CURSE Issue 2

CURSE THE BODY MODIFICATION ISSUE

ISSUE 2

EDITOR RACHAEL ROTH

COVER ART BRETT PARSON

INTERIOR ART EMILY GOLDFARB

WORDS

JOSEPH LOFTUS LEA SORANNO CHARLES HOBBY BEN PARSON LAUREN ANDERSON ELIAS MARKHAM

PHOTOS EMILY WARD CLARA RICE FEATURING AN INTERVIEW WITH BANG!BANG! BODY ARTS

CURSEMAG.COM

CURSE

is an independently published nonfiction magazine that encourages conversation about global and local ideas through interviews, essays, photography and art. In this issue, we examine how we manipulate our appearances to communicate with the outside world, and the meaning behind these physical changes.

IN MY MIND, it all comes back (no pun intended) to a big needle—but it has nothing to do with tattoos or piercings, although tattoos are involved. It seemingly all converges in an emergency room.

He couldn't talk; he could only feebly gesture and open his mouth as if he had something to say. His friend had found him on the floor, unresponsive.

The doctors weren't sure at first what was wrong; it didn't appear that he had hit his head, and eventually they had ruled out stroke. They wanted to check for encephalitis, which called for a lumbar puncture (more commonly known by the same name as that fake rock band from that classic mockumentary).

For a lumbar puncture, the patient should be in the fetal position, and since he was unable to move half of his body, we were asked to assist the doctors and hold him in place. I saw the doctor remove the needle from the sterilized packaging, and was glad that I didn't have a good line of sight to where it was being inserted; I'm not particularly fond of needles. Instead, I focused on his face. As the needle was inserted, he clenched his eyes shut and shook, his mouth half open in pain.

Here was my father, someone who was supposed to be my greatest role model, laying in the fetal position, silently whimpering in pain, unable to speak. The intensity of the situation began to sink in, and although I couldn't see the needle, my vision began to cloud over, everything sounded muffled, my legs became shaky, and I thought I was going to pass out. I don't quite remember how I stopped myself from passing out, but I managed to hang in there until the doctor was finished. ~ Somewhere around the end of junior high and the beginning of high school, I decided that I wasn't going to drink or do drugs. The decision came on

the heels of a particular hang-out session with my friends at the time. Prior to this date, we mostly rode around town causing typical childhood trouble: lighting fires in the woods and jumping over them on our bikes, or climbing onto the roof of the middle school and lighting smoke bombs bought at the local fair. You know, dumb shit that is now embarrassing to admit to.

Anyway, on this particular afternoon, we were hanging out at a friend’s house whose mother wasn't home, and everyone was raiding her liquor supplies.

I was bored, and, to be honest, afraid of getting drunk. My father was an alcoholic, so I was worried that I'd become one as well. Also, to be even more honest, I think I was just afraid of getting caught; I'm a goody-two-shoes. It is sufficient to say that I stopped hanging out with these friends, and became straight edge, although I was loathe to say I was straight edge in high school, because I thought it meant that you also were opposed to premarital sex and had to beat the shit out of people who drank. Eventually, I found friends that were straight edge, and realized that what I thought was straight edge was sort of like the difference between being vegetarian and being vegan.

Around the time I graduated high school, I was calling myself straight edge, I just wasn't a hard-liner. I bought shirts proclaiming my sobriety and started listening to teetotaling bands like Good Clean Fun and Champion and Until the End. Sorry, no Minor Threat; I got on the wagon too late and got off it too early. I had all sorts of plans for tattoos: "XXX" in some sort of Times font with "Straight Edge" above and below in script somewhere on my arm, "Straight Edge" across my chest. I never worked up the courage to get anything straight edge tattooed on my body. I stuck to the easily removed shirts and desktop wallpapers and CDs. It was real great, being able to belong

to a subculture that allowed me to easily define myself. People would ask me things like, "what if you're at a wedding, and people are doing a champagne toast?" and I would say that I didn't plan on drinking any champagne. When I had teeth pulled, I opted for novocaine instead of gas, although after approximately 14 shots I regretted the decision. But then things got complicated.

My father passed away from liver and renal failure in December of 2005, and it made me reevaluate my reasons for being straight edge. I suppose I should mention that we were somewhat estranged; my parents divorced when I was three or four, and as my father’s drinking progressed, we saw less and less of him. I had a feeling like he had won at first, and I realized that the main reason I didn't drink was not because I was afraid of becoming an alcoholic, but because I wanted to set an example for him. I wanted him to offer me a drink so that I could say, "No thanks. I don't drink.” And then I realized that he had offered before, and I replied with "I'm all set.” I chickened out. He didn’t. After being hospitalized because of his drinking which led to, among other things, my brother and I assisting in the lumbar puncture, he went right back to the drink. I felt like an asshole.

There are certain things that you know, but don't necessarily remember under general circumstances. I'd heard that alcoholism is a disease plenty of times, but it never really struck me until then what it actually meant. (I'm sure that me telling someone that I don't have cancer isn't going to cure them.) My father couldn't help himself, and I was an idiot for thinking that anything I did aside from having him locked up in a rehab facility somewhere was going to change anything. You can google the theories on alcoholism, but the long and short of it is that even though my father's side of the family may be prone

to alcoholism, you're not an alcoholic until you start drinking. According to everyone's favorite website, Wikipedia, "Significant alcohol intake produces changes in the brain's structure and chemistry, though some alterations occur with minimal use of alcohol over a short term period . . ."

