the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
hup kiix: to puncture with needles ~ September 18, 2001 - 7:45 p.m. I ran into pierre today. pierre is the only person who has ever put ink on my body. I have four tattoos, and I have deep sense-memories of each one, the sunlight slanting in the plant-filled windows of his studio, the music on the stereo, tapestries on the walls. the smell of india ink and the buzz of a tattoo gun always make me think of pierre, his brown eyes warm in the sunlight, dark with intensity as he focused the work at hand, steadied the needle, etched my dreams into skin. hup kiix his shop was called, a mayan(?) phrase: to puncture with needles. pierre had dreams deeper than anyone I've known. he would tell me about them as he shaved my skin, prepared the needles. spirits spoke to him in dead languages, indigo blue cosmic mothers whirled at the center of the universe. he woke from a dream where he'd been looking at someone's paintings, intense, intricate three-dimensional designs-- woke up and took pen to paper and recreated them. I still have the copy he gave me, I find it when ever I sort through my box of important papers. papers to keep. but I need no external reminders of pierre's artistry. he's all over my body. the band on my ankle is completely original, he drew it on with a skin marker, and it was exactly right, so he inked it in forever. vines looping and swirling-- tribal black, like all my work-- cradling the aquarius symbol on the side, stylized to look like waves. pierre's an aquarius too. there were no numbered stencils in pierre's studio, no standard designs you could pull off a wall and slap on to your skin. you came to pierre with a design, or an idea, and he made it tangible, brought it to life. there was no set rate, and the price usually came down somewhere in between what it was worth and what you could afford. pierre gave so much of himself to this town, that one day fern and I got him a bonsai tree, feeling like we wanted to give something back. he wasn't at his studio that afternoon, so we left the bonsai at his door with a note. he told us later how amazing it was to come back and find it there. he'd been wanting a bonsai for years, but he knew he couldn't just go out and get one, the right one would just come to him. and finally it had. he sat across from me in the cafe this morning and told me how his bonsai had survived a fire that burned for six hours, but afterwards the tree was covered with smoke, and all but nine of the leaves fell off. he was worried, that bonsai's very important to me, he told me, and finally he took a q-tip and cleaned every last little inch and pore of that tree. finally, it began to recover, and grow new leaves. now, he says, it's better than ever. he's not doing tattoos anymore. it was taking too much out of him, he was spending all his time bringing other people's dreams to life. he's taking care of his grandma, and finishing a gorgeous mural that he's been working on for two and a half years. but he wants to travel. he wants to work with other people. he wants a mentor. he wants to be a fresco painter, or maybe a sculptor. he's thinking maybe he should go to thailand. I've known for years what my next tattoos will be, but I don't know if I'll ever find an artist I feel connected to the way I did with pierre. I hugged him hard when it was time to say goodbye, reminded him to come visit when his road brought him to california. blessings, pierre. may your own dreams come to life under your hands.
(((rings))) |