Reality; what a concept!

Saturday night, my wife and I attended, and sponsored auctioned tattoo and piercing prizes, at The Justice For Sisters gathering at Map KL in Solaris Dutamas. This was our way of trying to help out with what we feel is a very worthy cause, and let me tell you why.

That night, I looked around me, and I saw a room full of *people*. People who contribute to the community. People who hold jobs. People who live, love, laugh and cry. These people are not liars, nor manipulators, nor are they asking for anything unreasonable. And yet they are punished for their honesty.

They came to the event, facing retribution, facing public humiliation at the hands of a society that has passed judgment before ever taking the time and effort to get to know them. These people are showing the rest of us that there is an alternative to living a lie, and trying to be someone you're not in your heart.

Every day, we celebrate some person or persons for being true to themselves, for being honest, for doing the right thing. At the event, we had an opportunity to *be* one of those people we celebrate. To stand united and say *no* to those who would ask honest people to lie about who they are.

They weren't asking for a handout. They were asking for help in setting the stage for the future; *your* future, my future, our families' future. There come many times in life that we are forced to decide whether to do what we feel in our hearts is right, or cow down and do what society has *declared* is right; even though we know it to be wrong.

Among the acts, there was one I feel I should mention here. It was a lone gent who stood before the crowd and sang an a'capella version of Minnie Ripperton's "Loving You". Musically, I didn't find anything about his performance to be something I would want to repeat. Members of the audience laughed and jeered, while one man in the back row shouted "Wanker!" at the top of his lungs several times. Other members of the audience tried to hush them, and stood up for the man's right to perform in his own way.

At one point, someone in the audience started clapping in rhythm, and several people began to sing along with what was somewhere around the eighth repeat of the same two verses of the song. Interestingly enough, as they began to join in, his tone and inflection improved dramatically for a handful of notes. He came out of his shell and let his voice out to play, too. The encouragement had apparently triggered something within, and for that short series of notes, our ears were no longer assailed. Instead they were stimulated.

Upon realizing that, for the first time in his performance, he "had it", the crowd stopped singing along so they could hear what was now bordering on enjoyable, and his musical ability disappeared entirely once more. And again came the shouts of "Wanker!", and "We get the point!". Yet, he continued, until he was finished, heedless of the notable disapproval from the audience.

I had started to rise from my chair as the man behind me shouted "Wanker!", intensely offended by his behavior without understanding why the desire to introduce my foot to his ass was so strong. My wife, seated next to me, clasped my hand and whispered to me, "It could be part of the show", as she knew what I was about to do. I settled back into my seat, realizing she could be right.

It didn't really come clear to me until I awoke the following morning, and I realized that this performance was perhaps the most brilliant chess game I had ever seen played. If it indeed had been a game of chess, it would be written of in history books, celebrated by newspapers, and shared in coffeehouse chat for years to come.

This man, regardless of the fact that he could not sing, got up in front of the crowd and sang something that was meaningful to him, and though annoying to the spectators, what he was doing truly didn't harm anyone. And yet a group of people who were gathered in an effort to stop others from punishing and chastising people whose behavoir and choices weren't to the liking of "the majority", but hurt no one, were all induced into behaving just as the people they were uniting against. They passed judgment on him and acted "accordingly".

This man did not, however, give up. He continued to do what he had come to do, steadfastly refusing to leave the stage or stop singing until he was finished, even though doing so made him a "social outcast". In fact, he displayed the same determination and drive that was being celebrated and defended by the event itself.

Meanwhile, there was the fact that for that few seconds that the audience responded in such a way that a little support was shown, his voice suddenly blossomed into something that wasn't starworthy, but was deserving of some appreciation in it's own right. Something everyone noticed enough that they stopped sharing in the singing because they wanted to hear more of the performer, now that he "had it". And once the backing fell away, so did the newfound vocal quality. It was like watching a heart begin to beat firmly, overcoming uncertainty, only to have that rythm capsized by expectations from the audience that he could do it alone, and entertain us from then on without assistance.

I didn't catch the name of the performer, though I do recall in his introduction the MC, Edwin Sumun, aka "Shelah", stated something to the effect of "I don't know how to describe this next act...".

It was absolutely brilliant. It painted a personalized porttrait of what the "lady boys" faced every day of their lives. It brought it home in such a way that it allowed me to view it through their eyes. My definition of "Art" is anything, be it sculpted, painted, written, drawn, or otherwise protrayed in any manner, that causes a mental shift and takes you behind the perceptive faculties of the artist. This man, the momentary epitome of what the group was there to support, *is* my definition of art, and I thank him for stimulating my thinking in a way no other act that night did.

People's contributions saturday night will be used to help establish justice for them, and will eventually help each and every person in Malaysia be able to make the better choice, to live free and true to ourselves, whomever we may be.