I think I had my first doubts about being straight edge at the luncheon after his funeral. I imagined that there were going to be shots, and everyone was going to get drunk. I suppose I was imagining it would be an old-fashioned Irish funeral like in Finnegan's Wake. I decided I would allow myself a one-time pass if it came down to it. I mean, what could be more inconsiderate than not doing a shot in honor of a dead man?

That shot never happened, but slowly my doubts about remaining straight edge began to grow. I wanted to test myself, I suppose. Even though our relationship was not a typical father-son relationship, I still had some sort of father-son competition complex. But then again, it may not have been competition per say, but rather self-efficacy. I had thought myself better than him, when I had no idea what it was like.

On St. Patrick's Day in 2007, my brother opened a bottle of Guinness and put it in front of me. I looked at the bottle for a while, and thought about the ramifications of drinking it. There would be no turning back. Drinking it meant that I had broken edge, and even if I never had another drink, I couldn't call myself straight edge anymore. It would be like calling myself vegetarian, except for when I eat steak. (I apparently love comparing straight edge to vegetarianism.)

In that regard, I was never straight edge in the first place. That day that all my middle school friends started drinking, I had a sip of something, some sort of berry liqueur. And even before that, when I was just a wee Loftus, I had a few sips of my father's beer which, at the time, I thought tasted horrible.

So I sat there, the black foamy stout staring back at me, along with my brother. I picked up the bottle and put it to my lips, looking at my brother all the while, as if to say, “there, are you happy now?” I think he was, and he asked me what I thought about the beer. I told him it tasted just like I’d remembered it from when I was little. My brother became indignant at this comment, claiming that our father drank “swill.” I completely agree with that analysis now, and only remember when I’m drunk and, in my impaired judgement, accept a shit beer from someone. It’s then that I think that my father must have really had a disease, since he debased himself by drinking shitty beer like Bud or Mich Ultra. ~ The lumbar puncture that I helped perform on my dad was ultimately unsuccessful, because he was shaking too much. I’m glad that I never got that straight edge tattoo, because it would have been regrettable­—getting “Not” or “Formerly” tattooed above “Straight Edge” would look lame, but would

be cheaper than a cover-up or laser removal—sort of like a failed lumbar puncture, pointless and painful. I certainly wouldn’t have left it, especially if it was in a high visible location, because I really hate explaining things.

Instead, my first tattoo was the Rebel Alliance insignia, because seriously, when will I not like Star Wars (Episodes IV-VI, anyway)? Shortly after breaking edge, I did get my family crest tattooed on my forearm to remind me of where I came from and both the good things and bad things about my father.

Although, sometimes I regret it when people ask me things like “oh, what’s that?” or if they say, “I’m guessing you’re Irish,” because as I said before, I hate explaining things.

As far as I know, my father didn’t have any tattoos (maybe because he hated explaining things, too), but instead years of drinking fucked up his body permanently. I suppose that’s a bit of an understatement, seeing as it killed him. Although the shamrocks and ermine chevron on my forearm remind me of my father, it’s the memories that serve as the greater reminder. Anytime I get the urge to have a drink in the middle of the day, or look forward to one at night—and it happens enough that it makes me uneasy—that lumbar puncture is permanently fixed in my brain. m

on a bench drinking coffee. A man bikes toward me and stops.

He stares at me and I wonder if he thinks he knows me or if he was going to ask a question, but forgot what it was. I smile at him, hoping to encourage him to get on with whatever it is that made him stop, or at least to make him realize that I am aware of his stare. Finally, he makes eye contact with me and says: “Oh…I am just looking at your tattoos.”

I AM SITTING

Having tattoos is the equivalent of asking everyone, all of the time, what they think about tattoos—and they are going to tell you whether you want to know or not. They will tell you if they like them, if they don’t like them, if they like them on other people but would never get one, or if they themselves have tattoos. As is often the case with questions that were never actually asked, the comments people make are unpredictable, and the directness can be unnerving. Being told that a person hates tattoos, or would never get a tattoo, when I am a person with visible tattoos is more of a conversation stopper than starter. I obviously feel differently than they do, so there is never much more to say in response then, “oh yeah?” Sometimes people elaborate, explaining how they are afraid of needles, or that they would worry about how it would look when they are old. I find this second comment curious, because

their concern is more about getting wrinkly skin, which will happen eventually, with or without tattoos.

Conversations with people who have tattoos usually progress more naturally.

They might ask how long a particular tattoo took to complete or where it was done. I have started conversations like these, but only with people I know. I don’t necessarily dislike being asked these sorts of questions, and being asked where a tattoo was done is a compliment, as it implies that the person likes it enough to want similar work.

Woman in thrift store: What’s that?

Me: It is a minotaur with a female body.

Woman: Does that mean you are a lesbian or something?

One of the main factors in how I feel each time someone makes a comment or asks me a question concerning my tattoos is the tone that they use. If the comment feels like a random insult, I won’t encourage a conversation. If their tone signals genuine interest, I am more likely to talk to them. This is definitely the case when questioned about the story or reason behind a tattoo.

If a person asks with a disingenuous tone, something along the lines of, “what does it mean?” it is as though they are actually stating that they don’t like or don’t understand my tattoos.

Tattoos are often very personal. They illustrate pieces of our pasts, people who are in our lives or who are lost to us, or objects that have resonance. When strangers ask with interest what a tattoo means, I generally provide an honest yet concise explanation; those closer to me receive a more elaborate account.

