The day I got inked at AKA Berlin.
Right after arriving in the city, I biked straight to the parlor where I’d set an appointment with amazing tattooer Super Timor of Belgrade.
It was a four-hour ideal with one five-minute break in the middle. Even as my arm throbbed like a second degree sunburn, we conversed the whole time. We talked about our homes and histories, and our art and aspirations.
I’m pleased with the result and am glad to be a walking, talking canvas for one talented individual’s work. I think that’s what’s amazing about tattoo art – it lives on in the recipient, in his friends, family, and future family. If the tattoo bearer is a traveler, then it reaches whatever city the ticket takes him.
Lastly, having tattoo means a more frequent asking of the question, “well, what does it mean?” Witnesses are almost always curious of purpose and intention. And if we, as humans, were also designed on this giant skin patch called the earth, what do we say when we’re asked for our meaning? When I’ve gone, I leave some sort of mark, small or vast depending on what I do, I wonder then… What would all that mean?