Why I Don't Like Tattoo Artists.

About a year ago I was down at my favorite shop in Manhattan getting work done on my sleeve and got talking to another artist at the shop. He told me he didn't like tattoo artist and avoided them as much as possible and that most of his friends were not in the field.

At the time I thought this was insane. Why wouldn't you want as many friends as possible in your
field? Makes networking a lot easier and if you ever are in a bind and in need of a job, it's good to know people. The tattoo world is all about word of mouth.

I never forgot that statement until the other day when I was at a party chatting up with new people who were naturally interested in what I do for a living.  That's when a big bear of a man chimed in that he too, did tattoos.

My instant reaction in my head.... "Of fucking course your do."

I had to pause and think about why I would react that way.

Then I realized... I don't like tattoo artists either... here's why...

1) Everything is a pissing contest.
As soon as they run into you they want to see your work and know where you work and your experience. This dude actually made his girlfriend expose all her tattoos right there at the party to prove he's good. (He's not)

2)Drama, Drama, Drama...
I can't tell you how many shops close because the artist owning it pissed away all his money on drugs
and drinking. That goes for artists who get fired and hop from shop to shop for the same reasons. Then you got the dirt bags that steal their fellow employee's clients and supplies.  Cut throat industry or not, there is a level of ethics that one should consider.

3) If you're not as good them... you're a scratcher... If you're better than them... you're a scratcher.
If you are better than them, they're jealous therefore will pick you apart and judge your background, your technique, your place of business, what you did Saturday night, anything just to make themselves feel better. If you are still learning, still developing, and are new, they're judge you and say that you are crap and have no business in the industry as if they were just born with a machine in their hand and the industry is some super secret society you need a password for.. the password is "Get Over Yourself."

4) EGO.
When I walked into a local convention as while back, the cloud of ego smacked me in the face like a heat wave. Everyone thinks they're a rock star, all the other shops but theirs are crap. They walk around like what they do makes them so much better than anyone else and act annoyed and put out when a customer with money actually comes in asking for their business. I can't tell you how many customers I've taken from other artist's simply because I don't act like them asking for my business is putting me out. Bro, you draw and color for a living. It's the best job in the world. It's not that
serious. Relax. Smile. Have a Snickers...


Now I would like to say, this does not go for EVERY tattoo artist. I have several tattoo artist friends that are wonderful people. They love what they do, will give you constructive criticism and advice, treat their clients with kindness (as long as you don't dick them around) and are reliable. I salute them and say, keep doing what you're doing, we need more like you!

For the rest of them...

If you tattoo out of a kitchen... you don't get to say shit or judge anyone.

The rest of you... seriously.. chill. Just... CHILL.

Love my job, Love my Life.

-Casey

The 24 Hour Tattoo Artist

Last night after I closed the shop I went to a friend's house for a sex toy party. Why wouldn't I?
As with any party there was a mix of friends I knew and people I've never met but luckily I'm pretty good at chatting with people and networking and everyone was friendly so it was a pretty pleasant evening.

When a close friend was asking my opinion on a tattoo idea some girl over heard and their ears perked up and I knew it was coming.

"You tattoo!? OMG That is so awesome. Where?" Which then lead to several people flashing me their ink, asking me my opinion on additions, cover ups, and new pieces, as well as prices.

Before you knew it I wasn't "Casey", that friend of Jen's, I was "Casey" the tattoo artist and I was in full work, consultation mode.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. These sort of situations and events are amazing for networking and developing clientele but it just made me realize that a tattoo artist is never really "off work".

A week ago my father got married and I was in the wedding. It was my one day off that week and my phone would not stop blowing up with people sending me designs they wanted and appointments they wanted to book...

I should add this was an Irish wedding and I had been drinking since 3pm... The best I could do was keep answers short and simple and try to get back to them the next day.

Not to mention, once you become a tattoo artist. You see more of your friends and strangers than you ever planned.

