When I set out to write this blog, I took the broadest view of art – anything and everything could be art. As long as you love it, and it inspires you in some way. As such, I consider tattoos to be in that category and certainly, the tattoos created and inked by my friend, Mickeda of FullMoon tattoos. 

Tattoos used to be something derogatory. They were a signifier of a rough and tumble life style, and added to the image of a tough, not-to-be-messed with person. Pirates and sailors had tattoos, prisoners and criminals. And let’s not forget the tattooed numbers on the arms of the Holocaust prisoners. It was a horrible thing, ugly, aggressively masculine, super unsexy. It was meant to say I live outside of polite society, it was not for the educated or the refined. The tattoo was taboo. 

The society in which I grew up, in the former Soviet Union, I’ve never seen a woman with a tattoo. It just was not done. Tattoos were for big, tough men, they had eagles on their biceps and names of their mothers on their chest. Later on, it took more symbolism as mafia and prison tattoos signified which gang you belong to, where you’re from and even how many people you killed. It was a scary, horrendous thing. 

I never even considered having a tattoo when I was a little girl. I wanted to be a strong and independent person and even embody what was considered manly characteristics, like financial success, mathematical and logical mindset. When we immigrated to the states, all those things helped me to adjust and to survive in the environment that was challenging to navigate for a teenager. 

The first tattoo I got was an act of rebellion. I wasn’t even 18 and it was such a kool thing to do. I met the tattoo artist in the tattoo parlor on Hollywood Boulevard, in LA and as the laws were stricter in California, he couldn’t ink me but when I saw him on West 4th St. in New York, I knew it was meant to be. He drew the tattoo and did it in one go on my back. It wasn’t anything radical, a bunch of flowers, lily-like with bright colors. 

The next tattoo I did was out of spite. It was my first year of University and I lived in the dorms next to Brooklyn Bridge. I went on a date with with someone who was really nice at first and then started acting like an obnoxious, pompous ass. As we were sitting in a restaurant in West Village, West 4th St was just around the corner. The tattoo parlors and piercing shops were lined up here one after the other. I walked into the same tattoo shop and to my surprise, the same tattoo artist was there, and he drew another little flower for me and this one when on the front of my body to the right of the belly button. Perfection. I could still hide them if I wore a suit for work but could show it off in a cropped top. 

The belly button piercing came next. Let’s just say I had a lot of fun in my 20s. I traveled a lot and got to live in London for work. I could pass for a party person wearing glow in the dark shirts and going to clubs while not trying any of the drugs that were so prolific at that time. Two decades went by before I got another tattoo. This time, it was a very conscious, deliberate and well-designed tattoo. I got it to manage my anxiety, mostly around having a child that was amazing but extremely demanding, it was meant to help me cope with motherhood and life in general. The artist I met, Mickeda (Insta: FrankieGirlTattoos) in my friend’s House of 29 boutique, is an incredible person, her creativity and talent know no bounds. She drew the word “breathe” with a little pink heart above it on the left wrist and the symbol for “breathe deeply” on the right. It was perfect.

The ankle tattoo came next, inspired by field flowers, its filled with bright colors. It makes me feel like wearing a bouquet on my body, like a form of jewelry that adorns me and makes me feel happy whenever I look at it.

Then we started working on a tattoo inspired by Gustav Klimt. Mickeda drew a number of variations based on “The Kiss”, “The Tree of Life” and “The Maiden.”

During this time my mom passed away so the tattoo took on a more emotional meaning. We updated the design to have a large “O” around the tree of life. The “O” stands for Ofelia, my mother’s name. It was cathartic. It’s like having her on my right shoulder as a good angel to counterbalance the bad angel on my left. Whenever I contemplate a decision and choose a certain direction, I wonder what she would say and can hear her voice guiding me, with love, devotion, and wisdom. Who knew something that breaks skin can actually be healing? And of course, it’s beautiful and has reshaped my identity. I consider my wardrobe around the tattoo, I started wearing off the shoulder tops and styles I’ve never worn before.

Tattoos are wearable works of art that could be anything we choose. It’s like any piece of art, we assign it meaning based on our lifestyles and personal experiences. It could be deeply spiritual, or simply decorative. It becomes part of an image, an identity, a statement of who we’re and how we choose to show up in the world. Perhaps it can be seen through the lens of larger, historical trends. As our fashion and life styles change, our relationships with gender roles and race constructs, so has the tattoo evolved from something menacing to something beautiful, transformative, and healing.