Why I Build Tattoos From Shadow First

I’ve never been the fast path type.  From cars, to my education, to my military career.

I respect speed.

I admire efficiency.

But I’ve always chosen the slower, more deliberate and sometimes scenic road.

Not because it’s romantic.

Not because it’s trendy.

But because meaningful things tend to require time.

When I was a young Soldier, I had an NCO that would tell me, slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.  It always seemed like such a contradiction.  My mind always worked much faster than those around me, and I was always ready to rush in as a kid a show everyone how I could do things better and faster.  The problem was I lacked experience, which leads to wisdom, which helps you see things you miss when you think you know it all and are in a hurry.  Thankfully that NCO had wisdom from his experiences, and was willing to not only share it with me, but in a controlled way that allowed me some painful lessons that did not get me or anyone else killed, but allowed me to learn and then start to seek that wisdom that come when you understand that slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.

My sketch for today comes from a life lesson that almost ended me when I was 16 and fearless.  I

t was a cool Northern California winter day and Steamers Lane was breaking really big.  I was young and strong, a great swimmer, and had been surfing for a couple years. So I paddled out into the 15 foot plus sets.  I remember a couple of my friends decided to watch from shore.  I caught my first wave and ripped down the face, carving back into spray and foam to try and pull into a barrel.  I realized that it was not breaking how the waves normally did in this spot on smaller days, so I decided to punch out and paddle back outside to catch another wave.  I grabbed my board and duck dived as the next wave came rolling in.  What I did not know was that there was an even larger wave just behind it, cresting as I came out of the back of the first wave.  I remember seeing the wall of water towering over me as I tried to gasp a quick breath, then the world exploded in a commotion of foam and noise and water, tumbling me against the sandy bottom and spinning me uncontrollably.  I felt my leash snap. I had no idea which way was up. My lungs ached and my muscles burned as I struggled to try and find the light that meant the surfaced .  I was known for being able to hold my breath underwater for the full length of an Olympic sized pool, but this was much longer than that. As the world started to darken around me and I realized this is how I would die, I washed up on shore.  My board was broken in two by the force of the wave, my body was battered and exhausted and I lay limp on the sand as my friends finally spotted me and ran to pull me from the surf.  It is an experience that I can’t explain how or why I survived,  but it changed me and how I viewed myself in this world.  I wondered how many others lost this battle chasing the rush of speed and adrenaline before they were truly ready.

Time is a gift, and provides us with the stories that become the light in our darkness.

That philosophy has shaped every part of my life, and it absolutely shapes how I tattoo.

I’m not interested in chasing what’s hot this year.

I’m interested in building works that still feels honest ten years from now.

Lately, that has led me deeper into an idea that keeps unfolding the more I sit with it:

Light inside darkness.

Not as a look.

Not as a gimmick.

As a way of seeing.

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If the idea of light living inside darkness resonates with you…

If you’re drawn to contrast, negative space, and work that isn’t trying to shout…

If you’re willing to take the slower road with me… Then we should talk.

If not, that’s okay too. Not every path is meant for every person.

I’m simply walking the one that feels honest.