritual connections. Others serve as an ode to past regrets - a reflection of my desire to be more mindful with my body and how I adorn it, but also to stand as a reminder that I can create art from my mistakes.
And some are there just because I like them. No shame.
My blackout tattoo is everything, and nothing at all. It is symbolic to a part of myself that I don’t resonate with anymore, but still honor and mourn. It is a blank canvas that I soon will add to in a different phase of my life as my story continues to unfold. So though this tattoo was initially a regret, it has metamorphosed into a space where I can connect with others through storytelling. Where I can tell myself sometimes it is necessary to start over.
Miguel expressed his wish that others could know the girl with the tattoo as he does, because if they did they would know the truth behind her magic. He encouraged her to share her story authentically and often, no matter where she was on her journey. These tattoos on my body are one of the ways I tell my story without having to speak. They are a method of self expression, a way for me to connect to my ancestors who also saw this ancient art practice as spiritual and pure. It is a way for me to walk my path and collect memos that pay homage to my growth. No matter how you feel about tattoos, know that how you adorn your body is your choice entirely. Though I didn’t speak up at the moment of getting the piece that lay underneath my blackout, it was a lesson that taught me to not be afraid to advocate for myself.
What do your tattoos represent about you?
