What up Los Angeles, it’s ya boy Astor, resident apprentice here at Speakeasy Tattoo and this week I am going to start off this here blog within the theater of the imagination.
Imagine if you will, you are running. It is bitterly cold, snow sticking to your dark hair, and clumping on your grass boots. The air is thin, 11,000 feet up into the Alps, and you have been traveling up and down the mountain for two days, pollen sticking in your lungs. Are you still being pursued? Why? The wounds on your right hand from your recent fight have not yet healed. Your ankles ache. Your knees protest the rough treatment with grinding pain. Perhaps your stomach hurts, your gallstones acting up, or maybe you have a severe headache and shooting nerve pain from the Lyme disease that’s ravaging your body. You’ve had a meal just a few hours ago—ibex meat, einkorn wheat, and some poisonous bracken fern to treat your intestinal parasites, but if you’re going to keep going, you’d better eat another mushroom.
Before you can fetch the medicinal fungus from your pack, however, THWACK, an arrow lodges itself in your shoulder, and you fall, bleeding, into the snow. Your body tumbles into a shallow rocky valley on the mountain, like a natural bivouac, and you know no more of the world.
There you lie there undisturbed for 5,300 years, until some German tourists find your mummified corpse in 1991. You are Otzi the Iceman, and you have just become an international celebrity.
(Warning: Incoming corpse)
If this trip to imagination land has told you anything, it’s that Otzi was in pretty bad shape when he met his end on that mountain. His musculature indicates that he spent much of his life walking, probably climbing the Alps regularly, and this high-intensity lifestyle had taken its toll on his body. He was 46 years old when he died and in addition to the aforementioned gallstones, parasites, and Lyme, he also had arthritis, a Heliobacter pylori infection (a bacterium which still plagues modern humans, causing stomach ulcers), and a predisposition to cardiovascular disease. He likely would have suffered from chronic pain. So what does a Copper Age chronic pain patient do?
Well, he might, as mentioned, eat some poisonous bracken fern (some people do still eat these today—in moderation), or chew on some birch polypore mushrooms, for their antibacterial properties. Otzi, however, may have also sought another kind of medicine: lots and lots of tattoos.
He had 61 tattoos, in 19 clusters, dotted around his body. Most were bands of parallel lines, like tally marks, but there are also a few crosses. Otzi’s epidermis was sloughed off by the mountain, and his mummified dermis is mottled brown, so some of the tattoos are difficult to see. But, in 2015, a new study of his body using multispectral imaging managed to count what researchers believe to be all of them. They seem to trace his pain areas: his ankles, his knees, his lumbar spine, his left wrist, and his right upper abdomen. (Honestly I could do with some medicinal tattooing on my lumbar spine, as my back absolutely kills. Think I could get my insurance to cover a new back piece?)
The ink is composed mainly of carbon, with some silica. This chemical composition suggests that the color is derived from ash gathered at the edge of a fire pit, which would have been inlaid the old fashioned way (in fact, the oldest fashion), with a sharpened piece of bone puncturing the flesh, and the ash rubbed in.
Some researchers believe that this practice might have demarcated areas where acupuncture treatments had been performed. Or, perhaps the tattoos themselves were the treatment. This would make sense, as still today, the process of tattooing brings blood to the surface of the skin, promoting the creation of collagen, and calls white blood cells to the area, responsible for destroying harmful pathogens and stimulating the immune system. Has anyone ever told you that getting a tattoo could be good for you?
Otzi’s are the world’s oldest preserved tattoos. They are not, however, the only ones. Mummies from Ancient Egypt, pre-Incan Peru, Iron Age Siberia, Bronze Age China, at least one individual from the Chinchorro culture of Northern Chile, et cetera, show that tattooing has been a cultural practice the world over for thousands of years. Otzi’s, however, shed unique light on the medical field of so many millennia ago, and the fusion of art with science.
