Why I got more ink

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Why I got more ink
December 12, 2010
by RJ Young
The Oklahoma Daily

I get questions all the time about my tattoos. Some of the most frequent are “Does it hurt?” “What do they mean?” and “Why would you do that to yourself?” In light of the most recent addition to my body, I thought I would take this opportunity to answer those questions.

Saturday morning I had five tattoos — four Adinkra symbols and one warrior’s prayer — and sought to acquire another for my own living gallery.

Beyond the realization that whatever you decide to get painfully inked onto your body will be surveyed endlessly by the masses, is the simple fact that you are stuck with it. They will question the meaning and circumstance of any and all art you have on display on your own museum of personal history.

The questioning is wanted at the start; even encouraged by no one other than you. And why not?

Getting a tattoo is self-knowing, self-defining act. It’s a permanent mark on a body that was previously void of language, of symbols and definition.

You are taking up space on your body to showcase a deeper part of you on the most superficial part of your being possible. Your tattoo is a statement of artistic individuality that nothing and no one can take away from you.

And therein lies its power.

Not too long ago, I decided I need at least one more. I chose the title of my favorite poem by William Ernest Henley called “Invictus.”

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

“Invictus” is a poem I memorized my sophomore year of high school — when life really got tough. I have recited many times in the past to remind me of the power of “me” and — more importantly — the power of “we.”

It reminds me of how great and wonderful, courageous and strong we are when we believe we are at our most weak.

After I made up my mind to label myself with the title of a poem — a gesture that will surely lead some questioning my sexuality — I embarked on finding a shop and artist to do the deed.

After careful time and consideration, I decided to have an artist who goes by “E” at Hall of Tattoos in Norman ink the eight-letter Latin word meaning “unconquerable” on my right forearm. “E”— whose given name is Eric McCullough — has been in the ink industry for seven years.

E studied sculpture at OU in 2003, though he told me had always been partial to doodling on himself during class. Three years later, E had clocked over 1,000 hours in the artist chair and qualified for a license in Oklahoma.

Over the past seven years, E has surpassed the 10,000 hour mark and certainly garnered enough experience to put pen to flesh on my melanin-laden skin. Together, E and I picked out a font and the exact size and placement of my tattoo before I sat down in the chair.

Sitting in a chair that is not unlike one that might be seen in a dentist office — with a tray full of needles and things that make menacing noises on its side — is a very awkward place to be. You know that you are paying someone to inflict pain on you for what could be hours, depending on the size and intricacy of the art.

Fortunately for me, E works fast and promised to have me out of the chair inside of 90 minutes. I’m a pansy, so I was happy to hear that.

When E finally started to work, I started to cringe. No matter what anyone else will tell you, the act of getting a tattoo feels about as good as having your nose broken, your shoulder separated or your knee exploded.

Yes, all three have happened to me, and no, I am not kidding.

The hardest part of getting a tattoo is the outlining of the tattoo. It requires a high level of concentration and patience on the part of the artist.

E had to be careful not to draw outside — or inside — the lines of each one of the two-dimensional letters all while listening to me grunt in pain and wince in horror.

The trick for me has always been to concentrate on the reason I wanted my tattoo in the first place. That is another reason why getting a tattoo should mean more to you than it does anyone else.

It’s extremely hard to will yourself through these primal sadistic moments if you think a heart above your hip would look cute on you in a bathing suit. But if you have conviction and purpose, you can draw strength from the pain, as I have.

When the deed was done and E’s electronic pen was capped, I drew solace from seeing my irritated and bloody skin slightly raised on my forearm. That is as it should be.

I had no feelings of regret. I wasn’t torn by my decision.

It was mine and mine alone.

“I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.”