It's Ink Day!

            O!  It’s Friday already.  What fun.  The first Friday of the New Year.  Also, the first day of new ink for me.  Today, I will sit again in Dryer’s chair for the progression of my story.

Folks who know me know how much I love time. Folks also know how much I love a good story.  The ink that I have on my skin is a great combination of the stories I have lived and the honor I give to time.  When closely examined, one can understand that my ink tells a story … a willow tree is one of the only that can grow in water, and my willow hovers over an infinity symbol.  Granola, yes, but also quintessential Jess. 

I added it up once and I think I’ve sat almost twenty hours in the chair, tattoo needle slowly going in and out of my skin, making permanent the truths I’ve lived in this life.  Twenty hours is close to a full day, and that’s pretty boss.  I know ink isn’t for everyone, but I find a particular sort of strength that comes from marking myself with what I hold dear. I started tattooing on my eighteenth birthday.  The piece on my stomach was a gift from Willi and Twilite, and now, thirteen years later, I’m still inking!  Thanks, girls.  You set the stage for my story to unfold. 

            This afternoon, I’ll go for a sweat and then head to Asylum Tattoo in Mt. Lookout.  The owner of the shop, Dryer, is a close friend.  We powwow over life issues, find commonality in being creatives while trying to run businesses, and generally understand one another.  He’s been my first reader, my confidant, my muse.  I am thankful to call him friend. 

I first visited Asylum after a recommendation from Buck, a lifelong friend who is currently fighting ISIS with the Kurdish army.  I liked the lines and the crispness of the images Dryer inked on his skin, so I thought I’d give him a try.  I’d been envisioning my back piece for damn near a decade and was ready to find my artist.  When I walked in and told Dryer what I wanted, he made a comment that immediately set me at ease.  I wish for the life of me I could remember what he said! I know it was something that suggested we were friends long before the first meeting, but I don’t remember his exact words.  I firmly believe in these kinds of connections, so I was so pleased from the jump.  In his chair, we chatted all sorts of topics, and I knew I’d found my artist at last.

            That Tuesday afternoon in February, Dryer inked a hamsa on my right hip.  It was, and still is, so beautiful.  His touch light, his conversation wonderful, the time in his chair passed so quickly.  When he was finished, I couldn’t believe that ninety minutes had passed.

            So today will be a step in the progression of inking my life to light.  The fact that I’m a writer and make a point of inking my own story isn’t lost on me.  I like the irony.  Not sure how long I’ll be sitting in the chair, but I know that the hours I spend will be well worth it.

            Here’s to the story – yours, mine, ours.