The Right To Be

First things first: we just want to wish all and sundry a very Happy Chinese New Year!  May the year of the Rabbit bring everyone joy, good health and prosperity and some rockin' ink!

EK:

We've fielded a few requests before and just after the first two days of CNY to do a few tats, and some of them were made to mark a new phase in life, particularly after having come through a difficult one.

Speaking of having a difficult time, I'd like to highlight a sector of Malaysian society who often, if not always, never had it easy -- the marginalised and misunderstood transexuals of this country. It is particularly difficult for the men-to-women transgender folk colloquially called Mak Nyah.

US Skin Grafx is sponsoring tattoo prizes this Saturday, at a fundraiser held right around the corner of the shop, at MAP@KL at Solaris Dutamas, to help raise some money to help Mak Nyahs. Friends new and old, readers, whoever you are, are more than welcome and indeed, encouraged to come and lend a little help at this event, which will feature punk rockers, indie music, poetry readings and an auction featuring tattoo prizes (from us!!!) 

NOTE: More details on the event at the bottom of this blog post. Don't miss it!!!! COME TO THE EVENT LAH!!!

I found out about Justice for our Sisters festival via a Facebook post from my old friend, the activist, curator, writer and arts supporter, the dashing-and-articulate Mr. Pang Khee Teik of the Annexe Gallery in Central Market.

Back in the USA, we fairly regularly contributed vouchers and gift certs to help benefit Greystone Ranch, a wildlife rescue ranch and sanctuary, a local community club and various support groups. Randy mentioned that we should help out for this transgender fundraiser, and I asked him why.

"Because," my husband replied, "they are just trying to be themselves and express who they are without fear or favour. That's hand-in-hand with what tattoos are all about. Freedom of self-expression and the right to be who you are - straight, gay, bi, trans, whatever. People are people.  Isn't that why we do what we do as artists?" 

After emailing organisers Angela and Thilaga with my proposal, I took a couple of days to reflect upon this event. I came to realise that we're doing this not just to help out a good cause.  We all have friends who might, one day in the future, benefit in more ways than one from everyone's efforts today.

I was a teenager when I met my first Mak Nyah. Mum found a new hairdresser who had just quit a large saloon in Petaling Jaya. He worked out of a house, and did a really good job. More importantly (as my parents were saving up every spare penny to for their kids to study overseas), he was cheap. "His name's Charlie (not the real name).  He's slightly cha boh heng (effeminate) but don't let that deter you. He'll look at your face and figure and recommend what's best for you. I'm definitely happy with my hair," she said that to other relatives and friends.

A few of my aunts went to him, and so did I. Charlie greeted clients in flamboyant clothes -- harem pants, colourful tops. In time, the cut of his clothes became softer and he dared to use make-up. One time, he met one of my aunts in full make up, a fresh manicure, a bustier and silk skirt. She got her hair done, then relayed the experience gleefully to me. In turn, I relayed the incident (gleefully, too) to my mother.

To my surprise, mum chided me. "You don't need to say things like that," she said a bit roughly. Mum was a lot more understanding to what Charlie was going through. Then she added, "He's not had it easy.  As a little boy, his father beat him and scolded him because he would rather play with dolls than football with the rest of the boys. Today, he doesn't speak to anyone but his mother because everyone else in his family won't accept him. By the way, he hasn't seen his family in 8 years, even though he has been sending money back regularly. They accept the money, but they won't accept him."

Later, I was to discover that Charlie often confided in Mum about the mental agony he experienced in being born with physical attributes that he was not in sync with. How he was ostracised by schoolfriends, family members and suchlike when he decided to be himself (they thought he was sick/unnatural/possessed etc). The way he threw himself into every relationship he had because he thought he was so lucky to find a man who would

accept him -- or her --- for who he/she was. The way some of these men would return the favour by sponging off with free meals, nice gifts (clothes/watches/colognes etc) and borrowing money (which was never returned).

Charlie changed his gender and his name. Not legally (for laws still do not allow that). "But you can call me Cheryl" (again, not the real name). After a few years of being Cheryl, she took the big step: she worked like a madwoman to save money for the operation.  And when she had enough for it, she booked herself an appointment and a return plane ticket. When she returned home, she was an anatomically-correct, truly complete Cheryl.

Cheryl's story has a happy ending. She met a nice man, and married him in a lavish ceremony. By the way, her family reconciled with her. Hard to not give face to friends, in the face of a truly happy bride who worked and fought for what she wanted, and after many hardships, got what she wanted.

She now lives abroad, and we hope, happily. We wish her well. This is a true story.

Not everyone has a happy ending or has found it, however. In recent times, many have faced gross abuse and persecution from people around them. They've been steadily discriminated against for years. In my previous careers, I've met transgender individuals who go through this, and are forced to lead double lives or hide who they are for fear of being treated badly.