Updated: Jan 6, 2023
How we doing Los Angeles? Keeping cool? Staying hydrated? As summer marches onward at Speakeasy Tattoo we find ourselves battling the blistering heat in the heart of LA and bracing ourselves for the inevitable blitzkrieg of fire season. Just this morning I passed a blaze while on my way to the studio, signaling that the season of burning was officially here. Which, as it turns out is a nice segue into this week’s topic, that I’m really stoked to talk about because it's just so objectively cool. Warning: history nerd rambling ahead but also some truly dope arts and crafts, so stay with me.
On March 24, 1603, Tokugawa Ieyasu, heralded as one of the great unifiers of Japan, was granted the title of Shogun by Emperor Go-Yozei, thus ending Japan’s Sengoku period (the era of the warring states and the time period in which a good 70 percent of anime takes place) and marking the beginning of the Edo period. Two hundred years later, Tokugawa Ieyasu’s great-great-great-great-grandson, Tokugawa Ienari, was Shogun, but while the Shogunate had remained in the family for two centuries, not everything could stay the same. By the time of Tokugawa Ienari’s ascension, social unrest regarding what was seen as a corrupt government had begun to foment. Samurai, who could once be lauded as great heroes during the era of the warring states, became symbols of the inequality between the classes. Like knights of noble birth, one had to be born into a samurai family in order to be given the title, but in the centuries of peace throughout the Edo period, and with the consequent decline in importance of martial skills, the samurai became aristocrats and bureaucrats, seated squarely at the top of a rigorously stratified caste system. This was the social climate when the Suikoden, a 14th century Chinese novel about a band of rebellious outlaws fighting the rich to aid the poor and downtrodden, gained popularity. While translations of the work into Japanese date back to at least 1757, an 1805 translation, illustrated by celebrated artist Hokusai, gave the novel broad appeal. For this reason, the characters and stories were already widely known when in 1827, another ukiyo-e artist by the name of Utagawa Kuniyoshi (known by his given name, Kuniyoshi, rather than by his surname, which was adopted from his school of ukiyo-e) was commissioned to illustrate a new translation.
Top: Hakujisso Hakushô by Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1798 - 1861)
Bottom: Byôtaichû Setsuei and Shôsharan Bokushun by Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1798 - 1861)
It would make him famous. Kuniyoshi’s dynamic, full-color illustrations depicted many of the heroes in intricate full-body tattoos, and the widespread success of his work created a demand for similar tattoos among those wishing to emulate the strength of the rebel heroes of the Suikoden, also known as 108 Heroes of the Water Margin, or Outlaws of the Marsh. These tattoos were applied using wooden handles and metal needles attached by silk thread, and utilized a specialty ink still produced today, known as Nara ink, after the prefecture in which it was traditionally produced. Not only would these tattoos signal a readiness to fight injustice, but often the motifs were those of gods, protective spirits, and powerful beasts. These designs were chosen to lend the power of the entity depicted unto the wearer of the tattoo. Perhaps for this reason, they became particularly popular among, and identified with, the fire brigades of Edo.
“Edo” is not only the name of the 267 year period during which the Tokugawa family reigned as Shogun, but also the old name for what we now call Tokyo. It was a city marked by rapid growth, spiraling around Edo Castle as the daimyo (vassal lords), the samurai, and their staff moved into residences around the Shogun. The population nearly tripled between 1640 and 1720, from around 400,000 residents to some 1,100,000. This booming expansion meant that the urban sprawl needed to be built quickly, and densely. The most common building materials at the time were wood, paper, straw and bamboo. All of these elements together made of Edo a tinderbox; in fact Edo was sometimes called the “City of Fires”. While Kyoto had only 9 great fires during that period, Edo had as many as 85. If smaller fires are also counted, Edo suffered some 1,798 fires during the Tokugawa Shogunate—986 of which were between 1801 and 1867. Obviously, firefighters had their work cut out for them. A popular saying of the time can be translated to mean “Fights and fires are the flowers of Edo, yet the greater essence is the fireman”.
