My Father had tattoos, and based on his advice and very descriptive language when relating the experience and pain associated with them, not to mention the fear of not following his advice, I shied away from the temptation. As I grew older and started meeting others with graphic expressions in ink and their descriptive language relating the experience and pain associated with them, I shied away from the temptation even more. As did my father, as would my son I would eventually find myself in the Marine Corps. Not only would the exposure to tattoos increase, so would my association with historic gentleman whose influence would cause otherwise strong willed Marines to submit their bodies to the experience and the pain. Not only would these historic gentlemen be the influence to get a tattoo they would be the subject, gentlemen like Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo and in some cases a guy from Russia named Smirnov. I too enjoyed their company on numerous occasions but I just never got so deep under the influence they could nourish that I would head off to one of the ever present “parlors” that seemed to find their way to the streets around a military installation even more so than pizza parlors.
Tattoo Parlors themselves too were a deterrent. If you are a “baby boomer” then you may have an association with the ones I accompanied many a Marine to. Under Jim’s, Jack’s or Jose’s influence of course. If you associate words like sanitary, clean, neat, organized, smoke free, and heaven forbid sterile to these establishments we are not from the same planet. We didn’t go to the parlors in groups for moral support as much as to protect each other from those that hung out in a parlors general area. Thank goodness times change and so did the attitude, health concerns and professionalism of an ancient art and eventually my fears subsided, I no longer needed to avoid temptation, fear the pain or worry about being so much under the influence that I would find myself a canvas. I chose that being tattooed was not my preference. Under the combination of Fatherly advice, fear and personal choice I would be a tattoo virgin more than six decades. It would never even be an afterthought except for a brief moment when the Marlboro Man flashed the Eagle, Globe and Anchor on the back of his hand at a time when tobacco ads were actually on TV. It was only a brief moment. Years later Miami Ink would lead to LA Ink and that would lead to the introduction to Corey Miller and I would again consider the fantasy of being tattooed. My only problem was Corey was on the west coast and I was on the east coast. Funny how things work out, for seven years I was within fifteen minutes of Six Feet Under, Corey’s Studio, before moving to the east. Who knew? Then one day I found a drawing of an Eagle, Globe and Anchor that I would be proud to display…for life. Not only are tattoos expensive so is airfare to California. I needed to locate an east coast Corey Miller; little did I know I would do better.
Eventually I would start asking friends about studios and artists. One studio and one artist kept coming up. Strange as it may be the studio and the artist recommended by those that were tattooed did not have them done at this studio or by this particular artist. It would lead to a visit to the studio and research of the artist. It was no surprise that the recommendations would take me on a journey into the world of ink and art.
I am no longer a virgin and although only half way through my first creation of self expression that will make permanent statements of my pride and associations that influenced my life I have developed a respect for the craft and those that commit to its history of artistic creation and graphic communication. They say a journey begins but with a single step.
In my instance that step was into the boundaries of Trinity Tattoo Co. here in Virginia Beach, VA and becoming the canvas for the exceptional talent of artist Dave Lukeson. I will ever be indebted to those that made the recommendations and for the encouragement from the woman that has been my lifelong companion and been on many occasions the courage to begin a journey. Now that it has begun I have my own experience to relate to and relay to others.
It would be farfetched for me to associate the application with pain. Was I aware of being invaded by a foreign object; naturally. Was that awareness accentuated when closer to the bone; take it to the bank. But associating the application with pain under the skilled hand of Mr. Lukeson would be dishonest. Is the art everything that I anticipated; beyond. I’ve had compliments and the work is only half complete. I can’t wait till this one is finished so he can get started on the others. It will more than likely be sometime between sessions, getting into see Dave is probably harder than getting a meeting with a President…to say he is in demand would be an understatement. But if you happen to visit the studio, view his work, meet his staff, talk with previous clients and visit with those that drop by while your work is being done it is all understandable. He is the showcase of Trinity Tattoo. That is not to suggest that the artists chosen to share in the success of Trinity aren’t talented…just reviewing their work displayed at the studio or on the web site will put any doubt to rest.