They face up to society's BS with a mixture of defensive scorn, bitterness and dignity. I think many of they have greater strength and perserverance than a great many of the rest of us who are born with the equipment we're perfectly happy with.

I just wanted to note that a number of my transgender friends mother-hen'ed me, to my initial surprise. "Lose some weight, la, you'll be so much prettier". "You already got a bust, you no need to take hormone injection, you make the best of the rest la". "Better put some lipstick on, you look tired. Last night never sleep is it???," were some of the memorable quips I received.

.I'm neither a bleeding heart nor an activist; but I strongly believe that a person has a right to be who they are, so long as they aren't directly harming anyone, what does it matter?

BACK TO THE EVENT: Justice For the Sisters festival is held from 2pm to 10pm at Solaris Dutamas's MAP@KL, block A5 (about where Kencana Petroleum is at), 1, Jalan Dutamas 1, 50480 Kuala Lumpur on SATURDAY, Feb 12, 2011.

Entry to the event is via donation at the door. From 2pm to 4pm, entry is RM10 to watch acts like Jeannys&The Melody, Chill please!, Corporate Youth, Kaptain, The Fays and Swampy Zombie Fever.

Following an hour-long break, the next run of shows  is from 5pm to 7pm, and is priced at RM15, featuring acts like Dung, Elektrikasyok (Elaine Foster), Furniture, Furious George + Operasi Sabo, Illya Sumanto, Krisis Halusinasi, Priya K and Think! Tadpole! Think!
Part of the show  (in the evening, it has been told) will be hosted by amazon goddess and local drag icon, SHELAH, who would surely be helping to rev up the crowd in her own inimitable way. SHELAH hosts the 8pm to 10pm show, featuring Dara Othman, Davina Goh, Ferns, Kathleen Choo, KG, Meichern, Nabila Nasir, PT's Angels, Reza Salleh, Sheena, Tanjong, Tshiung Han See.  Chi Too & the Buka Kolektif will also make an appearance at
the event.

While door prices have been specified, guests and visitors are also encouraged to donate more if they so wish in order to support the cause.  I believe (And will confirm in an update on Facebook and/or here) US Skin Grafx tattoo prizes will be auctioned at the 5pm to 7pm slots, and 8pm to 10pm slots.

Justice for Sisters is a human rights campaign, done at the grassroots level. It is organised by concerned members of the public to raise awareness about issues surrounding violence and persecution against the Mak Nyah community in Malaysia. The campaign also aims to raise funds amounting to RM50,000 to finance court cases that have recently been brought up against transgenders currently charged by the Syariah Court. This is the second

such Justice for Sisters event. The inaugural one was held successfully at the Annexe Gallery in Central Market a few weeks ago.

If you can't make it to the festival but would like to donate to the fund or help in other ways, please contact Angela [angela@kryss.org] or Thilaga [thilaga.sulathireh@gmail.com] or let us know via e-mail (us.skin.grafx@gmail.com) so we can help you liaise with them.

THANK YOU FOR READING AND WE HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE!!!!

Kismet. Or serendipity. Or..."Don't I know you from somewhere?"

A quick prelude: Yes, I know, we've not written in a couple of weeks. Spent a few days down with head colds, then we snuck out of town for a little holiday last week :)

EK:

I believe that in everyone's life, we sometimes meet someone new -- a friend, or a partner, or a lover, or a buddy you just happen to share a hobby you're nuts about, for example -- and for some reason, that someone new seems a hell of a lot like someone you've crossed paths before. It's like deja vu in the coolest way possible, and at some points, makes you sit back, scratch your head and say "what the...?"

 




Well, even within the confines of US Skin Grafx, while we draw our customs, look and admire the new work of our fellow artists out there, and jawjack about anything at all to the background of rock 'n' roll music, such a thing happens.

My former partner-in-crime, Spitfire Sus, brought Alicia to the shop, as said Alicia wanted ink. Well, the first time they came over, I was smack in the middle of a large piece and couldn't really get up to do a full consult. They were patient, though, and pretty soon, Alicia told me about what she wanted.
She had an original piece, done in Michigan some years back. Then it got covered up with a butterfly -- I believe the coverup was done by plonking the butterfly's body (in black), and then embellished by a tri-color wing which was red, blue and yellow. After a few years, the yellow colour dimmed a little.

The conversation went loosely like this:
"So what're you thinking of?" I asked.
"I'd like an expansion. I want to add to this piece and grow it," she said, "Like into a halfsleeve."
Seeing as we couldn't get gauge the reaction of a half sleeve from her bosses, we eventually decided to play safe and opted for a quarter sleeve first -- we can grow it into a half if she liked later.  Then came the details: What would you like, I asked?

