As I start typing this post, I am getting my foot inked by the wonderful Medellín tattoo artist Gabriel Luna of La Familia Tattoo studio: a family affair not just in name. Gabriel works here with his brother and his sister-in-law. Looking to add some color to an existing script on his arm, Phil found him by chance after we arrived in Colombia, and was delighted to find that Gabriel not only spoke English but also had an open slot in his schedule. We spent a first morning with him in his studio in the Envigado district, and seeing Gabriel’s artwork made me realize that I wanted a tattoo as well.
I am an almost-virgin when it comes to tattoos. I’ve dabbled in permanent make-up to save time in the morning (and because I never mastered the lip pencil). And I have to admit that I considered getting one of those “tramp stamps” (“Arschgeweihe” in German, which translates to “ass antlers”) when I was in my late teens. But luckily, I had the mental clarity to skirt going through with it. Had someone suggested a few years ago that I might end up getting a “real” tattoo at the age of 32… well, no, I just never expected that to happen.
Deciding what design to get was easy in the end. I’ve been enamored by Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening” for as long as I can remember, and it is the only poem I know by heart. So I asked my mom to write the poet’s “and miles to go…” in her handwriting, and gave Gabriel the instructions that I wanted the script along with a water-color-like butterfly. Butterflies may be a bit cliché for tattoos, but I like their looks and they stand for transformation, which works for me.
The night before heading back to Envigado, I researched tattoos, and foot tattoos in particular. On the upside, I found a fascinating article on the science of this art form. But I also found various sites and blogposts suggesting that a foot tattoo was one of the most painful ones a person could get. One pain chart indicated “you may cry or pass out, but that is ok”, while a female blogger wrote she’d wanted to kill the tattooist while he was working on her. Not surprisingly, a foot tattoo was starting to sound like a really bad idea at this point.
A few years ago, I took part in a University of Zurich study that tried to assess whether meditating would lower the ability to feel pain. Long story short: I attended a weeklong meditation seminar, where I was popped in an MRI machine and asked to meditate while being administered higher and higher levels of electroshock. Wondering why anyone in her right mind would subject herself voluntarily to electroshocks? Because in addition to the free week of meditation, there was a cash payment, and I really enjoy being in the MRI since it relaxes me in the strangest of ways. In any case, I’m not sure what the study results were, but I walked away with my little cash wad and the awareness that my threshold for pain is not super low, at least not when meditating.
Nonetheless, I was expecting the worst when Gabriel started in on my foot, and I knew there was no going back. I won’t lie and say it was super-pleasant. There were a few moments when I wanted to kick him, or where my foot did an involuntary shudder-movement that I just couldn’t control. For the most part, however, the pain was bearable and overall, far from the worst pain I have ever experienced. Breaking a nose was far worse, as was a kidney infection I had while in India.
One interesting aspect of getting the tattoo in Colombia was how people in the studio reacted to my very pale skin. While I always get looks of pity when in Europe (along with well-meant advice on how I might tan better, by eating more carrots, for example), white skin here is something people admire, and tattoo artists enjoy working on. Being in Asia or South America is a true ego boost for any person “suffering” from a pale complexion, that’s for sure.
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Written a day later:
Ours was a wonderful time with Gabriel and the other members of his familia. After I got my script and watercolor, Phil completed a cover-up of a tribal tattoo he had had done at 16, turning it into a hiker with some vibrant color. I also had a great conversation about tattoo art in general with Gabriel’s brother, German, and learned that Colombians don’t react the same way to every sneeze: A first sneeze gets a “salud” (health); a second gets “dinero” (money) response, and a third sneeze is met with “amor” (love). I completely disagree with putting money before love, but very much enjoyed the little Spanish lesson.
Two unexpected things came after the tattoo was finished. For one, my body obviously experienced quite high stress levels: my body odor was a major disgrace (seriously, never go from getting inked to a party directly). Second were the high levels of hormones − endorphins or something in that group? – that my body must have produced: before going to bed, I felt a strange surge of happiness, as if I were intoxicated. Maybe that’s
why people say you can get addicted to getting tattoos.