All of my tattoos have a story behind them, except my first one, which only has the story of when and how I got it. I had just turned eighteen and my friend called me one evening to tell me that two tattoo artists were visiting family in the area and were tattooing out of their home for not too much money. She had called them and was told that they would be willing to tattoo us the following afternoon. I had less than a day to decide what I wanted, and ended up picking an illustration from a book I had, depicting two fish wrapped around each other. I liked the image well enough to get it tattooed on me, but it doesn’t represent any strong interest or particular moment in my life.

There is an occasional benefit of being asked by a stranger about my tattoos.

Sometimes, after giving a precise explanation, a stranger might ask a follow up question that leads me to think about my tattoos in a new way, or to discover something I did not yet put words to. It is more often the case that I, feeling hurried, come up with some quick answer and this, unfortunately, will become the stock phrase offered to strangers. This has happened when working customer service jobs, as my answers begin to have as much significance as the wording for any other impersonal interaction: “I can assist the next customer,” “the restroom is down the hall and to your right,” “it is a hot air balloon carrying a bed, based on a favorite childhood story.”

Extremely inebriated man in a thrift store: “You got a lot of tattoos.”

Me: “Uh huh.”

Man: “Betcha got ‘em alllll over. Got any on your tits?”

He makes a thwarted attempt to grab and look down my shirt.

It wasn’t until I started writing this essay that I gave any thought to the fact that two of the three anecdotes concerning strangers’ reactions to my tattoos took place in thrift stores. This is just a coincidence, and doesn’t imply that

thrift stores are necessarily meccas for privacy invaders. People ask about, or try to touch my tattoos in many different venues. It can be frustrating at times to be asked to talk about my tattoos, but it is totally unnerving to be in a grocery store looking at the tea selection, and to suddenly feel a hand on my arm and then a voice explaining: “I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

Tattooed areas of skin don’t really feel much different than non-tattooed parts of the body. Some of the darker, deeper line work can feel slightly raised, but this isn’t obvious from looking. I wonder what people expect them to feel like, and if they are disappointed when they discover the answer. I wait for them to realize that they have just walked up to a total stranger and have started rubbing a part of that person’s body, and that maybe this is an invasive thing to do, but it never seems to happen.

With the exception of the man at the thrift store, most of the people who have touched my tattoos seemed fairly together, and would probably be outraged if someone they didn’t know came up to them and started feeling up their arms or other body parts.

There is of course a difference between adults asking about or touching my tattoos and when children do the same thing. This is how children learn about the world. When my nephew turned one, I

visited him for his birthday. He was speaking a few words and was on the verge of transitioning from crawling to walking. I picked him up, and his eyes instantly grew large. He reached his little hand to my chest and began to feel my tattoo. It seemed that he understood that the colors were part of my skin. He wasn’t concerned or challenged by my tattoos; he was just unfamiliar with them. I think this is part of the reason that adults’ reactions can be so unnerving: they seem to be operating like children.

I expect most adults to have some control over how they interact with or respond to other adults and the choices they have made.

I used to think that people would be less intrusive if, instead of tattoos, I had visible birthmarks or scars. I changed my mind after reading a section of Tina Fey’s autobiography, Bossypants. She discusses the reactions people have toward the large scar on her face. She explains that she views the world as made up of two types of people: those who directly ask her about the scar, and those who don’t. She also makes a distinction between the conversations with strangers who ask her outright and the discussions she has with people when the topic comes up naturally. I haven’t split humanity into similar groups, but I do often find myself trying to anticipate, based on glances or other subtle gestures, which people will begin these kinds of conversations.

I didn’t choose the anecdotes contained within this essay because I found them to best represent all of the various interactions I have had with people concerning my tattoos. I chose them because they highlight the awkward or absurd ways that some people have reacted. It has not been my intention in this essay to simply reflect on the fact that people respond to tattoos, rather, to comment on how surprising people’s reactions can be, and how these reactions often bypass basic rules of social conduct.

There are good surprises too, and to not discuss them would be unfair. Some of the nicest conversations I have had or compliments I have received came from strangers. There was the time that a man in his eighties told me all about his tattooed sailor brother, and the mischief he and his brother got up to in the 1950s. There was also a time when a woman stopped me on the street to tell me that one of my tattoos was the most beautiful one she had ever seen.

So perhaps I do compartmentalize the conversations I have had with people, but instead of creating categories around people who either do or don’t ask me about my tattoos, my categories are based on the conversations that are started with some point

or thought behind them, and the ones when I am casually or not so casually being insulted. The first category of conversation is less intrusive, and never feels much different than any other random discussion I have had with a stranger. The second type of conversation will never make sense to me. I just don’t know what it is about unusual markings on bodies that allows people to feel that they have license to act in ways that they probably wouldn’t in other situations. But seriously… no touching. m

words CHARLES HOBBY

photos

CLARA RICE

a word, you've already made a decision. Unconsciously, sure, but before you know a thing, you're already making judgments. Choices based on almost nothing, but entirely something.

You see the size of a person's nose and you're already stashing that as a pro or a con. The ratio of the iris to the sclera. The angles of the jaw, the way the cheeks react. Before you even shake the person's hand, you're already noticing the way the knuckles bulge or the patch of eczema exacerbated by the edge of winter. You look at the space between the person's eyes and you might think, will i fit there.

You weigh the person, without a scale, and you BEFORE YOU SAY

might wonder what size waist those pants are, and you might wonder can i love those arms.

You see parallel wrinkles striped across the forehead and you don't look within the folds, you don't think, in that hidden skin, in there is the birth of a child and the loss of a job and love of another and the sighs of war and the questions left unasked; all you think is how that looks against the light of the room. You take one look and you think ugly. Comfortable. Attractive.

Alien. You think that looks like my friend Max. You think in terms of you. You look at the person and you look inside yourself. First impressions don't come with an introduction, not even at first glance from far away, but are decades old, waiting to be given life.