Here was the directive:  "I love color.  I *LOVE* color!!!!" she said. Point taken.
So I suggested a butterfly perched on a branch with leaves... lots of beautiful, elegantly arranged lea-
"Not green, lah," she interjected.
"Huh?" I asked, a little dumbfounded.
"I don't want any green, don't like green," she said, at first, impassively.
Now at this point, I had to put on my powers of persuasion. Fact is, Alicia has some envy-worthy, awesomely gorgeous skin -- gold-tinged alabaster is the best way to put it. I was dying to draw and color on her arm like a kid with her first complete set of Crayolas. And put green in it!

A last look before Ali gets stuck with needles. The old butterfly and the stencil on.

Finally, we managed a compromise -- it was ok to put a tiny bit of lime green here and there, as an accent. But colourful was the catchphrase to go. So we took a measurement of where we were going to go for her tattoo, plus made a few more ideas how to bring the butterfly -- done by one of KL's more well known artists -- to greater prominence: blend the lime into the wings,  so there's a measure of visual congruence between the old tattoo and the new.

The decision, thus, was to design curling branches with cherry blossoms perching on the spindly ends, as well as a few petals floating here and there. And little butterflies dancing throughout.

In her second visit, she brought her husband Andrew, who we also immediately took to (partly because he's an avid diver and you know, all divers are essentially some of the best people in the world), and we made a few very minor tweaks to the design. A date was set, and it was on.

At that point, it was starting to feel, oddly, that both of them were more family than friends, let alone new acquaintances. To me, it felt a bit like kismet (thanks to Farrell Tan for helpfully providing the word).

We stuck the stencil. I always get a little nervous over stencils that wrap around a limb, so Randy helped me out there. And then it was on. First, the outlines in black, and the wispy flourishes that start out purple and slowly blending into blue, then a tiny bit of grey shading here and there before tattooing the colours -- magentas, pinks, lavenders, onto the flowers and teals and deep pinks into the butterflies.

At some point, we started chatting. Bear in mind that at this point, we still didn't know a lot about each other, and the conversation led to "what were you doing before what you do now?"  And she mentioned managing a restaurant -- a Thai one -- in Subang Jaya. Naturally, the next question to ask was its name.

"Khanom Jeen," she said. I was pretty taken aback; enough to lift my foot off the pedal.
"You mean...the one with all the gold leaf art on the walls?" I asked.
"Yes, yes," she said, looking at me a bit curiously.
"And khanom jeen(Thai rice noodles) comes in these little curled up twirls of noodles... so very cute?"
"Yes, that's it!"
"And your artwork comes from an artist who popularised gold leaf...based at Bangkok's Chaktuchak???" I asked, almost disbelieving it.
"Oh my god, you know the place," she said.

Know it, I did! Years ago, when I was working at the Metro section of The People's Paper, I was stomping around in Taipan Subang and that restaurant (then newly opened) caught my eye. I decided to have lunch therer, and was so impressed with the food that I asked them whether they would want to be reviewed. The man who was presumably managing the place took my business card and said "Well, this is a coincidence. I've been wondering how to get a hold of you to review this place for the past few weeks."

Now, naturally, a dinky tinky little junior reporter doesn't get to hear this everyday, and I had to force my swelled head and ego through the door to leave. But review it, I did, and I'm happy to note that Khanom Jeen became one of the respected Thai outlets in the Klang Valley until its owners (Evon Au -- Alicia's sister, and her husband David Knapfel) moved to Canada and closed with much regret from diners. Alicia said that she was there practically every day, which could mean that we might have crossed paths in previous careers before.

An alternate look at the "after". Dunno why this girl doesn't do green a lot...it looks gorgeous on her!

Then we moved on to the next conversation, and for some inexplicable reason, it moved to the topic of Perak -- what the towns are and (naturally), what to eat. Sure, we jawed about the many culinary delights of Ipoh, and then someone mentioned Teluk Intan (then Telok Anson way back in the 1980s), a small town then and a small town now.
"I grew up there, I'm from TA," she said.
My foot went off the pedal again and I stared at her incredulously.  "I spent my childhood there, growing up at my grandparents' house!"

Ok, this is getting weird, right. We compared kindergartens (Taman Sicily for her, and the Assumption near the Raja Muda's digs for me). "Yeah, I remember my neighbour Mrs Muthu -- a sari-garbed Chinese lady married to an Indian -- taking me to school in her yellow car because Mrs Muthu was my neighbour at Kampung Guru," I said.

(Kampung Guru is (was?) a section in a tranquil part of the town, surrounded by fields and green and lots of open space. It was originally allotted for civil servants, especially teachers, when it first opened. An idyllic place for a kid to grow up).

