By Matt Slavick ’06

Chuck flips a switch and loud buzzing fills my ears, though not enough to drown out the heavy metal music blaring over the speakers. Various works of art and concert fliers for obscure rock bands plaster the walls in the small room.

“You ready?” he asks, his hand poised a few inches above my left shoulder.

I thought I was ready. I had been prepared to say something cool, something like “Let’s do it” or “Bring it on” when the moment came. But then I glance at Chuck’s arms, exposed under his black, short-sleeved t-shirt. I study the colors and intrinsic designs that completely cover both appendages, peeking below his sleeves and continuing on down to the knuckles. I marvel at the time and money spent in creating such vibrant pictures. I look down at my own pasty, completely blank arm and the hand that grips the used dentist’s chair and suddenly I don’t feel so cool.

“Yeah,” I mutter feebly. Chuck presses the needle into my shoulder and the first drops of black ink that will rest in my skin for all time begin to flow. I am getting my first tattoo.

The history of tattooing is a long one, extending back to ancient Egypt. They became popular in the United States during World War II when Navy men in the Pacific saw the tribal designs of the native people there. A tattoo soon became a badge of honor among those who received them but were culturally taboo with the general population. To visit a tattoo parlor in the mid-20th century was to visit the seedier, dirtier side of the tracks.

Today’s attitudes have changed dramatically, however, as tattoos have segued neatly into the middle class mainstream. The image of the sailor with anchors and mermaids or the biker with skulls and bones at some point passed from unmentionable to iconic to cliché. They seem to be as common as pierced ears and it is nearly impossible to walk across the Shippensburg campus without spotting one during the warm days of the fall and spring semesters—a tribal design on the small of a girl’s back, a band around a guy’s bicep, a shock of color on someone’s leg.

Tattoos mean something. They are a visual representation of what a person wishes to project to the rest of the world—very rarely will someone get a tattoo that means nothing just because they felt like it. I talked to many students and almost all of them told me they spent a good amount of time deciding exactly what kind of tattoo they wanted and where on their body they wanted it.

Kristyn Varner, a senior English major, has a rose with Japanese characters on her right hip and a tribal design on her lower back. She designed both of them herself to commemorate a year she spent in Japan and a visit to a friend in Georgia. Making her own designs was important for her to maintain a sense of uniqueness.

“Most people go into the tattoo place and they have catalogues of different people’s tattoos and pictures of other tattoos [the artists have] done and just pick one that they want,” she says. “I think it’s ridiculous because then you have the same thing permanently on your body as God knows how many other people.

She chose those particular parts of her body because “I wanted to get them in places where I can cover them up if I wanted to. I made sure I got them in places where stretch marks won’t affect them if I have kids. They won’t be showing when I’m old because I won’t be wearing bikinis anymore.”

Others I spoke with also mentioned the desire to place them where they will be easily concealed. As accepting as our culture seems to be, there are still stigmas attached to the art, especially when someone is very obviously tattooed.

Rebecca Lee has almost completed a “full sleeve” on her right arm. The designs all have personal significance for her. Keri Leaman has three tattoos denoting her interest in history like Stonehenge depicted below.

Junior art major Rebecca Lee strolls through the doorway of the Market Cross Pub and Brewery in Shippensburg and finds me at the bar, waiting. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, breathing heavy as if she hurried to get here. She’s actually a few minutes early.

While no one would give her right arm a second thought in a large, bustling city, it stands out in this central Pennsylvania town and I notice it immediately. Up and down are colorful pieces of artwork and of course I stare and wonder what the meaning is behind all of them, but she’s used to the reaction and doesn’t seem to mind. It’s a hot July afternoon and she orders a lager before sitting down. As she turns her head away for a moment to reach into her purse, I see underneath her tank top a large, beautiful expanse of angel’s wings drawn across her back and shoulders just below the neck with the word “Mercy” written over them.

“I’m not a hardened person,” says the former athlete and high school homecoming queen fifteen minutes later, lighting a cigarette, “but that’s what people perceive me to be. They think I’m dealing drugs or something. It’s just me. It’s an outward expression of my life because each [tattoo] has a story.”

And they do. The Virgin Mary, the spider web, Dr. Seuss’s Red Fish, Blue Fish—they all mean something to her and she’s not shy about telling me. She touches upon the significance of some of them, the emotions they evoke in her. They seem to be totally private thoughts. Is she this candid with everyone or only because I am interviewing her? The only tattoo she doesn’t like and is embarrassed about is the butterfly on her hip she got at sixteen years old.

