- Posted by Carl Hallowell
- On December 15, 2014
Working that elbow, pounding in the color. Dipping and working, dipping and working. From one color to the next. Instead of swinging a pickaxe, guiding the machine, as it taps out design after design. Instead of shoveling snow at home, I’m shoveling in color inch by inch at my tattoo shop. There may be some conversation and a joke or two. But, there is always laughter around the elbow, because you have to laugh not to cry. Maintaining a relaxed visage, at all costs. Attempting to “stay in your body”, or to float away. Chewing the edges of your mustache while rounding the corner of a long line. The black lines that could wrap around the planet and cross every boundary into every corner of the earth. The black lines, connecting South Pacific tribesmen to a colony of artist types out in Liberal KS… The black lines swirling into designs… 10 am, 6 pm, 3 in the morning… The designs stay the same…The pictures in your skin.