Aaagghh, the waiting...

I can’t believe it’s approaching ten months since I was last under the needle of my tattooist – and it doesn’t seem that I’ll be going anytime soon, what with work commitments and all. And the time before that it was another whole year, almost to the day. It’s no wonder that when I do go, I have to go for 3- or 4-hour sessions.

Last time I went I continued with my left sleeve, adding some work to the background of the temple dog on my forearm. But additional to that, I also got my word for Shelley Jackson’s Skin project. It’s really very cool to be involved with something quite so – I don’t know – arcane, almost. While I’m perfectly happy to spread the word (no pun intended) about Jackson’s human work of literature, it’s the sort of project that will forever have observers asking, “Why?” And I guess to those poor unfortunate souls who aren’t tattooed, it must seem odd: why would someone devote a part of their skin to a word not of their own choosing and that could theoretically even be a word that some might find offensive? People who can’t conceive even of having a tattoo at all must think this plain stupid. How many times have tattooed people been asked, “Why would you do that to yourself?” Plenty, that’s how many. So the question is even more expected – perhaps even more valid – when you essentially donate that part of your skin to such an esoteric cause.

For me, though, the notion was exciting. To be just one word of some 2,000, none of which is of any real value without the others; but equally the whole is not fully realized without any single one willing participant. A piece of a jigsaw puzzle, without which the full picture can never be seen.