Thursday, January 01, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Books: Tattoo tales

By John Ziebell

Body modification has reached such a level of acceptability over the past couple of decades that we forget the notoriety that tattoos used to embody; it's not just felons, sailors and strippers anymore. But while MTV has made it okay for anybody to sport a couple of tats, the heavily inked of the world--those whose bodies look like yakuza roadmaps, folks who count their pieces in the tens, hundreds or even thousands--still wear social stigmata along with their art. This is the "tattoo culture" that has fascinated John Wyatt, author of the engaging study Under My Skin, since his childhood.

Wyatt was trained as a sociologist and is an accomplished photographer; Under My Skin blends those skills with his interest in tattooing to good effect. Wyatt may have some theoretical notions regarding this culture, but he doesn't burden us with them; rather than a sociological examination, he offers readers a series of interviews paired with black-and-white photographs that give his subjects the opportunity to express their perspectives on a very particular community. It's an appealing and credible format. The interviews don't feel overly controlled, and the monochrome images have the earnest and minimally staged look of serious documentary photography.

"They are not born into this," Wyatt says of the heavily tattooed. No kidding; no matter what their backgrounds, or their reasons for getting that first tattoo, there's no denying the level of commitment that the book's subjects share. These are people who accumulate hours of needle time, attend tattooing conventions, become artists themselves and, in at least a couple of cases, speak seriously about having their skins "taxidermied" for posterity.

And we're not just talking about whackos. Understandably, Wyatt's sampling offers its share of tattoo artists and musicians and motorcycle folk, but also features illustrated men and women who are corporate types, sculptors, retail managers, lawyers, clerks and even a wrestling manager. Many of them can't explain why they love the art they do, but most remember deciding to embrace it, and they're consistently unapologetic. Some stories are inherently better than others, of course--like former Catholic priest and social worker Joe Benante, speaking about the man who saved him from drowning when he was 8 years old: "I opened my eyes and all I could see were two tattoos. And ever since that I've liked tattoos."

While we do get the sense that these are unique individuals, they do all belong to a very focused society, so it's not surprising that familiar themes begin to surface in their monologues. First, the unimpeachable tenet that tattooing is art; second, that it hurts; and third, that there's almost invariably some sense of ritual involved. Usually, among these ranks, tattoos tend to mark significant social passages, but that's not always the case. Bernie Moeller wanted to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. For ex-cop Pete Felsher, it's the addictive element that dominates: "I got the fever. I enjoyed the pain." At the other end of the spectrum, the work done by Honolulu-based artist Keone Nunes revolves exclusively around historical island culture; he even does his tattoos at a Hawaiian healing center because, traditionally, the two arts are so closely correlated. But whatever the abstract explanations, real tattooing is still a very specific type of assertion:

"You can get deep and philosophical about your tattoos," Greg Cole, a telephone repairman, says, "but you know you just want to look cool."
Under My Skin

John Wyatt

Schiffer Books

152 pages