Ink
Most of my tattoos gained significance over time.
From the slopes of Ajax, the town of Aspen resembles a real-life Whoville, complete with abundant cheer and funny outfits. The Sky Hotel sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, offering access to the gondola via a short walkway. Not quite ski-in, ski-out, but close enough.
A group of tattoo artists with Sailor Jerry (the rum and tattooist) flew from New Orleans for the 2012 X-Games and converted one of the Sky’s rooms into a free flash tattoo studio. Situated off the portico walkway, facing the pool and shadowed by the mountain, it was a high-traffic area for us bellmen, as well as my friends working the bar and restaurant, 39 Degrees. Replete with loud, clashing patterns on the carpet and pillows, hard lines of bright red on the curtains and walls, animal-print robes, and dim, warm lighting, the Sky’s design aesthetics defined its era.
A fine parlor for first ink.
The hotel staff and the Sailor Jerry team got to know each other. Energetic in our endeavors, curious about others, and all providing a service with dedication and a smile. It felt kismet.
A few of my friends signed up quickly. They and the Sailor Jerry team encouraged me, “Come in anytime! Take a look at the book and see if there’s anything you like.” I reviewed the worn, tattered pages a few times to discern the right one for me. Daggers, butterflies, hearts, eagles, and women, all made up of vibrant reds, blues, yellows, and thick black lines, transported me to the deck of a ship, or perhaps the underbelly, an arm resting on a barrel of precious mead as a sailor donning a scarf and plain white tee shirt made his mark on my skin, a cigarette dangling out one side of his mouth. That’s the story the pictures tell.
I kept coming back to a group of four elephants walking in a line, tail to trunk. I love elephants. I love what they symbolize — family, quiet strength, loyalty, community, steadiness. “That works,” I thought. “Looks great. Black ink and simple. Elephants are my favorite animal. I’m in.” That’s it.
I went in with my roommate and another friend to hang out and get our pieces after our shifts one day. We sat on the two queen beds and sipped Sailor Jerry rum from plastic cups. The artists and media team milled about with us. Those getting tattooed sat in a portable chair lit by a proper lamp provided by the crew, not the Sky Hotel. I remember a lot of people being in the room, and spirits were high.
My friend got an anchor on her upper arm. Then my roommate got a robin carrying a flower in its beak on her shoulder.
When it was my turn, they printed the elephants on the thermographic transfer paper. We cut one of the four elephants out of the stencil — only three would be comfortable on the outside of my left foot. It’s an inconspicuous spot, one that will give me time to break the news to my parents on my own terms. It took about twenty minutes. Three elephants, facing forward, stepping where I step.
Over time, I realized that those elephants were my family, and they were with me. Mom, Dad, brother, and I, facing the future together. It was a simple decision to start, and it transformed into something more profound.
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It’s a slippery slope, as they say.
Two homages to Colorado and a crescent moon with a planetary conjunction were added to the canvas next. The intrigue lies not in their design, but in the dates on which they were administered. Coincidentally aligned with important, future dates, they became dedications to loved ones.
April 17 - My brother’s sobriety anniversary.
August 22 - My sister-in-law’s birthday, whom I wouldn’t meet for years.
November 19 - A dear cousin’s birthday.
Two weeks before this writing, we said goodbye to our family cat. January 28 was the date of the elephants - another serendipitous coincidence years later.
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My first year in college, I wrote a paper on the significance and symbolism of the palm tree in California. It was wide-ranging, and I don’t remember the point I was trying to make in the paper. Looking back, I don’t think I had a point; I just tried to be provocative and informed. I wrote about the Palme d’Or, which is the highest prize awarded at the Cannes Film Festival, for some reason. And how the tall, iconic palm trees that line the streets of Los Angeles are not endemic to California. Today, those themes together have real potential for an inquisitive essay. The paper received a middling grade - a wheelhouse C. I didn’t disagree.
At that point, I’d spent enough time researching palm trees and their place in the world of iconography and symbolism. I decided then that I would get a tattoo!
Years later, it was a reality. Similar to the serendipitous dates above, this palm tree landed on March 4, another dear cousin’s birthday. That cousin’s subsequent connection to Los Angeles further seared it in meaning over a decade later.
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There’s a point in one’s tattoo journey when getting a new one isn’t that big of a decision. For me, that came on a Friday the 13th when I joined friends and co-workers at the renowned flash event at Ritual Tattoo Gallery in Denver. People line up for hours before the shop opens every Friday the 13th to choose from a pre-selected, often new, sheet of options from the celebrated artists at the shop.
My decision fell to either a poison dart frog or the ghost (👻), not dissimilar to the emoji. I went with the ghost for its simplicity and fun.
While under the needle, someone I don’t know and have not seen since came into the room uninvited, livestreaming on some social media app. They said, “Is that the Snapchat logo?!” To which I responded, “It better not be.” My stomach dropped at the possibility.
This was an important interaction and an important tattoo because:
It’s not the Snapchat logo, it’s the emoji. There’s a difference. I’ve told the story of this interaction often.
This ghost is a constant reminder to not lose sight of the fun, absurd parts of life. Don’t take things too seriously.
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The ghost acts as the captain of what I endearingly refer to as “The Team.” Joining the ghost on my right leg are a snake, a jellyfish, and a fire hydrant.
The snake was recruited in Brooklyn, New York, on an extended visit for my aunt’s wedding. Another Friday the 13th flash, it was my favorite of the options available for their event. We walked through Dumbo to Williamsburg on a typical New York adventure, hopping into shops, restaurants, and bars at our leisure.
The snake became a symbol of the celebration. My aunt’s wedding ring is a gold serpent. My mom and grandmother donned similar pieces of jewelry on their hands and wrists. I had no idea of these plans at the time. The weekend was a stellar celebration of love — unique and dazzling in both the ceremony itself and its chosen symbols. I have yet to see the snake so boldly represented in positive rituals. A misunderstood creature, in my opinion.
The jellyfish came along on our honeymoon. The tattoo parlor at which it was administered was lost in a fire. I’ll leave it at that.
When we visited New York City as a family, our then three-year-old son climbed every fire hydrant he could. I commemorated that vibrancy. You climb that fire hydrant. And have fun doing so.
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Another Friday the 13th flash day brought a scorpion to my right tricep. My wife is a Scorpio. I’m not much into astrology, but that one is for her.
Later, when we started our family, I wanted them represented on my body, similar to the elephants walking with me through this world. I welcomed a mama bear and a baby bear, in the same style as the elephants, on the outside of my right foot, all together.
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The largest, most striking piece is on my right shoulder and back. There are towers, mountains, trees, abstract lines that look like waves, the sun, all in a modern, simple black line style.
People ask me what city it is. I tell them that it’s in the eye of the beholder.
Which is the point of every word I write on these pages.