Trinity Tattoo Co. also puts to rest the “parlor” label, being referenced as a studio is even somewhat of an underestimation but relative when you consider the building is full of artistic talent and professionals beginning with the front counter personnel. Personally I’m going with Trinity Tattoo Salon and Spa. But hey that’s just me. I have always enjoyed the comfort, courtesy, relaxing and enjoyable atmosphere associated with salons and spas…the same enjoyments I experienced at Trinity Tattoo Co. So to be redundant if you are contemplating having a tattoo to express a life experience or just display a fantasy or belief, whatever…do yourself a favor and go to Trinity…and if you wish to experience the talent of Dave Lukeson…the line forms behind me.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
TURKEY...SHOOT!!!
The mist hung heavy in the tall grasses, the air was cool, moist and clung to his clothing like the tears on the cheeks of a grieving mother. This would be his sixth year of the hunt and with the confidence of a quarterback on Super Bowl Sunday with under a minute to play and a 28 point lead he knew this was the day.
The bird had been spotted just hours before in the same location as previous years and this time there was no doubt that Thanksgiving dinner was going to include one very large, very tender and having some experience with said bird, very cunning turkey. His mouth was watering just from the thought of his first bite, now only hours away. There was movement in the brush.
As he looked down the barrel and rotated the M60 on its tripod he had a clear view of the grass field and there he was. Fortunately it was early because after cleaning the hunter soon to be chef thought it was going to be like 5-6 hours cooking time. The bird was huge and in seconds would be riding home in the back of his 4X4. Then he thought…no I’ll strap him to the hood for all to see.
He let out with a quick three round burst, feathers flew, one more burst to make sure, more feathers; the field was silent. The hunter could only hear his own shallow breathing and the whisper of the breeze across the feathers as they were slowly drifting back to earth. He rose from his perch, and slowly and methodically folded the tripod, brought his weapon to safe and harnessed it to his back.
There was an air of pride, a little spring to his step, only slightly noticeable rise in his chest as he cantered over to the area where most certainly lay the year’s most cherished of meals, this was not just dinner, this was Thanksgiving Dinner.
The bed of feathers got heavier as he got closer, he could taste victory as well as a thick slice of juicy, tender breast. He stopped, looked down at the carcass that lay before him and realized he had found an extremely expensive, custom made decoy he had purchased last year. Having been unable to locate it last year after the hunt and having little time before the markets closed he had abandon his search. He carefully lifted what was left of his terrific idea…it worked for ducks. He released his grip of the remains, totally un-recognizable; it appeared it took all six rounds including the one tracer round.
As he slowly made his way back to his truck, now destined for the market, he could hear in the distance what could only be described as the most guttural and sarcastic “Gobble, gobble” he had ever heard and then he thought, knowing full well it couldn’t be, he heard a deep belly chuckle. No way, way!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
The bird had been spotted just hours before in the same location as previous years and this time there was no doubt that Thanksgiving dinner was going to include one very large, very tender and having some experience with said bird, very cunning turkey. His mouth was watering just from the thought of his first bite, now only hours away. There was movement in the brush.
As he looked down the barrel and rotated the M60 on its tripod he had a clear view of the grass field and there he was. Fortunately it was early because after cleaning the hunter soon to be chef thought it was going to be like 5-6 hours cooking time. The bird was huge and in seconds would be riding home in the back of his 4X4. Then he thought…no I’ll strap him to the hood for all to see.
He let out with a quick three round burst, feathers flew, one more burst to make sure, more feathers; the field was silent. The hunter could only hear his own shallow breathing and the whisper of the breeze across the feathers as they were slowly drifting back to earth. He rose from his perch, and slowly and methodically folded the tripod, brought his weapon to safe and harnessed it to his back.
There was an air of pride, a little spring to his step, only slightly noticeable rise in his chest as he cantered over to the area where most certainly lay the year’s most cherished of meals, this was not just dinner, this was Thanksgiving Dinner.
The bed of feathers got heavier as he got closer, he could taste victory as well as a thick slice of juicy, tender breast. He stopped, looked down at the carcass that lay before him and realized he had found an extremely expensive, custom made decoy he had purchased last year. Having been unable to locate it last year after the hunt and having little time before the markets closed he had abandon his search. He carefully lifted what was left of his terrific idea…it worked for ducks. He released his grip of the remains, totally un-recognizable; it appeared it took all six rounds including the one tracer round.
As he slowly made his way back to his truck, now destined for the market, he could hear in the distance what could only be described as the most guttural and sarcastic “Gobble, gobble” he had ever heard and then he thought, knowing full well it couldn’t be, he heard a deep belly chuckle. No way, way!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
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