Alicia looked at me in disbelief. "You mean, Kampung Guru with the big field in the middle that boys played football in, right?"
"That one," I said. "I lived at No. 7!"
"Hey, guess what... that's where I grew up too.  I'm at number 30-something (ok, I forgot the actual number) My parents are still there," she said, and broke out into a great big laugh.

It was pretty incredible and slightly freaky to both of us. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I just hoped that being the spoilt little monster I was, I didn't swank too much around the neighbourhood and bully a toddler that could very well have been the gal I was, well, poking with needles right there and then.

Anyway, we finished the tattoo soon after. Andrew brought over lunch, so we chomped that down, and over discussions about diving and food, we became new friends. Or old friends. I can seriously say, this was one truly memorable tattoo, thanks to Alicia and Andrew and of course, thanks to Susan for bringing it all together!

A special place worth sharing.

Randy: Today, I'd like to tell you about a wonderful acquaintance we've made here who happens to be based out of a great place to go for art supplies of just about any kind, especially drawing and painting. It's a family-owned and operated shop in the Chinatown area of Kuala Lumpur, run by Mr Yap and his family, all of whom have intimate knowledge and information regarding the supplies they sell. We look forward to every visit to Venus Art, because when we go there, we will not be treated like a wallet with legs, but as friends.

Personally, I have been to a good number of art stores here in KL, almost all of which are corporate franchises with employees who are there solely for the paycheck, and have neither an interest in what they sell, nor in doing anything more than what they are forced to do to keep their jobs. The most commonly heard response from the staff at these establishments is "I don't know". (EK: Once in a while, we'll come across a staff member with more initiative who would help out a little more, but these occurrences tend to be few and far in between) Before we discovered Venus Art, we ventured into one of these establishments looking for some simple drawing supplies, and spent well over an hour walking up and down aisle after aisle of current trend products trying to find a handful of items which none of the sales staff could help point us toward.

After several attempts to get the attention of the employees, and asking questions, describing the items we were looking for, we asked to see the manager; "I don't know" had gotten a bit old. To my surprise, even the manager was unable to direct us to most of these common items, and although she was very polite in her reiteration of "I don't know", we left the shop without many of the things we went for in the first place. As we walked out, we both agreed we felt a distinct sense that we had wasted more time than what we got from the visit was worth.

Then, we discovered Venus Art, and life improved in a matter of minutes. The service was amazing, Mr Yap and his daughter both had knowledge of everything we asked for, including uncommon items that're usually special-order only, even in the US. During the conversation, I forgot I was in a store owned by a stranger. The whole visit was much more like going to see an artist friend and borrowing some supplies from them. The stock was much more artist-oriented than any of the other stores we'd visited, and much less of the trendy-cool-in-fashion stuff that's advertised as being able to turn anyone into Picasso himself.

We piled items into our little basket with the excitement of two kids on Christmas morning, and before I knew it, we had twice as much as we'd gone to get in the first place. As I got to the register, Mr Yap's daughter began to total us up. It was then that I realized how much we had put into the basket, and I prepared myself for a four-digit total, assuming that the prices would be akin to what was being charged in the franchise stores, only higher given the much better quality of the products.

At that point, I noticed that there were several drawings pasted on the wall behind her. One particularly striking piece was a sketch of the Eiffel Tower. The simplicity of the design suggested it was a child's drawing, and as I looked at it, I felt the mental shift that defines masterpiece works, where one loses their own perceptions and is transported behind the eyes of the artist, seeing what they saw as they created it.
Whoever had sketched the piece wasn't bound by the rules of perfection and accuracy, and had firmly translated perception that even included mood onto the surface of the paper.

I asked about the drawing, and was told the owner's granddaughter had done it a few years before, when she was about eight years of age. The very same girl now stared up at me from a chair behind the counter where she was drawing, smiling broadly at my compliments on her sketch. She told me that she had done it "a long time ago", but made no attempt whatsoever to explain any of the "imperfections" that most adult artists, including myself, seem to find in anything they do. She was happy and satisfied with her work in a way all too uncommon in older artists; and rightly so.

And then the total came, to my shock, to much less than what I had expected it would be. Top quality supplies, great service, friendly conversation with fellow artists, and now this: it was like a dream from which I'd hate waking from. I had found my art supplier, made new friends, and found a shop I could recommend to just about anyone. I have since sent many people there, and every one of them returns with a similar feeling to mine the day I first walked into their shop.

Professionally and personally, we both recommend checking them out -- it's an experience you won't regret. Venus Art is at no 90, Jalan Petaling, 50000 Kuala Lumpur. Tel: 03-2072 8807.
Venus Art is closed on Sunday.

And while you're there, remember to tell the Yaps hi from Randy and Ee Koon!
　