The minute people find out you tattoo they're lifting up their skirts, taking off shirts, moving bra straps, exposing ever section of skin imaginable when just 5 minutes ago you'd just learned their name. I find it hilarious.

Sort of reminds me of summer time. Normally people cover themselves and would never imagine walking around in under wear and night gowns but as soon as it's summer it's totally acceptable to walk around in minimal clothes and swimwear that basically is just that.

Once you're an artist, you are one always.  Most of your business isn't even in the shop but when your out and about talking to people and handing out cards and answering questions and basically selling yourself and you're art.

When I go home I draw, when I'm out, I'm networking, when I'm at a family functioning I'm booking appointments.

We're like 7-11. We're not always doing business, but we're always open.

Not to mention, when you run into someone else who tattoos it's almost like two dogs sniffing each other's ass and sizing themselves.

"Where do you tattoo"
"How long you been doing it"
"What machines you running?"

They don't really care they just want to know if they are better than you.


The answer is... you're not.

Ok that's probably not true but attitude and confidence is everything :-)


If you must fight, fight for love,

-Casey

Female Tattoo Artist Vs. Stereotype Vs. Valentines Day. FIGHT!

"You're such a cool chic but..."

"You're like one of the guys"

Yeah... awesome.

There is no question that female tattoo artists are badass. We tend to typically just be better than the general female population and we do it with style. I mean, come on....

We get to sleep in while the rest of the world is shuffling like zombies to their 9-5 soul killing jobs. (Shops tend to not open until 11 or 12)

While you deal with the public and people and grit your teeth and bare it with a fake smile... we get to make those fuckers bleed... for hours.

You deal with paper work... we draw on paper.

You wait around for 2 weeks for a paycheck. We make cash money every day, sometimes more than your check.

BURN!

However...

In a male dominated industry females are finally starting to break out and become a regularly seen and accept occurrence. My shop currently is all female. WINNING.

We are finally being accepted as actual artists and respected and being published in magazines and made judges for contests, and I could not be prouder of my fellow vaginas. Get'm. We're not just tattoo models anymore.

This also creates the "friend zone" problem. By becoming a tattoo artist I've fallen more into the

 "Oh you're a cool chic, you're like one the guys"

"Oh you seem wild "

And the assumption that I don't like anything a normal girl would. That I'm just this wild, rebel, anarchists in a black bra.

Ok.. so.. they're sort of right. BUT...

I like flowers. Not tattooing them on you, actually receiving them. I get all sorts of stupid and excited about that shit.

I love Sex and the City and all those idiotic unrealistic romantic comedies. LOVE THEM.

Wild? I spend most of nights snuggled on my couch, reading young adult novels on my Kindle while drinking sleepy tea.

I cry. A lot. Over a book, meaningful song, moving TV commercial.. whatever. I cry.

I fall in love. A lot. I love being in love.

and are you ready for the real kicker?

I FUCKING LOVE VALENTINES DAY!

I do! I like the heart shaped donuts at Dunkin Donuts. I like the chocolate and flowers. February is a
dark and gloomy and depressing month. It's cold, it's gray, and snowing, mostly dirty snow. So pardon me if walking into a place and it's glowing pink and red isn't a bit of a nice change!

What I don't like is feeling like the fat kid picked last for dodge ball. I have pulled off being single for every Valentine's Day for 28 years. While everyone is dancing around with flowers and plans with little hearts floating around their heads, I'm home eating chocolate with my cat.

It's like I'm the only girl at the cool table without Lisa Frank Stationary.

So all I'm saying is, don't be quick to assume anything about your female tattoo artists. We'll easily kick your ass while not smudging out mascara or breaking a nail.

Oh.. and get your chic some flowers. Yes they die, oh well, don't get them for yourself then.

Forget me not,

Casey

How Tattoos Saved My Life

"Suicide Warning"

That's what it said next to my name on the dry erase board. That's how they rated us. Severe cases were "warning", less severe were "watch"... much like monitoring a tornado. They probably thought

that was cute.

