On taking a long time

As a tattoo artist and yoga instructor, you step into the role of healer in two different contexts. Can you walk me through what those practices look and feel like in your body?

In a yoga training I just did, they asked that exact question. I feel like in the space of teaching [yoga], it’s literally to give people the mental space from their everyday lives. To give them a container to be in—to reflect, sit, be quiet, separate from the outside world, and see what comes up. With tattooing, I feel like it’s about making people feel more beautiful. Every time I get a tattoo, I feel like I look more like myself—it’s about making people look more like how they feel on the inside. Also giving people a space to lay, be quiet, listen to music, and not engage in anything other than the act of receiving.

How do you see the relationship between teaching yoga and tattooing?

I love teaching because it’s much less of a high stakes environment. A one-on-one interaction is so different from leading a collective. I love the balance of both because they feel equally life-giving, exciting, and embodying. For me, yoga is very internal—moving, burning, cleansing—while tattooing is very external. Tattooing feels like, “This is who I am externally.” Yoga feels like, “This is who I’m trying to be inwardly.” I think they complement each other extremely well. I also tattoo a lot of young people, and I teach a lot of older people. There’s been this funny crossover where I’ve had tattoo clients start to take my yoga classes because they vibe with me, and then I’ve had older people want to get tattoos because they feel safe, and trust my energy or my intention. It’s been cool to mix those communities and introduce them to each other. I like as much diversity in age as I can be around—both sides can teach you a lot about life.

Why do you get tattoos?

I think it’s genuinely so beautiful to be able to decorate yourself—with clothing, color, the way we can do our hair. Something about being able to adorn and decorate skin feels so cool and freeing.

I’m curious how giving and receiving tattoos has informed your perception of permanence, and the passage of time?

When I receive tattoos, the feeling of permanence is so comforting—to think that I’ll be 87 years old, hopefully, with everything I have on my body. Then I get to look back at things I got—I have a tattoo I got in India 5 to 8 years ago—and remember that I’m still that person. I’m still in that body. You know when you see a picture of yourself at five years old and you’re like, “Whoah, I’m still that person?” That’s how it feels. Whether I got it at a good or bad time, there’s something really grounding and comforting about knowing that person is within me. It makes you reflect on everything you’ve been through. For me, tattoos are a timestamp.

For other people, I feel like I watch them really practice surrender. They give up control to the artist to a certain extent. Obviously, they choose the placement and confirm they want the design, but then there’s a level of letting go. You’re fully giving me your body, and you’re trusting me while you lay there and hope that it turns out how you wanted. I’ve had a lot of past clients tell me they feel like they can take on way more risk and trust other people, all from the act of getting tattooed. I think the permanence of it all loosens people up, and makes them practice surrender. It makes them take their bodies less seriously. We’re so body centered and body focused. It reminds people that this is just a vessel to decorate.

Outside of all external definitions, how would you define artwork?

For me, it’s simply the inner world made visual. Someone trying to represent what’s happening inside of them. There’s so many mediums that are possible through that, which is where artwork is interesting to me.

Have you always felt drawn to bodywork?

I feel like massage came up first and foremost when I was a kid. I used to massage people’s feet under the table at Thanksgiving. I also loved giving face massages.

How did tattooing come into your life?

I think when I started practicing [tattooing], I recognized a similar feeling that I would get when I would teach [yoga]. There is an overlapping sense of embodiment—a coming into yourself more than you did before you arrived. Teaching came first, and then tattooing started a year or two after I did my [yoga teacher] training. Tattooing is way more personal. You’re working with one-on-one relationships rather than teaching a group of 20 or 30, but you’re still making people feel embodied and relaxed, creating that container for reflection. Tattooing is also more physical because people are leaving with something very permanent, which is scary.

How did you find the confidence to tattoo for the first time?

I practiced on myself for a while… But there was no confidence. It kind of just happened. I had a few moments of messing up at the very beginning, where it would hit me like a wall—the idea that you’re doing something extremely permanent—and I had to be checked a few times to realize it really was high stakes. I think the ignorant optimism you have as a young person, to just kind of do something and not really care about the outcome, actually served me pretty well in terms of getting into it, and doing it consistently without fear.

Why did you choose hand poke tattooing as your medium?