A Fish has Swallowed the Tasmanian Devil

EK:

We've been building a bank of stories and blogs to post, though the shop keeps our hands and brains at work enough that we delegate a day to publish the blog. Last week, we had our hands full between inking, piercing, entertaining and doing consults, so this one comes a little late. Well, better late than never.

Andy came to us about a month ago, to ask us to cover up an old piece he had. We bumped into him by chance as he happened to be looking for us, at the Western restaurant, Wild Basil, almost directly opposite the entrance to the shop, and it was pretty evident from the start that he was a lot like the shop regulars we had back in the States -- he's laidback, he likes a laugh or two, and he brings his own music to share. Hey, new music to listen to is a bonus, right? 

(As an aside, we welcome almost any music any friends or clients might bring, so long as it is not preachy, or brain-numbinglyrepetitious or brain-numbing per se ... and yes, we have a definite lean towards the genre of rock)


He's spent some time in Glasgow (which I suppose makes him part Glaswegian), and joined the Scottish Navy for a while. A sense of patriotic duty led to this tat, which has been on him for over 10 years: Yup, it's Taz bearing the Scottish flag and a banner telling where he's from. Personally, I thought it was pretty cute. Come on, who doesn't like the Tazzer?


We kicked around some ideas as to what to cover it up with, and he ended up asking to have two different drawings done, from which he would choose. Now I have said it time and again that the best coverups are always custom drawn to fit the wearer. You just can't find a piece of flash and plonk it on top of an old tat. Well, you can, it's just not always as effective. So it was a custom coverup all the way.


The first I drew was of a koi (his first choice) curling to leap upwards -- traditionally, of course, the koi jumping upwards turns into a dragon once it enters the heavenly skies.  Maybe that is why the Cantonese call it "kum loong yee" (erm, golden dragon fish? I'm not sure) A symbol of great growth, prosperity and good luck.  And a thistle in the background, as it's Scotland's national flower.


Initially, he worried whether it would be fitting to have a thistle with a koi or not, and my answer was, well, if it fits you, why worry about what anyone else would say?  When it comes to tats, it's almost always about the person who wears it, and never the society aorund the person.


The second version was an old school sailing ship, but Andy said he'd never live it down with his friends so we KO'ed that option.  The line drawing is still with me.


Halfway through, he emailed me asking to insert the words "The World Is Yours" which are found on the banner of a sculpture. Which happened to be a prop in that Al Pacino classic, Scarface. I really couldn't think of anything more befitting the piece, so we proceeded by picking a Gothic-style treatment to the words and pumped it into an illustrative style banner.

We also opted for black and grey (he's not real big on loads of color) with the thistle coloured in, and some 'backlight' in the scales to further obscure the blue.


These pics show a little bit of the process:
Say hi to Taz!  Isn't he a cutie!

Say goodbye to Taz. And the coverup's done, after the second session. Greyscale done. The white highlights are not so evident at this point. Mainly because it was late evening when the pic was taken and his skin was still pretty red. And we've never Photoshopped a pic in our lives :)


All in all, we had a good time having Andy around. Oh, and speaking of bringing music, he introduced us to bands like Kasabian and I had my first listen of Arctic Monkeys. I know, I know, it sounds like I've been living under a rock not to have heard the Monkeys, but yanno, half the time I am humming Zeppelin in my head, and they're kinda sorta like almost musical grandfathers to the Arctic Monkeys...sort of. hehe.

Next time, I'll tell you about meeting a new client (who I'm lucky to now also call a friend) who could have/most probably indeed have crossed paths with me before in the past, not only once, but twice. But that's another story for another time.



Observations on Then and Now

Randy:  Take heart, my tattooed friends; even here in Malaysia, life for the tattooed is getting easier by the day. Let me tell you a little story about my visit here just over three and a half years ago, and you'll understand what I am saying. Tattoos are getting more mainstream, and no longer do tattoos mark you as a thug or social outcast.

My first night here, right off of the plane, we stopped for food at a roadside hawker stand. My wife had told me that I'd better cover up my tattooed arms to avoid problems at the customs counter, and I was wearing a cotton hoody. I was sweating like the proverbial pig in the 27C heat even at three am in July. No one nearby appeared to be tatted, but I was clear of customs, so I removed the hoody, exposing my ink.

It was as if permission had somehow been given to those that sat at the tables around us. First, a young lady at the table just to the right of ours took off her overshirt, and exposed a small tribal phoenix on her back, just below her neck. Then a gent to the left of us pulled off his light jacket and exposed some work he had on his forearm. Before we knew it, about a third of the people nearby were suddenly showing ink that they'd kept hidden until I showed mine.