Menniger Clinic, Topeka, Kansas

No 14 year old should ever know what the inside of a children's mental hospital looks like but I suppose  most 14 years don't tell their therapists they think about downing a whole bottle of pills and calling it a life either.

They take your shoes, they lock the bathroom, your not allowed to leave the ward for any reason. At least the food was good and it was an ego boost because I got to see that there were crazier girls out there than me. So... there was that.

I tell you this because it sets the stage of an endless parade of events pointing out my depression battle that will eventually lead to a point... I think.

For the next 14 years I would constantly be passed around from doctor to doctor being diagnosed with things like "bipolar disorder", "depression", "manic depression". I'd get put on pills, rearranged pills, until finally I would say

 "Fuck this, I'm not a lithium Barbie doll!!"   ... and just got off everything completely.

For the most part I survived that way for years. Yeah I'd have some good depression slums, or bi polar downswings, or whatever you want to call it but I called it... Being a female teenager and a product of being throw in group homes and handed a lot of bullshit. You'd be a bit wacked too.

Then came August of 2004.

I knew it wasn't going to be good if my aunt was driving all the way up to my college to tell me something.... I was right.

All she had to say was "Do you know about Steve yet?"

I didn't.. but right then and there, minute she said it... I knew.

Steve was my college boyfriend. It was the first time I experienced dating someone who could be my best friend as well as a significant other at the same time. He was good, he was funny, he liked tripping on pills.

It was the only thing we ever fought about.  It freaked out seeing him ground up over the counter medication and snorting it. So when my aunt came up I knew.. he had gotten to careless and took to much.

Apparently he mixed pills with tequila partying with his friends, went home, went to bed, never got up.... he was 19 year old.

At that moment every "worst day of my life" became irrelevant. The ground dropped from under me and pretty much anyone trying to talk to me sounded like I was hearing them from underwater.

I snapped. I started drinking heavily, even started hitting the cocaine.
I started toying with the idea of going out the way he did.
I started giving away things at school, not going to classes.

 "Tying loose ends" if you will.

 I didn't know how to deal so I decided I simply wasn't, I was just going to join him.

Then I saw the ad.

Local tattoo shop had a coupon for $50 off any tattoo. It then clicked. This is what I needed. I didn't know why it seemed like the logical plan but it did.

My biggest fear when losing Steve was that I'd forget him. That if I allowed myself to my happy and move on I was forgetting him and he was not longer important.

That day I got a small tear drop on my wrist. It wasn't epic, it wasn't huge. but it was enough.  A small reminder that he's always there.

After that I started going to class again, stopped drinking for a while, fell back into my swim team, graduated college with a 3.0 GPA which was a miracle in itself if you knew my academic records.

Queue to September of 2008...

I'd been in love and involved with what to this day I believe to be an angel in black for 3 years. He was everything. He was my best friend, my therapist, my lover, my personal musician, and the first person to ever put my on a motorcycle and know what real freedom is. He pulled me out of a darkness and into a light filled with laughter, music, pool tables, and bikes..

Then the cancer that had been teasing him since he was 16 took him from me at only 24 years old.

There are some assholes out there in this world that I wish death on, but this kind of pain... I wouldn't even wish on any of them.

What do you do when the rock you leaned on rolls away?

You go into a drunken binge for months.

I officially didn't give a fuck.

I hated my friends. I hated his friends. I hated my family. I hated happy people. I hated life. I didn't want life. I wanted him. I wanted to be buried next to him, which may I add, is where Steve was also buried.

I live my life for love. Since love kept ending in death, I just wanted to end in death too because I didn't much see the point to life.

A friend of mine could see the dark path I was going on and knew there was no way of pulling me out, except for one maybe one thing... he suggest I get a tattoo.

A few weeks later I got the money and I got a large one, right on my side, of my favorite pic of Tommy.