And then you might see me. Tattoo ink smeared precisely along my right arm, my back, my right foot, my left forearm. Because don't i have some say in this?

Can't i say something that the shape of me does not?

And while i accept what my parents gave me, all those bones, the muscles and fat and hair, i choose to offer you something more. A tattoo is on the outside, yes, but it came from within, as though from a fissure along the ocean floor, erupted, gasses and submarine igneous rocks, things from the deep, things strong and loud, buoyant, things that bubble up, that rest upon the shore: me, inside out, for you. m

WHEN I WAS a

kid, I really loved movies. I still do, very much so, but in the midst of growing up it was a borderline problem. I would often sit inside and neglect the crisp sunshine, the fresh cut grass (which I still cannot tolerate in either field of smell or touch), and the camaraderie of other children in favor of watching and subsequently re-watching any number of blurry, low-res VHS dreamscapes. I especially loved adventure films and had equal love for its generic twin, action. I loved heroes like Indiana Jones, Inigo Montoya, Captain Blood, John McClane: professional badasses who spent their time beating up on articulate baddies. I called them “strong guys.” This fascination with cinematic heroism sculpted my past and present outlook and attitude in many ways, but very essentially, I’ve always wanted to be like the heroes I idolize: I’ve always wanted to be a strong guy.

At first, I never thought my body looked wrong; it just looked different. I was probably about eleven when I realized that I looked a lot different in a black t-shirt than the typical action-hero did. The sleeves were bigger, my chest sagged against the fabric, my belly liked to be cautiously present at all times; the attributes of a more sedentary lifestyle had taken effect across my body, despite my casual and rather uninspired participation in organized sports. And like I said, I didn’t think that I looked wrong, I just was aware of a distinct and marked difference between my body and the image I looked up to. It was a simple observation and I came to a simple conclusion: I wasn’t strong enough.

I didn’t know anything about exercise, nutrition; I was aware of muscles only in the vaguest sense as the lumpy parts of arms. However, with every ounce of misguided determination I possessed, as well as a smattering of half-remembered and disjointed lessons from P.E., I began the work. Push-ups, sit-ups (using the broadest possible classification of motor-function, it was really just uncoordinated head movement while lying on the ground), a smidge of running, and, yes, even some rudimentary weight lifting; all of this hard work was rewarded by late-night rendezvous with frozen bagels and any Milano cookies present at the time (except for Double Chocolate: sacrifices had to be made).

But despite all my ignorance, it was working: I was getting stronger.

This lackadaisical approach to fitness continued through my high school years, but as I changed, so did my focus. I had learned the names of muscles, learned different exercises for each; my world had expanded with the introduction of an entirely new vocabulary. Words like “jacked!” or “cut!” or “shredded!” each had their own unique meaning, and each required its own exclamation mark. Method was pushing up against my most stubborn and insistent laziness. I was learning specifically how to change my body and it felt kind of good. Movies had changed too, though. Whereas in the past some actors were skinny or more naturally muscular (see: Clint Eastwood or Harrison Ford) the gym-crazed world of body sculpting had prominently pushed into the world of cinema. Actors were given months to physically prepare for their roles, developing bodies so overwhelmed by muscle and definition that they infringed upon territory exclusively held by the absurd figures of Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Van Damme, or Ferrigno (see: the gentlemen of the motion picture 300). Although these giants were stars, there was always an aspect of strangeness or surrealism to the way they looked. By the time I was in college, this look was no longer strange, it was expected of hero. Suddenly, ‘strong’ had a very specific and singular appearance, and just as suddenly, I wasn’t working hard enough. I could see it in the mirror every morning and it drove me crazy; beyond crazy it was constantly gnawing at my mind, forcing itself over every thought that I had. I look wrong.

The secret to making your arms look big is in your shoulders: “You gotta get big delts.” But the secret is also in your triceps: “Without tris, bro, you got lollipops.” But actually the key to everything is cardio: “You already got the muscles, just let ‘em shine through, bro, but don’t run too much cuz you’ll lose muscle mass.” These were the words of wisdom that I took to heart my first year of college, never minding where they were coming from. They sounded confident, bro.

I began working harder, a lot harder. Everyday, I worked between three to four hours doing manual labor around the campus: felling and skidding trees for lumber, reshaping hoof-picks in the metal shop, picking potatoes and milking cows (yeah, it was a really weird college). After work, I did my classes and then headed to the gym. Each day I spent two hours at the gym. I worked every muscle group, I did sit-ups for real now, and I steadily worked my way up the weight rack. I didn’t eat healthy, I ate less. And yet again, despite all my ignorance and all my truly horrible misconceptions about health, it was working. People complemented me all the time on how I looked, how I was “growing into my physique,” how skinny I looked. It’s a dangerous thing to tell someone how skinny they look—it feels really good the first time you hear it, so good that it feels like something’s wrong when you don’t hear it a second time.

Dysmorphia isn’t something someone is born with, it develops over time; it exists in the mind when an individual sees an almost irreconcilable discrepancy between their ‘actual’ body and their ‘ideal’ body. For a while, I saw myself as I wanted to be: jacked, cut, all shredded up. But there were no exclamation marks. I wasn’t excited because I could still see all the problems. My arms were toned, but nowhere near big enough. My core was muscular but too bulky, I needed to trim it down. Without realizing it, I had begun to describe my body, myself, like a piece of cloth being cut to order for a suit. So, I started working harder.

