Every now and then one catches my eye and I have one of those little “oh yeah, I have tattoos” moments. Then I start to think back on not just why I got it, but who I was when I did.
Most days I barely notice them. They’re simply part of me now, as familiar as the freckles on my arms or the scar on my knee. But every so often I’ll catch sight of one whilst reaching for a mug, pulling on a T-shirt, or walking past a mirror, and for a moment I’m transported back to the day it was done.
I have eleven-ish tattoos these days, although two have long since disappeared beneath others. The other day, when I was out with Jack, someone pointed at my left arm and said ‘Ohh nice tattoos’. Again, I know I have them, but I seem to forget that they are visible and that not everyone has the same views on having visible art on their bodies.
I started thinking back to why I got them in the first place, and realised that what I have isn’t just a collection of tattoos, they are a timeline of my life.
A life in ink
The oldest survivor is on my back: a Chinese dragon I chose from the wall of Terry’s Tattoo Parlour in the Trongate in Glasgow when I was seventeen. Something of an institution back in the day as —given it was 35 years ago— tattoos weren’t really a popular thing.
And, like many first tattoos, it wasn’t exactly the result of months of careful contemplation. In fact I got it entirely to impress a woman who I had a minor infatuation with (we worked together, she was older, we got on really well… you know the story. Yes, she broke my heart!).
We walked in together, she seemed achingly calm and cool and barely flinched, whereas I was a bag of nervous energy and spent all of 10 minutes picking something that I thought looked cool and edgy and walked out with a Chinese dragon tattoo on my left shoulder blade. Hidden away from my parents for several months…
A couple of months later I did much the same thing again. Another girl, the same city centre tattoo parlour, and out I walked with a double headed dragon at the top of my left arm. It has since vanished beneath the Japanese half sleeve on that. If nothing else, that’s proof that not every decision teenage Gordon made deserved to last forever.
Tattoo number three was the first one I put any thought into. A large Ampersand at the top of my right arm. If anything it was a precursor to the name of this blog, with the idea that the ampersand was a question —a West Wing-ian ‘What’s Next?’— because even back then I was always pushing for more. This marked a change in my approach, and my relationship, with my tattoos, it marked the moment tattoos stopped being something I collected and became something I commissioned.
Arms
My inner left forearm received my first usually visible tattoo. It’s an ouroboros surrounding a tree of life, created by Ema when she was at Custom Inc. I got it not long after my divorce. At the time it represented new beginnings, reinvention and the comforting thought that endings aren’t always endings at all. But I don’t think I realised then just how much my life was about to change.
By then I had a little more money and a little more confidence. I started thinking about covering the double headed dragon, but I also realised I wanted something different. I wanted to work with an artist, not simply choose something from a wall, which is why I chose Kevin at Lucky Cat because, from the examples on his website, liked his style. It took four long (4hrs+) sessions, and a lot of discussion to design and tattoo my Japanese memento themed sleeve –which I’ve written about in detail, and photos, already.
My right arm gradually became another collaboration with Ema. She transformed what had once been a fairly ordinary ampersand into an intricate dotwork half sleeve. I still remember handing over a fairly vague description of what I wanted and then watching her come back with something far better than I’d imagined.
Then there’s my right forearm, which seems to have quietly become Kym’s territory
It’s a patchwork of smaller motifs in a sketchy watercolour style, building around a geometric yin-yang because balance is something I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to find. Whether I’ve actually managed it is another question entirely. Yes, I’m a Libra. No, I don’t believe in astrology.
There are two feathers arranged as another yin-yang, a nod to Dave Grohl, who has somehow remained my number one human crush for decades.
Then there’s the Glasgow coat of arms, because it’ll always be home no matter where I end up living. Around that are other items, a turtle for Jack thanks to Finding Nemo (noggin!), a bumblebee for Becca as she’s forever rescuing them and has her own bee tattoo, and a butterfly matching one my late sister Jennie had tattooed. There’s a bike, a treble clef, a couple of paws, and a caffeine molecule too.
Legs
My left calf hosts the tattoo that strangers seem to notice most. It’s based on a piece of artwork whose creator very kindly gave me permission to have tattooed (yes, I asked first). Paige, then at Custom Inc, translated it beautifully into skin.
My favourite reaction came at Six Flags, when a member of staff spotted it from across the path, pointed in my direction and shouted, “Star Wars guy!”
I suspect I’ve been called worse.
The other calf carries a colourful geisha by Rachel at Lucky Cat. I got it as a tribute to my mum, who spent countless hours creating two stunning tapestries featuring geishas. At the time they still hung in my parents’ house. Years later, after Mum and Dad downsized, they came to live with us.
The tattoo came first, the artwork followed.