It was when he was sick but still well enough to play his guitar, an amazing moment and it was kept on my side forever.

I knew then he'd always be there, kicking me in the ass telling me...

"Bitch I wasn't even that great, get it together and move on! I'll be here when it's your time and YOU are NOT the one that get's to decide that"

Since then I have watched good friends, family, and my own mother pass away on me. I know how easy it could be to slip back into my old habits and somehow ink gets me through.

Not only this, tattoos helped me find where I belong.

I have been a fast food service worker, cocktail waitress, lifeguard, telethon operator, teacher's aide, substitute teacher, receptionist, t-shirt kiosk worker, and video graphics intern for the Binghamton Mets. I didn't fit in ANYWHERE. Until I broke into the tattoo industry.

What can I say, ink's in my blood and keeps me going.

Find what you love, and make it your life. Love is life.

-Casey

Let Me Explain! Why I left Florida and all the other questions you've been asking...

OK so for those who do not know yet. I was a tattoo artist working on the beaches of Fort Myers, Florida. I was dating a British man and living quite an interesting life style.

I then packed up the cat and the Brit and headed back to New York in the same car I'd packed up to come to Florida about 5 months earlier.

3 weeks in New York and went to England to be with the Brit where I then got engaged.

Happy Ending?

Not quite.

After a month I came back to the U.S. with a ring. Few weeks later, no ring.

I've been dealing with all the questions since... So here we go....

What happened with the engagement?

During our entire relationship I was told that his dream was to move to America with me and open our own tattoo shop. This was story I was told the entire time. I would ask him constantly if he was sure.  I'm not a selfish bitch, I would never make anymore leave their country. He always reassured me this was the plan. He didn't care much for England anyway. Makes sense. David Beckham and J.K. Rowling both have homes in America.  My own NYC tattoo artist is British and he also said America was way better.  If anything I should have been worried he was just using me to get a green card.  Well once I got to England, I was told his mind had changed. And, to make a long story short, I either was to give up everything I had been working for and move there and put my own life on hold, or we break up.

Here I am, in a foreign country, not supposed to leave for another 3 weeks, and I'm told this. I didn't want to break up, I didn't know what to do, the pressure was on so I said I'd move. For the rest of the month I tried to focus on the positive in the country. Tried not think about how I'd have to leave my friends, family, sell my car and all my things, give away my cat who's been with me through all this, and put my tattoo career on hold for this one person I'd been with for 5 months...

Once I came home, after a few weeks I realized this was utter bullshit. Why am I sacrificing everything and him nothing? So I called it off in December... needless to say, it was not a Merry Christmas.

Are you crazy!? I would have totally moved to England!

I am crazy, but I didn't want to to live in England. Ever been? Their food is bland and tasteless.  They have like 6 radio channels, terrible TV, and NO. FLAVORED. COFFEE CREAMER.... If those aren't good enough reasons for you, how about I'd have no one else. No friends or family if things got bad or I needed a girlfriend wine night. I would be stuck. Not to mention I've been working hard to break into the tattoo industry. There I would have had to hold off and play housewife for a year while he got to grow and progress. No thanks. This is my life too.

Not to mention. Oh London? Yeah it's Nice. We have NEW YORK FUCKING CITY.

Argument. Done.

But if you love him? Why should any of that matter?

You are absolutely right. That's my point. Our relationship was so hasty, so quick, was it love or just the rush... If I really did love him enough for marriage that shouldn't have been a problem. But it was.

So it's like 16 degrees here. (New York) Why did you leave your beach shop in paradise?

Ok this takes some explanation. And yes, I'm insane. I will forever be known among my friends as the girl that stood on the beaches of paradise, stared at a palm tree and said "eh. I'm bored"... and went home.