My friends saw me less. I turned any social anxiety inward and used it to push myself; I didn’t think that I should be around people until I was ready, until I looked okay, and then I got lucky. Someone I barely knew came up to me in the dining hall one day while I was eating Cheerios (one of the cornerstones of my diet at the time—see: breakfast,

lunch, dinner). He sat down, looked me directly in the eye, and very calmly said, “You're hurting your body.” I reacted with indignation, got mad, stormed away, all the typical movie reactions I’d catalogued early in my youth. But the next day, he sat down again. He’d brought a book on nutrition; he tried explaining some things to me. I was angry for a long time, but the wind had been taken out of my sails.

Every time I went to the gym I heard, “You're hurting your body,” and started getting scared—well, I had already been really scared, now I was just starting to realize it. I also started to realize how hungry I was all the time; I wanted to eat stuff again, I looked forward to meals.

The concerned stranger in time became a good friend.

He taught me about how to keep myself safe, but he also showed me the impracticality of the Hollywood hero I strived to emulate. “Heroes are cool because they’re confidant,” he said. “They know who they are essentially, and that’s where their strength comes from; most of them could give a shit what they look like. That’s why this turbo-fitness craze in movies is so strange—characters who aren’t meant to care about superficiality, present a physical form which is obsessed with it. It’s contradiction, and it’s useless.”

I still have problems with my self-image, still have issues seeing myself and my body without negativity. I’m not fixed and I in no way have the answers to these issues, but I spend less time thinking about being someone else, and when I look in the mirror I see something that I recognize as myself.

I still love movies, but some of those strong guys—they’re full of shit. m

BANG! BANG!

AN INTERVIEW WITH NORTHAMPTON MA’S BANG!BANG! BODY ARTS

BANG BANG BODY ARTS in downtown Northampton, Massachusetts, a shop that specializes in custom tattoos and piercings, feels nothing like your typical, grungy tattoo parlor. Built from the ground up, the clean but rustic design of the interior is impeccable; the jewelry in the case looks like candy and the walls display ever-changing art.

But it’s more than just a tattoo shop: this year, Bang! Bang! was voted best art gallery in the Pioneer Valley by the Valley Advocate. They are big supporters of art in the area: they painted the mural on the side of The River, Northampton’s local radio station, before the shop opened. The staff, who came together out of a shared passion for music, art and attention to detail, spend an awful lot of time with each other—perhaps more than with their families at times. This is what they had to say about working together and the craft of body modification.

interview RACHAEL ROTH

photos

EMILY WARD

MICHELLE GORR Piercer

HOW WOULD YOU COMPARE THE BODY MODIFICATION SCENE IN AMERICA TO THE SCENE IN ITALY ?

MICHELLE: I have to say the two are completely different.

In fact, I was pretty amazed and surprised when I started working here. As a piercer I can see a huge difference, mainly in the clientele's demand. For example, I would say the most popular piercing requests back in Piacenza were tongues, navels, eyebrows, nostrils—more or less what was actually popular here 10 years ago [laughs]. Tattoos and piercings are not really well accepted in Italy, not even among young people.

On a more technical level, there are interesting differences.

In Italy we use different types of needles together with dermal punches for microdermals, and in some cases we pierce at bigger gauges. Sadly they do not have as much jewelry choice [in Italy] as we do here. It was actually pretty fun for me to have so many new tools to work with and I definitely learned a lot, which I'm grateful for. It's always important to keep learning and growing.

DO ANY OF YOUR PIERCINGS OR TATTOOS SIGNIFY A SPECIFIC ASPECT OF YOUR LIFE? I have my right hand tattooed to symbolize my relationship with my husband, Matt. I wanted it on my hand because I wanted it to be that one tattoo that I could never hide, the first thing that people would look at.

As for piercings, it's probably a little bit different, but I do love all of the jewelry that I have on me. I don't get pierced super often because I like to pick placement very carefully and I don't like the idea of having "too much.” I define my piercings as tiny little details that define me, but I want them to be a detail that you find intriguing, not overwhelming.

A LOT OF PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE WHO GET PIERCED LIKE PAIN. DO YOU RELATE TO THIS IN ANY WAY? Maybe some people do get piercings because they are masochists or whatever you want to call them, or maybe they have way deeper reasons, or maybe they just want it because it's popular. Everyone is different and no matter what our explanations are we all deserve respect. But, yeah, if you ask me, no, I do not like pain! I very much dislike pain, but it's part of the process.

THERE ARE VARIATIONS ON HOW EXTREMELY PEOPLE CHANGE THEMSELVES WITH PIERCINGS AND BODY MODIFICATION IN GENERAL. DO YOU THINK THERE'S A POINT WHERE PEOPLE HAVE GONE TOO FAR ?

Not really, I mean, like I was saying before, I truly believe that everyone should be free to make whatever decisions they want with their own bodies without being judged. With this I'm not saying that I agree with or understand every body modification because that would be a lie. There are definitely things that I would never do on myself, but I'm open to everyone's view and I'm always curious!

HOW HAVE THE PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE REACTED TO YOUR CAREER CHOICE? Initially I had to fight pretty hard to be able to explain and share this passion with my dad.

He’s a big hippie and a huge advocate of nature so he believes that we should leave our bodies just like mother nature made them. A typical thing that he always used to tell me is, “If nature wanted you to have huge earlobe holes you would have been born with them!” You can probably imagine what I mean.

But my entire family is made of artists, mainly musicians, so everyone is really passionate and sensitive.

I suppose, when they realized this was so important to me and that this was the world I was going to be living in, they just stopped judging. They still don’t

entirely understand why I do what I do, but they accept it.

