My AARP-grade skin was basically an empty canvas a week ago, save for stretch marks and a scar from a girl’s razor-sharp fingernails during a fourth-grade playground marble tussle.
Today, I’m inked, thanks to artist Denise Fuhr Gregory of Lowcountry Tattoos, which is located at 1068 Clements Ferry Road in Wando.
My publisher had nudged me for weeks to get a tattoo for this story and I steadfastly resisted. After all, I reasoned, tattoos are conformist, especially since they’ve become mainstream in recent years. Plus, they seemed to be an art form dominated by bikers, drunken sailors, skateboarders, hunters and gear-heads – not my crowd.
But conversations with Lowcountry Tattoos owner Charlie Hagberg and manager Michael Copley dissolved my stereotype of this ancient art.
"There are just so many different reasons why people get tattoos," said Hagberg, who also owns South Carolina Vinyl, a 19-year-old construction company. "A tattoo represents who you are and the places you’ve been. For example, a lot of people come in for memorial tattoos to commemorate loved ones."
Ginny Evans, who works at Island Eye Care on Daniel Island’s Seven Farms Drive, has four tattoos that each have a specific meaning and memory.
"I went to Florida to see my grandmother, who is 65, for my 24th birthday," Evans said, who has a "tribal" tattoo on her left foot. "She had never gotten a tattoo before so we went together and each got one. She loves Mickey Mouse, so she has one of him on her ankle. I knew I wanted something on my foot but wasn’t sure what I wanted. So the artist just drew a freehand [design] on my foot and I loved it."
Evans’ other tattoos include a Japanese symbol on her stomach that says, "I love you" and a dolphin "tribal" that she and her mother got on their shoulders for Mother’s Day one year.
Social barriers to wearing tattoos are dissolving somewhat, according to Hagberg, who saw a Lowcountry district court judge and deputy sheriff getting tattooed side-by-side in a local parlor.
"The judge got a big tattoo on his back of the South Carolina crescent moon and palmetto tree," Hagberg said. "That design, along with religious symbols, are our most popular tattoos."
Evans agrees that tattoos are no longer as taboo.
"I think that it is changing," she said. "The only really visible tattoo that I have is on my foot and the only comments I get are, ‘Wow, that looks great!’ ‘How long did that take?’ or ‘Did it hurt?’ I think that people that don’t have one are very curious as to how it is done and what it feels like. It is a great art that has been around for a long time. I want to encourage anybody who is thinking of getting one to get one, but just keep in mind that this is something that is going to be on your body for the rest of your life....so pick something that has a meaning or a story behind it."
Lowcountry Tattoos feels like a dentist’s office, right down to the buzzing sounds coming from adjacent private procedure rooms. It is clean, well-lit and pleasantly decorated with music playing softly in the background. That’s all by design, according to Hagberg.
"We try to give our clients a good experience," he said. "As important as the tattoo is the experience."
Copley, who bought his first tattooing machine in 1982, is a mechanic by nature. He’s invented and built specialized equipment such as wheeled tattoo towers that hold power cords and other procedure equipment. He also has custom-built armrests fashioned out of drum cymbal stands.
"My chair is a pre-hydraulic, mechanical medical chair from the 1850s that I reupholstered," Copley said, noting that the other procedure rooms contain modified antique podiatrist chairs. "The No. 1 thing you need is for the client and the artist to be comfortable."
Deciding what image to pick for a tattoo was daunting. I wanted something with a clean line that was symbolically important to me. When I walked in, I figured I’d get Niels Bohr’s universally famous atomic symbol. But I had a backup choice, too: Sputnik.
The Soviets’ historic 1957 satellite launch was a defining moment of my childhood. I remember gazing toward the heavens in hopes of seeing the world’s first manmade satellite.
I hemmed and hawed and Copley said, "When in doubt, go without."
"You’ve really got to be sure," seconded Gregory. "Remember, it’s permanent."
Finally, without benefit of a coin-toss, I chose Sputnik.
Gregory converted the image I’d brought into a stencil using a thermofax machine. After shaving and cleaning my left shoulder, she applied the stencil and started tattooing.
A group of needles penetrate your skin like a sewing machine but the sensation doesn’t hurt as much as it sounds. Nevertheless, I’d recommend keeping those needles away from your nether regions.
"Some people have a heavy hand when they’re tattooing, so it hurts more," Gregory said. "I’m told that I have light touch."
Tattoo artists are required to take yearly blood-borne pathogen training, first-aid courses and CPR. As she drew Sputnik, Gregory asked me to alert her if I felt light-headed, nauseated or sweaty, which are classic signs that I might faint.
Gregory grew up in a Lowcountry military family and later lived in Virginia. After getting degrees in art and dance at Old Dominion University, she taught dance and learned how to tattoo approximately seven years ago. She moved from Virginia to Summerville with her husband and two sons last year.
Gregory’s tattoos are reflections and celebrations of her life. Floral designs dominate her left arm, along with an Our Lady of Guadalupe image, which commemorates her Catholic upbringing. Her son Seven’s Picasso-like first-grade portrait adorns her lower right arm. Traditional American tattoos such as pinup art are among Gregory’s favorite projects.
A tattoo session can often be an emotional experience for the recipient and the artist, she noted.
"I’m like a bartender without the alcohol," Gregory said. "We do a lot of memorials and I’ve done some somber ones. The saddest and quietest one was for a client in Virginia who came in asking for three red balloons along with a set of initials. I asked him what it meant and he said, ‘Remember that lady who drowned her 2-year-old in the Norfolk River? That was my son.’ I wept with the man. If clients cry, I’m going to cry. You can’t cry alone."
I wasn’t crying. In fact, I felt a tad high, which, Gregory explained, was my central nervous system kicking in during the procedure.
"I have clients who say getting a tattoo is more therapeutic than a therapist," Gregory said. "It relieves their stress and they go home and sleep like a baby."
The tattoo session was over in about 20 minutes and I got out of the chair to admire Gregory’s handiwork in a mirror. She then bandaged over the tattoo and gave me aftercare instructions. Healing typically takes from 7-14 days and the site must be kept clean and moisturized with lotion.
As I drove home Friday night, I felt good about the entire experience. I even contemplated a possible future work-related tattoo such as "Born to cover the School Board."
But I had one more task upon getting home that could hurt much more than any tattoo:
Tell my wife.