Rebecca dislikes the tattoos college-aged women are getting on the small of their backs, believing they are mostly used as a type of sexual calling card. She has spent a great deal of money getting hers done—around $2,600 over seven years.

Ironically, her mother works at a plastic surgeon’s office removing other people’s now unwanted tattoos. She shrugs when I laugh at this and tells me how, upon seeing the angel wings spread across her back for the first time, mom dropped a box of glasses and they shattered across the floor.

Her goal is to have what is known as a “full sleeve”—an arm completely covered in ink. “Sometimes I look at old pictures of me and wonder what my arm would be like now with just my skin. Or I’ll wake up in the morning and wonder, ‘What have I done?’ But that’s rare.”

She understands the consequences of her decision to have artwork done below a shirt sleeve, uncovered and bare for all the world to see. Her prospects of any type corporate job are shot down almost immediately because extensive tattooing still makes others uncomfortable in this new millennium. But Rebecca has no desire for a life in that world—she’s an artist, after all.

Kylee Trotter paid $365 for a design representing his favorite band, AFI. Below: Kristyn Varner is proud of her tribal design she created for on her lower back.

“I f***ing hate butterflies,” Chuck growls. “That’s all girls want are butterflies.” He dabs at my arm with a paper towel to wipe off the excess ink and continues tracing the stenciled letters with the needle. Chuck, Jack Black’s long-lost twin brother, has been tattooing for almost a decade and is now employed with Permanent Impressions in Lemoyne, Pa.

An artist learns the trade as an apprentice, studying under someone already established in the business. There are no schools to attend or degrees offered and competition within the community is surprisingly fierce. Parlor owners are very territorial and would rather watch their rivals fail than support each other to help break common misperceptions that still exist. Several states continue to outlaw tattooing and parlor owners across the borders in neighboring states like to keep it that way.

The idea of tattoo parlors conjures up a certain image to those unfamiliar with them, of renegades and outlaws partaking in general debauchery. That is hardly the truth anymore, though some are not as clean as others. Pennsylvania has no legislation regarding the health and safety of tattoo customers, something else that pisses off Chuck.

“We’ve actually had legislators come in and discuss this with us,” he says. “We want there to be laws. Some of these places don’t care at all about their customers. It’s not safe.”

Indeed, although still rough around the edges, Permanent Impressions gives off a clean vibe. The building is cleaned with the same disinfectant used in hospitals. Before beginning his work, Chuck puts on a pair of latex gloves and shaves the hair off the spot on my arm that will be worked on. After laying the stencil and confirming that it’s how I want, he pulls the cover off a brand new needle and goes to work. The needle is tossed after one use. He then applies a heaping of Tattoo Goo, a healing salve, to the artwork, slaps a gauze pad over it, and tells me not to remove it for a few hours and definitely not to scratch it if it starts itching.
The procedure lasted about fifteen minutes and was relatively painless because of the fleshiness of my shoulder. Sixty dollars later, I can’t help but feel a bit under-whelmed, though I’m sure one tiny word on someone’s arm does not thrill Chuck either.

The colorful art on Josh Shaugh-nessy’s arm is just the beginning for him. He has about $1,000 invested in his tattoos. Chris Sawyer’s TKE tattoo is an example of a common trend to show loyalty to a group.

Detailed drawings, however, are measured in hours and hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars. Andrew Capuano, a third-year transfer student and offensive lineman for the Red Raiders, can attest to that. Walking across campus, the six-two, 325-pound Andrew cuts a hulking and intimidating figure, especially when wearing a Carmelo Anthony basketball jersey that exposes many of his eleven tattoos. In all, he’s spent over $2,000 through the years beginning with the first one—his nickname, Cap— across his stomach. Others include a grim reaper figure holding a football, two tribal designs, and, in honor of his Catholic faith, religious symbols such as the Virgin Mary and a crucifix with praying hands.

“It’s actually a pretty good deal,” he says, referring to the cost. “I go to the same guy in New York City and refer all of my friends to him and he gives me discounts.”

Some students prefer to show their interests or beliefs more subtly and less expensively. Keri Leaman, a second semester grad student pursuing a master’s in history, has three small, simple tattoos reflecting her interest in the subject: Kokopelli, a mythical Hopi Indian figure, a Stonehenge depiction, and a tribal figure featuring an eagle. All three cost $75 or less.

The more elaborate the drawing, the more expensive. Freshman Kylee Trotter paid $365 for a design representing his favorite band, AFI, on his back right shoulder. He plans to get at least one more.

