A Waltz of Pleasure and Pain

It's a funny thing is it not; the way that pleasure and pain walk hand in hand? Ever swaying along an invisible line? How easily one crosses into the other and back again as if engaged in a type of waltz? I believe it is that dance that enchants many to the idea of a tattoo. Or, if that is not the case the first time; then it is that which brings us back time and time again. It is the craving of that tiptoe across a boundary that creates addiction. It creates that need for some ounce of pain that is within our control. The euphoria in the moments where the biological imperative asserts itself and turns that which was meant to harm us into that which fuels us forward.

I remember my 7th tattoo as if it were yesterday. I'd been searching for a new piece to add to my small, but growing, collection of art when I'd stumbled upon a photo of Ganesha. I knew immediately that I wanted him.

Now, I have never been a devout practitioner of any particular religion, but instead a scholar of many. I often boast about my courses in philosophy, but none caught my attention more than The Philosophy of Religion. Never once have I believed that any one person, religion, or practice held the key to eternity, rather, I believed that that truth rested somewhere within the cracks of each and every one of them and could I only know them all, I could hold all of the knowledge necessary to have a glimpse of the eternal. So, when my studies brought me to the Philosophy of Hinduism and I learned of a kind and benevolent, playful god that was both gentle enough for approach and powerful enough to be named “Remover of Obstacles” I knew that I had grasped some snippet of what I sought of the universe. So when I stumbled across his image in a broad Google search of “small, simple tattoo ideas” I knew that he and I were destined to be bound by pain and ink.

For me, going into the tattoo shop is always like stepping into a renaissance sanctuary, where every body is a blank canvas waiting to be made into a Sistine Chapel, and on this particular day, my body was the canvas. I sat down on the chair and showed the artist what it was that I wanted. He scoffed, then went on to explain to me how if he were to make the tattoo the size that was shown in the photo, the ink would bleed into what should be blank spaces and the tattoo would be rendered unrecognizable. He gave me an option, get the size that I wanted and lose Ganesha as he deserved to be displayed, or pay a bit more and preserve his integrity. Of course I chose the latter.

There are always 4 points in the tattooing process that I remember the most vividly: the initial sketch, the first contact of the needle, that moment when pain stops being pain, and the instant that I see the completed work for the first time. The sketch, in this instance, was very routine. I knew exactly what I wanted, and the artist was skilled; he left no detail from the original out, nor did the tattoo lose any of its appeal when blown up to 5 times its original size, and the moment that the needle touched flesh, I was home again; the blending into pleasure was so seamless that I almost didn’t realize when it happened. He was good, and the moment that I lay eyes on it, I knew that I had made the right decision. Ganesha was mine. My body was adorned with another piece of art that brought me a step closer to being a masterpiece.

I left the shop feeling complete and it is my fervent belief that every time you leave a tattoo shop, that is exactly how you should feel, like you are a little more of yourself than you were when you first arrived.