I would like to share my first tattoo experience and what led up to it.
At A Glance Author clara-m Contact clara-m@bme.anon IAM clara-m When Five years ago Artist Eric Studio Tattoo Shop Location La Rochelle, France I am now 44 and my first tattoo was done 6 years ago when I was 38. Three years later I had a second one, and this year I had tattoos 3 and 4 done. So that means that I get tattoos every 3 years. I wonder if that will continue. Actually, I have so many ideas and desires that I think it will. And I so love my tattoos that I don't see much reason for stopping. I now have one tattoo on each arm and one on each leg. Each tattoo has been bigger than the last one, with my latest one covering the outside of my leg from ankle to knee. I will write about my other tattoos in another experience.
Well, it all began when I was about 14. I had a very wild friend, whose name I can't remember. She was 15 at the time and was what they called a "bovver girl". That's what we called skinhead girls back in 1974. She lived in a detention centre and was forever running away. I thought she was the coolest thing on earth. We were both cutters, although for every cut I did, she did ten. But the thing that really impressed me was her tattoos. They were all done by others in the detention centre. She had them on her thighs, on her arms, all hand done by kids her age, so just outlines really. The one I really remember was on her hands: "Rod Stewart", in capital letters. I wonder if she's still alive, now a 45 or 46 year old woman, still with "Rod Stewart" tattooed on the back of her hand. If she is, maybe she is reading this and will get in touch with me. We lost touch way back. Anyway, I longed for a tattoo but I knew that my mother would rather die than allow such a thing, or even admit such a thing. And so I waited ... and waited ... and waited. Maybe I should explain that my mother was a concentration camp survivor – so you can easily imagine why she was so against tattoos, and why I respected that and did not get one until it was too late for her to know about it. Yes, I waited 24 years to get my first tattoo!
Over the years, I thought really often about getting a tattoo. After a while, I realised that I changed my mind concerning the design until one day it became 100% obvious to me. I was at a time of my life that I really felt I had to affirm myself, accept that my body belonged to me as did my mind and feelings. I wanted to appropriate my body. I felt that it had often belonged to others what with operations as a kid and then pregnancies ... but that is another story. The one thing that represents life for every creature on this earth is the sun. So I decided to have a small sun tattooed on my upper left arm. The left side was really important, too, as the left side is the past, the maternal, the reassuring.
As my kids were already quite grown-up (11 and 12), I talked to them before getting my tattoo. They were really surprised but one hundred per cent supportive. At that time I was the owner of a bar and there was a tattoo artist just round the corner. Once my decision had been taken, I went to see him and asked if he could tattoo my own drawing. He agreed and we made an appointment for a couple of weeks later. That evening I drew the sun I wanted tattooed on my arm: eight branches, and only in colour, with no black outline. I took my drawing to the tattoo artist the next day and he said it was fine.
I could hardly wait for the day to come. I was not nervous at all, but I was nearly sick with longing and desire for that tattoo. It seemed almost like my whole life was hanging on that experience. I knew that it was the right thing for me and that at last I was claiming my body as my own.
The actual tattoo experience was great. My tattoo artist got everything ready, although I think here in my small town hygiene is less strict than in the bigger cities as the tattoo gun was not covered in plastic as I see on most photos. However, the needles and cups were all single use ones and he covered his work table and the chair in plastic after spraying with a cleaner. And, of course, he wore gloves just out of a packet. I was so looking forward to the tattoo that I didn't feel a thing. I was on a little cloud of happiness and in about 40 minutes it was all over and I had a yellow red and orange sun on my arm, covered in goo and plastic.
I felt really pleased and also proud. Proud that I had taken the decision. Proud that I had drawn my own small design. Proud that I knew I had chosen the right symbol for me. And proud that I had waited until then, that there was no-one to misunderstand or feel hurt by my action. Maybe that seems silly, but it was a big part of that first experience for me.