I've always wanted to get out of New York, simply because I knew there was more out there and I didn't want to miss out.  I don't regret any of the decisions I've made and I'm still not done.  When the opportunity to leave the same damn city I grew up and lived in for 27 years opened up, I took it. And believe me, it was glorious. Warm weather, cold drink, beautiful beaches, cheap rent. Glorious. Here's what you may not know and probably only admitted to myself and a few non-judging friends, so... this will be fun.

I went down there for a guy.

 Yup. Best reason ever right? Believe me, I knew it was stupid. But I figured it was at least warm and if it was a huge fail and I was left crying, I'd be left crying on a beach by a beautiful ocean in a sundress.. better than an ice storm.

When I first went down there for just a week, I fell for the climate and area, but I fell STUPID for a person. I mean STUPID. I say stupid because who really knows if it was love, lust, infatuation, desperation, insanity. I'll tell you love, He'll tell you infatuation, my friends will say insanity. But you all know what I'm talking about...

In the mass of craziness in this world sometimes all it takes is a smile for it all to completely dissolve and come to stop. That's what happened. Nothing mattered. Everything mattered. The negativity was now void and it seemed the world was mine. Just from one smile from a stranger.

A week wasn't enough. Then again, in this sort of situation, a year isn't enough is it? Problem was, I lived in New York.. he.. a fucking Caribbean island. Being a male, and what I have learned to just call "island time" thinker.. he just sort of tossed it as, "well, that's that. Can't do much about to situation so. the end.

Me, I'm a New York female, we get shit done.

My thoughts. Well, Florida is warm, and seems to have a lot of opportunities, and it's only a 40 minute flight away from him. Much closer and feasible than say.. NEW YORK. That's all it took. In my defense this wasn't my ONLY reason. I had a place to live down there until I got on my feet that I will always be very grateful for. If you're reading this, THANK YOU AGAIN! And a new opportunity was starting for me as far as tattooing, so the stars were aligning up well and I knew I had to go.

Naturally the whole love part of the journey was an epic fail as these things tend to be. If Romeo and Juliet hadn't kill themselves after being in love after, what? 24 hours? How would that story really have ended? Guess we'll never know.

Around that time is when I met the Brit. This could also answer the question of why things didn't work out. He's an amazing person, but meeting anyone directly after a heartbreak is never a good, sound, time to make judgments.

So for a few months me and the Brit played house and I went on to work on the beach but that's all I had. I was the only artist in the shop and all my clients were tourists so I didn't have a lot of opportunities to makes friends. Had no family, and the Brit's visa was almost up. I'd basically be stranded in a tropical paradise. Girls need their girlfriends. They need their "Bitch and Wine" nights. Not to mention, I pretty much scared the mild mannered southern folk. Also, the Brit hated Florida. Hated it. He wanted to see mountains and culture, none of which Florida seemed to offer for us. So to New York we went. Should I have rode it out? Maybe, but I think I at least answered your question.

So instead you come... here?

Yeah. I did. I came here where when I have a crisis or just need to talk, I have friend's that'll brew up a cup of coffee or pour a glass of wine and vent out. I have family. I'm working in an awesome, drama free, drug free tattoo shop where I can actually develop regular clients. I have mountains to hike in, and yet the city culture I crave. And I'm a $25 round trip bus rid
e to New York City... the best place on earth. SO FUCK OFF.

Still doing stupid things for love?

Of course. If you're not doing stupid shit for love, what are living for? Honestly.

What's Next?

Fuck if I know. That's my favorite part. 





 

But how are going to feel looking like that when your older?

Your Welcome Ladies...

England.

Home of London, The Clash, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jude Law, Jack the Ripper,
Charles Dickens, Crumpets with Nutella, Soccer Hooligans, Elton John, and David (so hot it hurts to look at him directly) Beckham.

Progressive in it's own right.

 Long live the Queen.



However.



One thing is universal is a small town. Whether it's Catskill, New York, Stratford, New Hampshire, or
in this case... Shelly, UK.  They all have their charms, bars where everyone knows your name, small unique stores, old man that goes on a walk at the time every morning, and those darling people that still live under a rock.  Oh they mean well and are good hearted but their thoughts are... simple.  I came across one example the other day when Tom needed a hair cut and we went to the local barber.