I started that way because it felt more accessible and less scary. Machines were really expensive, and I didn’t know much about them. Then I fell in love with the process of it, the quiet of it. I love slow art. I love things that take a long time. In an increasingly fast-paced, fast fashion kind of world, it’s so much harder to find things made slowly, and to find people who want things made slowly. To slow down in general is just more of a commodity. The slowness is what tethers me to it. Also, knowing that it’s pre-electricity. It’s funny that it’s coming back into trend. Hand poke is the original form of tattooing; it’s how people did it for thousands of years. Connecting with the original form of the practice is really cool to me.

How would you describe your style?

The technical tattoo term would be micro realism: small things that have a realistic quality to them. I wouldn’t say I do a lot of abstract work. I do a lot of realistic and natural forms through dot work, through pointillism—plants, animals, and shells. I would say my style is soft, and compliments the body well. It’s usually specific to what people find sacred, which happens to be natural life forms that you find outside.

Do you have a favorite piece you’ve ever done?

Yeah. In January I gave this girl a really big bird on her back that went from shoulder to shoulder. It took two days. I had never done a tattoo that took multiple days before. That was really awesome—not to rush and just be with one person for two days. The bird is a native Hawaiian bird and the client is from the island, so it meant a lot to her to wear that animal on her back. It was such a crazy honor to be the person to give it to her. Since then, I want to take on bigger pieces.

How has social media influenced your professional growth while being based in Hawaii?

I really like living rurally because a lot of the work I do comes through word-of-mouth. Everyone is talking and showing each other their tattoos. I would much rather work in that way, through organic ways of sharing and spreading my art. But social media is awesome. I’m able to reach people in cities and then I can afford to go to those cities and bring my art to other places. Before I moved [to Kauai], a few tattoo artists told me I had to be in New York or LA if I wanted to make it. I didn’t really want to do that, or believe that it was true. Social media has allowed me to be where I want to be and still reach people in more urban environments.

What are the challenges that come with owning your own shop?

Self-management, in general. There’s not a lot of challenges with owning and managing the specific space because I feel like I know how to do it really well. I know what I need. It’s literally just me. I don’t have any employees or people to oversee. I would say the challenges are the logistics of starting it alone and doing everything alone—business stuff, financial stuff, tax stuff. But I’m still in my first six years of tattooing… So I think time will help.

What do you gain from guest spotting at other shops and being around other creatives?

It’s so nice to just ask questions. To figure out what materials people are using, techniques, what kind of printers or online platforms people use to enhance their work… It’s really nice to be around other people who’ve also made this their career. It can be so up and down. Sometimes you make a lot of money, sometimes you make no money. It’s dependent upon the economy—how much disposable income people have. It’s just so nice to be around people that are down for that challenge, even though it can be really hard to have such an unpredictable and taxing job, physically and mentally. It’s such a cool community to be in.

Do you remember the best piece of advice another tattooer has given you?

Don’t rush. Oh, and quality over quantity. Yes, you can make more money by taking four or five appointments in a day, but the quality of your work is going to go down. It’s obviously nice to make more money, especially as a freelance artist, but what we’re making is forever. Prioritize the quality of the work over the money that could be made by rushing.

How do you ground and care for yourself after the intense physical and energetic exchange of tattooing? Do you turn to yoga or any other self-soothing practices?

I love that people feel so extremely comfortable with me, and speak to me about really personal things going on in their lives. I know a lot of tattooers who have their headphones on while doing their job, and their client is on their phone or listening to music. Personally, that’s not the kind of tattooer I want to be. To be able to hold as much space as I do, I think I need to take less people, eventually. I’m holding too much space for too many people right now.

The practice that keeps me from carrying too much—which I’m still trying to practice—is to visualize a barrier around myself while I’m tattooing, like a thin film of light protecting me, so I don’t take it home as much. Burning something after really helps. Right now, it feels important for me to allow people to let their minds run and say whatever they’re feeling. I don’t want to stop people from doing that, but I don’t think I’ve quite mastered how to not let it overwhelm me. The answer is not to close myself off. I think I am still seeking those tools. But I’m also going to be doing this my whole life, so I have a lot of time to figure it out.

Do you have advice for a freelance creative starting out?

Make art for yourself, not for the audience. When you authentically make what you think is cool, and what you find incredible, you’ll attract people that want to support you. If you’re trying to make art for an audience, you’re not going to build a sustainable audience that will follow your journey. Instead of catering to what people already want, show them something they didn’t even know they wanted by making it for yourself first.