Back
And finally, across my back are two other pieces: a mandala by Ema and another tattoo by Paige centred around the idea of balance. The mandala was done during a period when I was questioning rather a lot about who I was, including my relationships and my sexuality.
The latter piece was as I ended that phase of my life and tried to rebalance myself and, finally, figure out who I was.
More than decoration
It’s safe to say that every tattoo I have says less about what I liked and more about who I was. Tattoos don’t just mark moments in life. They mark the versions of ourselves we pass through as we navigate life.
From the teenager choosing a dragon from the wall, to the man rebuilding his life after divorce, and now the father getting a turtle because one small boy changed absolutely everything.
Perhaps that’s why I enjoy seeing them every day. They quietly remind me that we’re all works in progress. None of us stays still for very long.
Trust
One other thing I’ve realised is that, apart from those first two teenage tattoos, every single one has been custom designed, a collaboration with an artist who took my basic idea and made it so much better, so much more complete.
It always starts in the same way. I have an idea, although “idea” is often being generous. Usually it’s a vague collection of thoughts, feelings and half-formed images rattling around inside my head.
Then I sit down with an artist and try to explain what I have in mind, hopefully I’ve aligned the style I want to the artist closely enough. Then it’s over to the artists, all of whom have, somehow, understood what I was hoping for and they return a few weeks later with something I never could have imagined myself.
The creativity they hold always amazes me, taking my crude drawings and half-formed ideas and turning them into something that will stay with me forever.
Tattoos take trust. You’re asking another human being to take something that exists only in your imagination, make it real, and then permanently place it on your body.
It’s kinda bonkers, but with trust in the artist it becomes a collaborative experience. From initial thoughts to the final buzz of the tattoo gun, the finished piece bold and bright on your skin.
The Artists
The overwhelming majority of my tattoos have been done by women.
I don’t know whether that’s coincidence or not. Maybe they’re simply the artists whose work has spoken to me most. Maybe I’ve always found it easier to build trust with women, or maybe it’s because I’ve generally found conversation with women easier throughout my life, whilst stereotypical masculinity has never really felt like my natural habitat.
Ironically, I hardly talk whilst being tattooed. Most sessions pass with sporadic conversation peppered with comfortable silences. I’m happy to let them concentrate on their work.
So, as well as the tattoos marking moments of my life, so too does my choice of artist; I’ve almost always found it easier to make friends with women than with men. The men I do become close to are not the loud, football-shouting, pint-downing stereotype that British culture often seems to celebrate.
It’s part of my masculinity that I’ve often struggled with, but over time I’ve come to accept that that is not MY masculinity, mine is softer, driven by emotion, and sits outside the stereotype. I think there are more men like me than we realise, it’s just that stereotypical pub bloke tends to be the loudest. It took me a long time to realise I didn’t have to measure myself against that version of masculinity.
And perhaps that’s why so many of the people who’ve helped tell my story through ink have been women?
What’s next?
People often ask if tattoos hurt. To which I say, of course they do! Some places hurt far more than others —the nippy inner arm was a specific form of endurance— and the healing process can be an itchy motherfucker.
But I enjoy the process itself. There’s something oddly peaceful about sitting still for a few hours whilst someone quietly creates something that you’ll carry for the rest of your life.
To that point, I often consider getting tattoos just for fun, something silly that carries no real weight or meaning. I look at my cushion of Animal from the Muppets and think… maybe?
When people ask me about my tattoos, many like to default to the “tattoos are permanent” view, and how brave I must be to have them for life. They are permanent. But here’s the strange thing: They’re the part that stays the same, I’m the bit that keeps changing around them. I forget my tattoos are unusual because they’re so familiar to me. Other people still see the artwork first; I tend to see the memories.
As for what’s next…
Maybe an oriental style octopus to keep the Japanese theme going on my left arm, maybe a tribute to my parents which would likely go on my right calf. I even know which artist I want for that one.
I am finding, as I get older, that the reasons behind my tattoos are becoming a little deeper. When I was seventeen they were mostly about who I thought I wanted to be. These days they’re much more about the people I want to carry with me.
I like that my tattoos have become my memories.
And thankfully, it seems I’ve still got plenty of skin left.
Although… let’s not completely rule out The Muppets.
Further reading:
- https://www.gordonmclean.co.uk/2002/07/31/tattoo/
- https://www.gordonmclean.co.uk/2009/11/01/and-per-se-and/
- https://www.gordonmclean.co.uk/2011/03/09/new-ink/
- https://www.gordonmclean.co.uk/2014/08/25/beautiful-geisha/
- https://www.gordonmclean.co.uk/2017/10/12/oops-i-inked-me-again/
What are your thoughts?