Kabuki - Tattooed Firefighter by Toyohara Kunichika (1835-1900)
The firefighters, or hikeshi, had by the 19th century adopted a very unique visual style. Firstly, each of the 48 districts of Edo had its own brigade, each with its own distinctive matoi, or standard. This was a large, three dimensional white shape at the end of a pole, with trailing flags hanging down. The point of this object was to be clearly visible
at the site of a fire, as the standard-bearer would climb up to a rooftop and wave the matoi, signaling to the other firefighters the location and direction of a fire. This was seen as something of a heroic job, as the standard-bearer would have to be first on the scene, and would also have to climb into a dangerous rooftop situation in the midst of a blaze. The remaining members of the brigade would then charge in, attempting to put out the fire, or else, use hooks and axes to pull the affected building down before the fire spread. They were not equipped with today’s protective clothing. Instead, they walked into the mouth of the inferno with thick coats, dipped in water, to provide some means of defense against the flames.
These coats were perhaps the most aesthetic things you will ever see. Each was reversible, with the emblem of the firefighter’s brigade on one side, and on the other, an elaborate design colored using the tsutsugaki method of resist dyeing. Like the tattoos inspired by the Suikoden, these beautiful images often contained motifs of protective spirits and courageous heroes, both an inspiration to and guardian of the fireman who wore the coat. When a firefighter went into a fire, he would wear the coat with the design to the skin, and the emblem of his brigade turned to the outside. This was for several reasons: one, it made him easily identifiable as a member of that particular firefighting brigade; two, it protected the intricate design from the flames; and three, it pressed the protective images to the skin, just as did their tattoos.
Things changed in 1867. Following decades of excess amongst the ruling class, a devastating famine, powerful earthquakes, intercession by Western powers, and, yes, fires, fires, and more fires, the Tokugawa Shogunate was destabilized. Even the samurai had begun to speak out against the Shogun. Then, the Emperor became grievously ill at the age of 36 and died, leaving his 14 year old son to inherit the throne. That boy would come to be known as Emperor Meiji, and he would utterly change the cultural landscape of Japan by instituting sweeping reforms. He outlawed the samurai caste. He outlawed the topknot hairstyle and he himself wore a Western style haircut. He sent envoys to the United States and Britain to attempt to renegotiate unfavorable treaties and to bring home every kind of industrial advancement they could find in lands abroad. He also outlawed the practice of tattooing, possibly because he wished to change the ways in which Japan was perceived in the eyes of the Western world, where full-body tattoos were uncommon. Thus, tattoos gained a reputation of criminality in Japan, a conception that still persists somewhat today (though this is slowly changing). Despite this, Japanese-style tattoos remain popular, continuing a tradition hundreds of years in the making. Though they may not know it, everyone with a jumping koi sleeve or a sick Eastern dragon tattoo owes a debt to Utagawa Kuniyoshi, one of the last great masters of ukiyo-e.
Well Dang. It is my first blog entry and as I approach the end of my first month here at Speakeasy Tattoo I am full of… emotion? Strange as I feel like I had on average 1 or 2 emotions per week this time last year. Getting back into doing, well, anything consistently since emerging from the self-imposed exile of quarantine has been a herculean task. Not only that but I’ve got some massive size 12’s to fill following the former author’s departure from the blogosphere. (seen below me attempting to follow a certain goth giant’s bootprints.)
Nevertheless, we must press onward and so that brings us to me. What am I going to do with this small slice of the internet? Well in the days before I found my way to this lovely place I was somewhat of an art historian or at least I had a degree that says as much. And even though I went to art school and not real college the debt is certainly real so I might as well attempt to use some of that supposed know how to look at history and find the narrative through lines that connect my own personal journey to the history of tattoos. And because like any self-respecting gay I love needless self interrogation, let’s start there.