FOR YOU, ARE PIERCINGS ALL ABOUT LOOKS OR APPEARANCE OR IS IT SOMETHING DEEPER ?

I've been piercing for about six years now and I have to say that the way I view piercings has definitely changed these past years. My passion has grown as has my knowledge, and what I really love about piercing [now] is the scientific and anatomical aspect. I am truly fascinated by the human body: how it works and how it reacts to trauma, always finding ways to heal itself. Obviously piercings are a tiny little part [of] all of these and the trauma that we create is nothing compared to what the human body can actually take, but what most people never [realize] is that piercings, until they heal, are open wounds, and should be taken care of and treated as such.

The other aspect of it is the "mental" part, which I like to think of as how much pain we can tolerate. How much pain are we expecting to feel versus how much pain do we actually feel when we get pierced? In other words, how much of it is actually real and how much is it just our brain scaring us and trying to protect us from the unknown? The brain plays dirty tricks on us sometimes making it seem worse than it actually is, so I connect piercings with the ability to know your own body and to understanding your body's needs and its reactions.

The appearance part is also important, but I don't really have that much to add to that. Piericings, if well performed, are beautiful.

JOSH VIGHT Tattoo Artist

WHAT LED YOU TO BECOME A TATTOO ARTIST? JOSH: I was working at a gas station, and I kept getting in trouble for drawing, and one guy came in and he totally straight-faced told me I was wasting my talent. I didn't know what he was talking about, and he rolled up his sleeves and he was covered in tattoos and then just walked out. So after that I looked into tattooing even more, bought some supplies, started messing around with it, tattooing my friends and stuff, and once I started getting serious about it I got an apprenticeship.

ONCE YOU GET INTO THE WORLD OF TATTOOING, IS THERE A LOT OF PRESSURE TO STAND OUT AND BE RECOGNIZED? I wouldn't say necessarily. Back before I came here I felt like I was in the shadows, like I wasn't going anywhere. I just feel like working out here [in Northampton], there's more life to it. In Holyoke, it's kind of the same thing, the same kind of art over and over.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TATTOOS. They're ones I drew. They don't necessarily have a meaning. I'm very picky--that's why I'm not covered [in tattoos]. This was my first one (points to tattoo) and I hate it now. Tribal is okay, but I kind of get sick of it. It was supposed to be a tattoo that my friends and I were all going to get together, but that never happened.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT TATTOOING AS OPPOSED TO DOING ART ON ANY OTHER CANVAS THAT APPEALS TO YOU? I feel like it's totally different. I mean, you're actually putting an impact on somebody's life. That's on them forever. To me, that's awesome. They're going to sit there and constantly look at it.

DOES IT EVER FEEL MORE LIKE A JOB THAN AN ART FORM TO YOU? Not really. I never really look at it as like, a "jobjob," because I like doing it.

IF YOU WERE TO SELECT A TATTOO ARTIST FOR YOURSELF, WHAT KIND OF ARTIST WOULD YOU LOOK FOR? I would look for an artist that had nice lines, nice soft shading, [someone who] can do decent color.

Those are the biggest things for me.

WHAT KIND OF TATTOO WOULD YOU REFUSE TO DO? I won't tattoo somebody's face, because it's bare.

If it's anything offensive I would [refuse]. If somebody young wanted their hand tattooed I'd have them think about it. That's going to affect you, so you have to be serious about it.

TIFFANY MATRONE Owner

HOW DO YOU SELECT ARTISTS THAT GO ON THE WALLS? TIFFANY: A lot of them have approached me. I went to MassArt in Boston a couple years ago, so I have a lot of friends who are artists. I'm constantly looking at art and engaging with artists and dialoguing with them about having a show.

HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH THE NAME “BANG! BANG!”?

I was with friends at an art opening and I hadn't seen them in a while and I got my bangs cut really short, so we were sort of all joking around and it just sort of grew out of that--out of being at an art opening with people that we love and having a good time... and a haircut.

AND IT STUCK. Yeah, it stuck. Fortunately we found the [space for our] shop on Armory street, so it was really fortuitous in a certain way. It didn't have anything to do with violence.

Beckie

DO YOU DO ANY PIERCING OR TATTOOING YOURSELF? I don't, no. I have no interest in learning how to tattoo or pierce, although I love to experience both. I am really more focused on the art part of it and what we can do to be community-based.

YOUR SEPTUM JEWELERY IS VERY EYE-CATCHING. HOW DO YOU GO ABOUT SELECTING JEWELRY FOR THE SHOP? I feel like if I wear [my septum] people will see it on and be like, 'Oh that looks great.’ It's hard to see [what it would look like] in a case. Septums are really big right now. They can be really feminine and really beautiful and the jewelry that's out for them now really speaks to that. We went to last year’s APP piercing conference in Las Vegas to see what the trends were, but I think it's really instinctual for all of us. We’re all always looking for new jewelry and always looking at what we can offer that's going to be a little bit different.

raze

IT’S OBVIOUS THAT A LOT OF THOUGHT WENT INTO THE AESTHETICS OF THE SHOP. CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT THAT PROCESS? We built everything sort of from the ground up.

We wanted to have it be a very open space. We chose the paint color because skin tones look good next to it, but it's also warm and welcoming, and I think that we all either worked at other shops, or experienced going into other shops and we figured out what didn't work or what we didn't like. With that, we could figure out what we did want.

WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE DIFFERENT ABOUT THE EXPERIENCE OF GOING TO BANG! BANG! VERSUS ANOTHER SHOP? You're nervous enough anyway, to come in have this transformative experience, and we really just wanted people to feel welcome and to feel at ease and comfortable, because we all really feel honored, I think, walking them through the experience that they're going to go through. People come in

kat

josh

with all sorts of stories about why they're here and what they're doing—sometimes it is just to add sparkle and enhance how they look or their aesthetic, or sometimes they're really championing all sorts of interpersonal situations. A lot of veterans come in and tell us their stories; there are some women who have come in and told us about how they’ve dealt with depression or abuse. It's pretty intense, so we really wanted it to feel comfortable.

WHAT IS BODY MODIFICATION TO YOU? There are some tattoos that are profound to me, and others that can be more decorative, and I think both are fine and valid, absolutely. At different times in your life, I feel that tattoos sort of mark that time or mark that moment, or something that's funny or something that you do to bond. Becky [a piercer at Bang! Bang!] and I have the same tattoos of green apples on our middle fingers. We were out one time having a conversation and I said, "How do you like them apples?" (flips middle fingers) and I was like, 'Oh! Cool!’ It's just an instant reminder that life can be short—it's impermanent, so you should really enjoy yourself and really just rock what you got, whatever you have. Just own it, love it.

tiffany

TELL ME ABOUT SOME OF YOUR EXPERIENCES WORKING HERE WITH THE PIERCERS AND TATTOO ARTISTS. We really sort of work as a collective in a lot of ways. We all come together on a basic passion for art and for music and for attention to detail and the type of work environment that we want to have, because we spend a lot of time with each other, sometimes more than with our families. As far as tattoo artists go, they sort of have their own unique styles and different ways of approaching things, and they're always learning and teaching each other. And same thing with our piercers: Michelle comes from Italy so she comes from a completely different place as far as using different piercing techniques and needles. She and Becky are always reading up on new practices and educational stuff. Everyone here—I'm lucky—is pretty humble. They are confident in themselves and their abilities. There really isn't any drama.

michelle

YOU’RE FAIRLY NEW COMPARED TO SOME OTHER TATTOO SHOPS IN NORTHAMPTON. HOW DID YOU NAVIGATE THE MARKET WHEN OTHER SHOPS ALREADY EXISTED? In an ideal world, I would love to work in cooperations with the other shops. Some of the other shops don't really share that view and that's okay. I think we just focus on what we're doing. As things sort of move forward, many successful shops are opening art galleries in the space or next-door.

They're really getting more involved in educating the public.

If you're in New York there're tattoo shops on the same street and on the same block and I look at that as a real positive thing. Within a six-block radius you have four shops that you can choose from. [You don’t have to] abide by the modicum that there is only one tattoo shop and one tattoo artist and if you don’t vibe with them or don’t really feel comfortable with them, you have to go to them because that’s all there is. I really feel it’s important for people to connect with the artist and to connect with the space. m

over two euros to a woman at the entrance, unable to peel my eyes away from the inscription that reads “Stop here and think of the fate that will befall you—1816,” and wonder if the monks who constructed this chapel charged tourists for their few moments of contemplation.

Inside, it feels as if the atmosphere has collected itself into a reverent pause; my mind stops chattering away. Light steams in through large arched windows, and bright fuchsia flowers adorn the altar. Above the flowers, there is a small, wooden crucifix behind a pane of glass. It is certainly the least ornate chapel in the Carmelite Church, and there are small holes in places that let the breeze through, but the humble proportions and bright off-white interior is almost... cheery.

I MECHANICALLY FORK

Together with the mortar, stacked femurs surround the skulls like picture frames and provide structure to the walls. The bones belonged to monks who all died prior to 1245, and apparently their 19th century counterparts who built the chapel did not think to leave the jawbones intact: the top teeth remain, but most only have gaping indents where chompers once were. Above the row of teeth (or lack thereof) is a large triangular hole that has long since replaced the organ of olfactory pleasures. The monks that prayed daily amidst the sights and scents of sleepy coastal Portugal—the marketplaces, fruits, and flowers—have shed their fleshy exteriors, and moved on. Clavicles, on top of vertebrae, on top of dis-enskeletoned skulls with cavernous eye sockets—these are deemed suitable ornaments for sacred places of worship.

Cemeteries in medieval Europe did not often have

room to keep people buried, so bones were dug up after a number of years and placed in ossuaries.

There are famous ossuaries in Italy, France, Czech Republic, Spain, Portugal, and Peru. Both Spanish and Aztec cultures revered the skull as important and it rose to popularity as a meaningful symbol during the Middle Ages. The visibility of bones— skulls in particular—is meant to force those who look upon them to accept death as a common fate, and overcome the fear of it in order to better enjoy life.

During the Mexican holiday, Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), decorative skulls are made out of sugar, painted with bright colors, and adorned with sequins and flowers, appropriate to the spirit of the holiday. They are not meant to be scary or sad, but whimsical and celebratory. On November 1st, the Day of the Innocents, families place sugar skulls on the graves of young children who have died to encourage their souls to return. On November 2nd, deceased adults get their turn.

Families also place marigolds and elaborate meals upon the graves. They spend time at the gravesites dancing and singing, telling stories about the lives of their loved ones and asking for guidance. It is an Aztec belief that death is a positive step to a higher consciousness, and for that, something to celebrate.

Tattoos depicting sugar skulls are gaining in popularity these days. Perhaps they will be to the 2010s what tribal tattoos were to the 90s.

Celebrities are noticeably beginning to get them.