The women was in her 50's with a modern hair cut and friendly and chatty enough. Then she found we were both tattoo artists and were both covered in ink. She stopped in mid-snip and just looked at us both through the refection in the mirror and asked the question I've been asked and warned my entire life, as most tattooed enthusiast have....

  "What are you going to look like when your older!? Don't you think you'll regret all those tattoos?"

A point well made.... However...

When I'm "Older" lets say 70's. I'm going to have a lot more going on.

 I'm going to have no knees left from years of running on worn out shoes.

I'm going to have about 3 extra asses from having no metabolism but still an addiction to cake.

My boobs are going to be in my pockets.

Most likely going to be bald from decades of bleaching and dying my hair.

Bad back from basically everything I've ever done in my life.

My face will most likely resemble a shar pei from so much exposure to sun from beaches and lifeguarding

Not to mention the usual kinks and issues that come from being old and to stubborn to die.

What I'm saying is, old fadesded tattoos will be the least of my worries. I'll just be happy I woke up alive that day. Not to mention what better way to be reminded of good times and memories than an image permanently on your skin forever? 

I'm covered in good tattoos in memory of lost loved ones, tattoos done by good friends, and a horrible one done by a rockstar. I have sleeve done by a bold British man in Manhattan and a leg piece done by a wonderful Canadian. Some people have scrap books or photo albums. I do too, it's just on my body and least likely to get ruined or lost over the years and believe me... I misplace shit.

So how will I look when I'm older? Fabulous. Tell me how beautiful you'll look in 60 years?

Live for Now. Have good stories!

-Casey

My Grandpa. The Tattooed Badass.

   Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away called Brooklyn, lived an unfiltered cigarette smoking man named Gordon. With only an 8th grade education and a obvious Brooklyn accent, one would assume him just another "working class" idiot. One would be wrong.

 He met his wife when he was still in Sunday school. She didn't know it yet, and refused to believe such rubbish but I can assure you in the end she would say "I do" and they would live out their lives together for over 60 years and die a day apart from each other, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

 The year was 1930-40 something, give or take. Befriended by a sharp-tongue, slightly rough around the edge tattoo artist, later to be recognized as a godfather of the tattoo culture, Charlie Wagoner, (he also would go on to perfect the electric coil tattooing machine originally invented by Sam O'Reilly and we haven't changed it much since), Gordon spent much of his spare time hanging in Charlie's tattoo parlor in the Bowery area of Manhattan which would later become famous for the boom of the American traditional style of tattooing. 

This was a time when you were considered a leper for having any kind of tattoo on you. These days guys are quick to get their necks, hands, and faces tattooed to show they are tough guys and women get infinity symbols and inspirational paragraphs slapped on them to prove they are deep and spiritual. Back then you were considered an outlaw if you had tattoos. So naturally, Gordon got several all over his arms and chest for .25 a piece. (The chest piece cost a $1, he did it in .25 installments). His most treasured tattoo was the name "Margie", his wife's name, though they weren't married yet. (She was still swimming in the sea of DeNile) He also rode a motorcycle which was completely unheard of. Basically, a father's worst nightmare for their daughter.

He became some comfortable and familiar with the tattoo community, he started to pursue an apprenticeship with Charlie Wagoner himself.  This even included purchasing his own tattoo starter kit which came with a tattoo machine and 4 basic ink colors. In the end he chose a different route and married the woman of his dreams and became the most epic dad and grandfather the world has ever seen. He passed at the age of 88 peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his family in the house he purchased with Margie back in 1953.  Margie followed him in only a day later at the age of 90.

 He lived by a very simple phrase. (In a Brooklyn accent of course)

    "It's Simple. Ya. Do. What's. Right"

If everyone lived by that, would be really need any other laws?