It’s summer in Los Angeles, and the mercury hasn’t dipped below 79 in my apartment all week. I don’t have central AC, just a noisy, overtaxed window unit, which must work extra hard as it is set into a south-facing window, meaning it is precisely located in the hottest part of the house. Still, I am camped in front of it, thinking of the summers of the late 90’s, before I knew exactly how disgusting water parks are and could while away the hours drifting along a lazy river, standing on my tiptoes to meet the height requirements for the big slides, or horking down hot dogs until I threw up in the wave pool. Those were the halcyon days, to be sure. But, aside from questionable sanitation standards and minimal supervision, there’s one other feature to my memories of water parks when I was but a wee lad: women with paw print tattoos decorating their décolletage.They truly were everywhere. Friends of mine have the same recollection. One says that during a trip to Soak City USA in 2004, she counted 14 separate women with this distinctive tattoo. So let’s talk about trendy tattoos, shall we?
The paw prints were popularized by American rapper Eve, whose 1999 debut album “Let There Be Eve… Ruff Ryders’ First Lady” hit #1 on the Billboard list, a rare feat for the first album of a female rapper (indeed, she was only the third female rapper to earn this distinction). Reportedly, she got the paw prints when she was 18, and had them placed on her chest on a dare. For her, they have become iconic. So much so, that even her mother, who initially hated the design and its placement, later objected to the idea of Eve having them removed, as they’ve become integral to Eve’s identity as a performer. Eve so far has decided not to have them removed, but says she won’t get them touched up, either. She likes that they’ve faded, and that they have ‘grown with her’, as she says, since she received the tattoo in 1998. They’re not her only tattoo, but they are her most recognizable, and they inspired countless women to ask for the same ink in tattoo shops across the country, perhaps seeking some of Eve’s success, or sex appeal. For me, they are an intrinsic part of the cultural tapestry of the early 2000s.
Eve was not the first celebrity to have inspired copycat tattoos, however.
After her sudden and tragic death in 1970 at the age of 27, superstar Janis Joplin was the emblem fans clamored to imitate, specifically, in the form of her Lyle Tuttle Florentine bracelet tattoo. She also had a small heart tattooed on her chest, but the bracelet, being more visible, was more iconic to her fans. Of the designs, Joplin once said, “I wanted some decoration. See, the one on my wrist is for everybody; the one on my tit is for me and my friends.” Her words would prove prescient, as that wrist tattoo took off among those seeking to mourn or model the famous singer.
And it isn’t just musicians, either. In the 1990s, after the splash success of Baywatch (see what I did there), both men and women went under the needle for barbed wire armbands, mimicking sex symbol Pamela Anderson. The trend became so widespread that George Carlin made some less than positive cracks about it, which I will not report here because I could do just as well just posting “old man yells at cloud”. People do like to comment on this motif, in a similar fashion as derogatory remarks about lower back tattoos, but personally, I hope everyone who has a barbed wire tattoo, whether they got it to look badass or to look Baywatch, is getting everything out of it that they wanted. Tangentially: did you know there is more than one barbed wire museum in the United States? If you are in the market for a barbed wire tattoo, you could stop into one of these museums (one is on historic Route 66) and buy a piece of barbed wire from the 1800s, even older than the tattoo machine, upon which to base your tattoo.
So why the topic of trendy tattoos? In a way trendy tattoos hit that sweet spot that all art strives to, that is the synthesis of the familiar and the unexpected. They are a meeting point between style and beauty. While beauty is a collective aesthetic generated from shared cultural values, style is more individualized. Style is generated from individual taste and is highly customizable and in that way the singular personal tattoo can be seen as the epitome of style. But what happens when that singular personalized notion gets used as a signifier over and over again, does it become collective or does it retain its individuality? Obviously I have no definitive answer to this question, but it is my belief that, because each individual has their own reasons for getting a tattoo that emulates a celebrity, whether it be celebratory or salacious, even the mass-represented tattoos become a personal attestation.
The folks who got paw print tattoos in the late 90s and early 2000s are now likely in their 40s and 50s. I wonder how many have had cover-ups on their cleavage clawmarks, or have them removed, versus how many, like Eve, have aged with them (gracefully, I might add). It seems fitting that Eve’s chart-topping single “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” (2001) was a diss track on those who doubted her ability to have staying power. The tattoos she inspired, while their trendiness might have faded, are still sticking around.