Miley Cyrus is sporting a miniature sugar skull on

her ankle, while Chris Brown gained an incredible level of negative press in 2012 for the large “sugar skull” on his neck. Many critics claimed that it looked like a picture of Rihanna’s battered face after Brown beat her the night of the 2009 Grammy Awards. His PR team assured the media that it was a sugar skull, modeled after a design he found on a MAC cosmetics ad. Sugar skull tattoos of late have been starting to look like beautiful women dressed in macabre clown makeup, rather than real skulls; the face on Chris Brown’s neck is half skull, half living woman.

A sugar skull tattoo that depicts half a living face and half a skull would seem to be an homage to death as the inevitable companion to life. However, the fact that it has now been used as a symbol for MAC cosmetics, and its cultural significance is gradually being distilled for capital gain by commercial retailers (sugar skull handbags at Newbury Comics, anyone?) is laughably ironic. Sugar skulls are the symbol of a holiday that honors death by making it visible. Life and death are permanently intertwined, and the customs of the Day of the Dead urge you to reflect on death as the great equalizer, and the next great journey. Sugar skull tattoos may hold great personal significance for some, but for others it is simply a cool design.

Buying the symbol and staying ignorant or unappreciative of the meaning is missing the point.

The bone chapels in Europe that warn “We bones, lying here, for yours we wait,” remind everyone that no amount vanity will get us out alive. m

weight on your shoulders. How many ships have you seen so far? A ship, like you, sails on, raging against some personal storm.

Tribal symbols must refer to your sympathy with the native’s plight. Perhaps one of you might actually be Samoan. What are we talking about here? I too carry a self-inflicted brand of impulsive, rebellious behavior. A new form of commitment has surfaced, likely a reflection of our constantly racing world.

ANCHORS REPRESENT A

To assert my adulthood and mock my childhood fear of needles, I went to a nearby tattoo parlor (strange they’re always so close to campus) and indulged myself. It was ironic, cause, like, I’ve never really been cool. And let’s just be honest, Johnny Depp is great! Geeks with tattoos are only the beginning. Ishmael had his whole body covered.

Did Melville? Yes, we’re all sailors and we’ve all got baggage—we just have come up with a new way of showing it.

Who can blame us, really, for this trend toward an even farther outward expression. We rant on the computer and mute ourselves with television. Images prevail, an instantaneous display of how far we’re willing to go. Understand we aren’t some walking billboard, but in order for people to conceive our depth, they’ve got to be hooked immediately. Your heart on your sleeve is the saying. Maybe they meant half-sleeve. When one of the veterans in my hometown asked what was on my arm, I told him it was an old war wound. He shook his head, disappointed.

There’s another side of this, though. Some tattoos look awesome. A new symbiotic medium is flourishing. Artists and writers are meeting in the middle and your body is the canvas. This isn’t the worst thing that can happen. In fact, maybe this commitment, or devotion, is what we need. Our world moves so fast, we’ll take anything that’ll keep us grounded. A reoccurring motive, a reminder of how much you worship that band, the tattoo reinforces the idea, theme, or message. You’re a part of it now. Or rather, it’s a part of you. Someone’s birthday, your family crest, a religious icon, these are important things—it’s only the devotion in question.

Ah the pain, it’s addicting! A masochistic indulgence that helps unburden you from the arduous monotony of daily life. Tattoos are a calling card, with varying degrees of meaning depending on whom you talk to. I mentioned earlier there were so many tall ship tats, but what about cheeseburgers? Somewhere, I saw a pickle tattoo. Apparently, this cultural movement is expanding in both directions. Maybe the cheeseburger bearer was vegan, an ethical patriot to the cause of ending cruelty to animals. So now where are we? Satire has become

more prominent than in recent years. How can we possibly assert our identity even further?

Don’t forget tattoo conventions. These conventions (I’ve never been, so I should tread lightly), are a place where people indulge at their greatest whim. What once was a place for Trekkies and comic geeks, technocrats and antique sales, is now a place for artists and canvas’ alike to talk shop, execute their medium and hope for a good turnout. Although, these markings don’t necessarily promote status. Tattoos are no longer taboo. Rich or poor, cool or not, people have all sorts of stuff imprinted on themselves and no one is allowed to judge. Perhaps that’s why in recent years we’ve seen the sudden surge.

What you should ask yourself is not what it means, but what will it mean? The mosaic I display has gone through several incantations.

Like a film remade every few years, it doesn’t impede on its importance, nor will it matter if the original subject matter was tragedy. Engage in the culture you’re a part of. You could ask yourself what those folks on old Woodstock documentaries think of themselves when they happen to catch a

glimpse of their behavior, basking in the moment.

How do you look back on such things with a ponderous eye, reflecting on old indulgences? Have they changed? What does it mean if they had?

Better yet, what did it mean?

What you have here in this new world of markings is an ever-expanding point of conjecture. We’ve embraced our impulsive world and readied ourselves for the lasting effects. What has left us with the total immersion of information and second hand experiences, aside from attention, emotion and general understanding of current events, (if it’s even possible to understand), is a desire for sign posts, past credentials and visible turning points to maintain our trajectory. Sailors too, perhaps, got those old pinups to remember there was someone at home awaiting their return! Maybe what we’re really in need of is a map.

For everyone involved, branded or not, we have questions to ask and themes to commit to. My only conclusion is to make the subject matter light, because happy memories never hurt. Remember it doesn’t change you, but dresses up the idea you’re willing to promote individually. That might not

be the first thing to think about, actually. Before you do anything, go online and make sure it hasn’t already been done. Or take a year to think it over.

Hell, just set aside a couple thousand bucks, just in case you’re tired of it and need some laser removal.

I’ve seen a lot of anchors lately. Then again, we all have them in one way or another. m

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CURSE ISSUE 2

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