Josh Shaughnessy, a sophomore, has four tattoos ranging from $150 to $500 each, including an infinity symbol, a dove with clouds and roses, and a severed hand bound in rope. His eventual goal is to get two full sleeves. He also wants both legs covered and a full chest and back piece.

All of this work will cost close to $10,000 or more when finished.

The tattoo is misunderstood. It straddles the definitions of individual and group culture: receiving one is a particularized act and yet is also catalogued as a membership to a special club, either to what the drawing represents or the tattoo community in general. The students I spoke with on campus all mentioned the desire to commemorate an event or time or person in their lives.

Why show the rest of the world something that has meaning only to you? In an age of 24-hour news stations, a never-ending supply of reality television shows, and an incredible penchant for seeking their fifteen minutes of fame, Americans seem to have cornered the market on making everything that was once private into public acts of attention. Whereas the ’80s were known as the “Me” decade, the beginning of the 21st century must be the “See Me” years. So it’s not surprising when it seems that the extent of tattooing and other forms of body modification have reached higher levels today than in the past.

But it’s unfair to say that attention seeking is the main reason for it. Permanent marking of the body has existed for millennia, mostly to symbolize a rite of passage within indigenous cultures and to connect them with that particular group of people. Recent psychological studies of tattooing in today’s societies have found similar motives between the present and the past.

The tattoo is one of the last physical rites of passage in our modern society. Many college fraternities require their Greek letters tattooed in order to show loyalty. Withstanding the pain is also a part of the process and symbolizes a transition from an individual to a group entity through a type of machismo. Some get inked in honor of their religious belongings or other group demarcation and thus completing their own form of initiation.

The other reasons people do it are to represent an important event in their lives such as the birth or death of a loved one, a certain stage of life, or simply to symbolize their own personal beliefs.

Offensive lineman Andrew Capuano has 11 tattoos including several that honor his Catholic faith like the one above. Fire Dance, a fairy by artist Amy Brown, was Meredith Davis' choice for a tattoo. She plans on getting an water fairy on her other arm.

Tattooing one’s self, even to represent membership to a certain group, also marks a clear separation from the rest of society, a process that Carl Jung called individuation. I had the word “faith” tattooed on my upper left arm in an Old English font and immediately recognized the trouble of separating my individual identity with what society expects of me. The word means something privately and it is difficult to explain that meaning to others. It’s a painful reminder of a point in my life that I wish to forget and remember at the same time—to have faith in myself no matter what problems may lay in front of me. That explanation inevitably brings about a rolling of the eyes and sometimes laughter to those who don’t understand and I usually don’t say it anymore.

A friend of mine has a similar problem. Her tattoo is in honor of her mother surviving chemotherapy but she doesn’t like to reveal that difficult time to others, so the explanation she normally gives is actually made-up. This is a paradox amongst those who choose to invite the public to a sneak peek at their private selves and others are more comfortable with this type of full disclosure.

Josh Shaughnessy is happy to oblige others’ curiosity. “Sometimes I get strange looks from strangers, but I always try to explain the how and why of my tattoos so the next time they see someone with a tattoo, they won’t automatically judge him or her.”

At times, one feels the need to defend their choice of tattoo. “Some people thought I was foolish to get a band tattoo,” says Kylee Trotter, “but they didn’t know my reason behind it. I got it because they are and forever will be my favorite band. Their lyrics mean so much to me, and I love everything about each one of their songs.”

Comfortable or uncomfortable as someone may be in explaining their motive, modifying the body is inherently personal as each individual chooses how they wish to represent themselves for society’s judgment.

“Well, now you know everything about me and I know nothing about you. What’s your life story?”

Rebecca looks at me, cigarette held casually between two fingers, and waits for some answers. I laugh a bit uncomfortably. I’m not as good as she is at baring my soul to a person I’ve known for only two hours and I fumble through some stupid innocuous anecdotes while wondering what she thinks of me.

As I throw back Yuengling’s and Miller Lite’s with this curious girl on a Thursday afternoon in July, Otis Redding playing on the jukebox in an empty bar, I can’t help but think of other pictures I want drawn on me, the stories I want to tell through them. Like others have told me, the process is addicting.

I’ll never show Rebecca my own little “faith” tattoo: I suppose my left shoulder is intimidated by her right arm. But after our long conversation I understand better what I was searching for when I got mine, the cathartic nature of the art. Tattoos shouldn’t be viewed as dirty or low-class, but rather as a permanent recognition of a part of your past, present, or future that is sometimes joyful and sometimes painful, but always interesting to look at.

Matt Slavick, an English major, was an SU Magazine intern spring semester 2005. He plans to graduate next year.