The following day, we tried to hail a cab, and car after car rolled by us, some slowing as if to stop, then speeding away as the drivers saw my flame-ridden arms. In order to get a cab, we had to have a plan and basically ambush one. I would stand away from my wife while she hailed one, pretending we were not together. After the cab stopped and she's already gotten the ok from the driver for our destination, I would run over and hop in. Twice in the ten days I was here, the driver asked us to exit tha cab after seeing my ink.

Now, just a few years later, cabs stop for us, apparently without any reservations whatsoever. The largest English newspaper here, The Star, writes a Metro Feature Article about our shop, and one of their reporters, Priya Menon, gets her first taste of ink for the article so she can share details about the experience firsthand. And I don't have to be the first at a local restaurant to expose my ink, as typically, when I arrive at one, I am already checking out the tattoos being sported by many of the patrons, which are readily and proudly displayed.

Shows like Miami Ink, LA Ink, Tattoo Highway, and London Ink have helped greatly to alert the rest of the world that there are inked people from every walk of life, as have magazines and other media sources. But there is also another source for spreading the word that we often overlook, and that I believe is the singlemost instrumental; everyday tattooed people showing their ink in public without fear of judgment or rejection.

The time has come when Malaysia has escaped the dark ages and the dark thinking about those wearing ink. Let us celebrate the growth of an entire nation with respect to the art we love so much. Wear sleeveless shirts, spaghetti-strap tops, and those sandals that reveal the beautiful, artistic, flowered bands on delicate ankles. Let the world around you see that tattoos are not only art, but art in such pure form that we celebrate it with permanent marks on our very bodies.



EK:
"Don't tell your family this, but the reason so-and-so always wears a t-shirt is because he has got these huge tattoos, and they really are pretty ugly," someone in my extended family whispered to me in my college days.
It really seemed that having ink was more of a mark of scandalousness, and a public symbol of notoriety.  Mind you, that was almost 20 years ago.

Back in those days, it was like a mark of notoriety -- something socially restricted to society save sailors, bikers and whores and people who work in canivals. (Mind you, I've since then met a few of those mentioned above, and they are perfectly decent human beings and in most cases, unworthy of condemnation by a self-righteous 'polite society').

I wouldn't say that things have taken a 180-degree turn and the complete opposite is true today, but they have changed and continue to change in a positive direction, for which I'm sure not just artists but the tattooed at large are so gratified to see.

Ink both good and bad is sported just about everywhere in the United States. In KL, I'm pleasantly surprised at the growth in the amount of people who admit to having ink (part of it hidden under clothing), and indeed, look forward to the day very soon, that not only those within the tattoo industry or those working in more 'permissive' fields like art, film and design and advertising  -- but everyone out there -- is able to publicly and visually show off their tattoos without hesitation.
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I truly have found that in the past few years, more and more Malaysians are finding their ways, discovering their means to define themselves as individuals rather than a member of a collective. It's refreshing, and encouraging, and it paves the way to someone being to say, "I got this tattoo because I want to and it's me," instead of "I have to hide this tat because my grandma's going to kill me if she finds out."  Well, why not?  Having ink doesn't damn you and doesn't make you a worse person, or a source of embarassment. If people are going to judge you for a little bit of self-expression and individuality, then they're probably not the kind of people that you want to keep around you, anyway.

Next post: New pictures, I promise!

Some Text on Text Tats (Say that 10 times fast)

EeKoon:  Different people, different cultures and different markets like different things.  This is no stunning revelation, and when Randy and I began doing a  little research as to what kind of tattoos would sell, I was hoping to see a love for written word tats here.



Twin roses to remember his late father by



It did take me by surprise that there is a comparatively smaller amount of interest to stick some 'abc's for good into skin in Kuala Lumpur. In comparison, back in the US of A, script tattoos seem to be more the norm than the exception and we pretty much do a text tat, if not insert text into a pictorial tat at least once a day.

Now in KL, we have fielded several requests to tattoo scripts, sayings, names etc onto skin, and it seems each time people ask for them, or want to get a tattoo of words, we pretty much jump at the chance to ink it. It's like crawling in a desert and finally finding an oasis, then diving straight into it.

To me, a text tattoo is more than just inking a bunch of letters onto skin. It's a celebration of the written word. It is loaded with definition, heavy with personal meaning. Special and unique to its wearer. Special and unique, too, during the time it is being created, to the artist who cares(to tell you the absolute truth).

Some other tattoo artists might not give a shit. Not me. The day I don't give a crap about a script tat whether it's big or small is probably the day I stop tattooing. It sounds kinda dramatic, but here's my rationale: Script tattoos can always bring back memories every time the client looks at them, good or bad ones...just never weak ones. At the very least, it stimulates a minor reaction and one that is anything but indifferent.

I've seen clients give wry grins after getting them. And hundreds of big smiles. And sometimes, they just burst into cathartic tears in a few instances(then they tend to hug me real tight and I have to offer Kleenex or a paper towel). But I'm digressing.

I love script tats.  Short ones, long ones, edited ones (like a Psalm we had to slice and dice to fit a soldier's back last year and yet retain its meaning). And ones that make up a stanza from a poem I did last week.

Nikki searched long and hard for her next tat, and decided on an excerpt from a Michael Ondaatje poem.  Now, since Ondaatje is one of my favourite writers, I jumped on that like white on rice. Why, you might well ask?  Because Ondaatje doesn't really just write. His prose sentences sound and feel like poetry. Word juxtaposed against word in new and wonderful manner every time you read it. A fullstop isn't a mere fullstop but a drawn out, oh-so-elegant verbal sigh. It's a treat to read his work, so why not tattoo his work, right?

Anyway, we got it written up, stenciled and  inked on her. I loved what she picked, and enjoyed every moment of inking it.  I was tempted (hehe) to put a "(c) Michael Ondaatje" at the bottom behind her back but she would beat me like a red-headed stepchild, I think. And oh yeah... a 3 round needle travelling just under her neck and she barely moved, except shifting when we're laughing over I can't remember what. Bonus!

I got into the 'art space' that Randy talks about. You know, that dream-like, blissful feeling when you're deep in the midst of a tat and there is nothing else in this world, just your eyes, your hands and the canvas before you. One that you leave with great reluctance when it's all over.

And with typical post-tattoo presence of mind, I, um, forgot to take a picture yet again. Which explains the lack of the image which should've been inserted right about.... here. (Yeah, Nikki, I'm a spazz, I know!)

Just as there are good ideas and bad ideas, there are good idea scripts and bad idea scripts. There's no one rule that applies to this, save the one that  you (especially if you are considering a tattoo of a name) should Never, Ever Forget.  And that is: Never Ever Get A Script Tattoo That You Might Regret Someday.



Bible verse tattoo. Timeless, apt and never a regret.



Because, god knows, I've had to cover up enough of them. And that's never a walk in the park. We connect with every person we tattoo at a certain level, and truly, I don't think we ever let that connection go. A tattoo lasts longer than a first, second or third boyfriend. Longer than a marriage or marriages. (thus for example, try to avoid tats of the names of your BF/GF/BFF/etc/spouse, unless deceased). It's too long to get into here, so come ask us personally our take on it :)

Yeah, tattoos really are forever, and in a cover up, we not only deal with having to conceal someone's name, we also get an idea of the client's emotions and reactions - frustration, regret, anger, unhappiness. Imagine getting a feel of some of these things third hand.  And how much worse it gets for the one who gets to feel it first hand.  Nothing very positive, huh?

"I don't really care what you put over it, as long as the word/s is/are gone" are words we have heard all too often. Yes, even in Malaysia.
 
For a little giggle, I asked Randy to tell you this story of a couple back in the US who got each other's names on them. This is a story about a smart girl. And a not-as-smart boy.



This 6'6" mechanic specified old style newsprint text for his nickname. Insisted on a pic before I finished cleaning his fingers up!



Randy: A young couple, Chris and Ce`Aira (Pronounced "Sierra" but with a very unusual and unique spelling), came to us to get one another's names tattooed. My immediate reaction was to give them The Name Speech: "If you're going to get a name, get your own, or that of a blood relation. Your blood will always be your blood, and your name will always be your own. Love comes and goes; tattoos truly are *forever*". I hoped they would reconsider, and suggested as an alternative getting a "symbol" for one another, as symbols have a time frame, while names always carry the current feelings you have toward that person.





Our client-turned-friend Sherry always has her kids with her.



I even went so far as to show them the pitt bull on my left shoulder, which represents me, the panther on my right shoulder which represents my wife, and explained to them that my heart sits right between the two. I also pointed out that if all hell broke loose and we divorced one another tomorrow, when I looked at the tattoos in the mirror I'd remember the day I got them, how good things were, and never have to suffer the indignities of the next love in my life staring coldly at me and my ink asking "Who's Ee Koon, and when is that coming off?!" They had made up their minds and insisted on the names against my best advice and efforts to dissuade them.



I did their tattoos, his first, then hers. As I was halfway through hers, she looked him in the eye and informed him, "If we ever break up, I'll just add a "t" to the end of mine, and make it say "Christ"; what're you going to do with yours?" His eyes got wide as he realized she had an easy escape while her name would be much more difficult to change, and almost certainly require some big, dark, ugly imagery capable of covering up the large, thick letters on his forearm.

"Oh!" he shouted, "You had that planned!"

Her reply was short and sweet: "Damn right, didn't you listen to the man?!"

And what do we learn from this? Choose your ink carefully, and unless you like the taste of crow, never try, as a man, to match wits with a woman who knows you well; if you do, you'll be eating it aplenty for years to come.