n 30 years, senior citizens will not only be distinguished by such typical trappings as polyester slacks and prescription sunglasses, but also by their skin, sagging and drenched in faded ink—marks of a generation intrigued by the tattoo.

Although certainly not a new phenomenon, the revived interest in body modification extends past an alternative nation. C.J. Starkey of Lost Art Tattoo likens the industry’s current boom to the fervor surrounding more socially acceptable fads. “I think it’s bigger in a Justin Timberlake way,” he said. “The underground has gone mainstream.”

Starkey, who along with Nate Drew helped organize this year’s first annual Salt Lake City International Tattoo Convention, is more confident in the long-term appeal of the ancient art form. Although not a tattoo artist himself, the Virginia native spent his formative years surrounded by the subcultural enterprise. He understands the secret behind its staying power: “Sincerity and good work is able to prolong itself and last over time.”

When Starkey first moved to Utah five years ago, he wasn’t certain if the highly conservative state would help cultivate his theories on tattooing. It only took one sign— a Slayer poster emblazoned in flames— for his original conceptions to dissipate. Standing outside the Heavy Metal Shop, Starkey glimpsed a potential audience for tattoo art. Five years later, he and Drew set off to recruit some of the world’s best artists to purvey the burgeoning market.

For three days starting Feb. 27, Salt Lake City residents were invited to witness a spectacle unlike any other event held at the Salt Palace convention center. Starkey worked hard to ensure the landmark occasion yielded a positive experience for all involved. He and Drew went to great lengths to provide visiting artists with a favorable impression of the city, noting that many conventions offer little incentive to return. Many of them house guests in bad hotels far from the urban center, distanced from evening entertainment. “We wanted to dispel Utah myths, such as those that you can’t get a drink here,” Starkey said.

Their diligent efforts paid off, even to the extent of attracting Sabado, a Japanese artist who had not appeared at a convention for seven years. The elusive craftsman turned out to be an amazing presence. His attention to detail— including the crucial enforcement of hygiene (using disposable booties, bibs and shrink-wrapped tools)— helped show other artists how to hone their skills.

Former Utah resident Kate Hellenbrand never pictured her hometown as an ideal site for improving her business. In 1989, her career as a tattoo artist was floundering.

Acceptance was pretty nonexistent,” she said on a rare break between clients. “I had to have a day job to support my passion.” Hellenbrand relocated, first to Philadelphia and then to New York City, where she currently performs work on such high-profile subjects as shock-jock talk-show host Howard Stern and Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready. When asked to participate in the Salt Lake City convention, Hellenbrand agreed, but her expectations were considerably low. She was optimistic only to the extent that the event would provide an opportunity for fellow artists to come together and tattoo each other. Fortunately, Hellenbrand found herself nearly overbooked by convention attendees clamoring for a piece on their skin.

“I feel dumbstruck,” she said. “The whole climate has changed. It’s one of the best conventions I’ve been to in a long time.” Hellenbrand was particularly pleased with the enthusiastic and welcoming atmosphere that permeated the occasion, a sentiment echoed by several other featured artists.

Alicia Hubbard, who manned the booth for Alabama’s Non Stop Art Tattoos, noted that most attendees were fairly serious about getting work done rather than simply cruising for people to watch. Hellenbrand was equally impressed by locals performing at the convention. “There are some great artists here,” she said. “They love their work— they’re doing it for all the right reasons.”

Perhaps the most intriguing art came from the Borneo Headhunters, a shop specializing in traditional Polynesian tattooing.

Tatau, Tahitian for tattoo, is distinguished by its unique technique— needles are affixed to a stick, which is then hammered by a mallet at rapid speeds. The resulting work’s characteristics are predominantly geometric shapes that, although fairly basic, are ripe with significance. Watching customers submit themselves to the process, it appears to be more painful than contemporary electric-buzzsaw inking. However, those who have undergone the procedure attest to the contrary. Salt Lake City resident Katherine Stokes attended the convention with the intention of receiving a Borneo piece. Her tattoo, one she “ripped off” from Polynesian culture, “is a symbol for the incidents in life that help you grow— strength, protection… basically the way women can make something cohesive out of a bunch of scattered units.” In Borneo, tatau is seen as an integral part of a woman’s coming of age. Therefore, females tend to dominate the reception of the art form.

	Sabado, one of the Salt Lake City International Tattoo Convention’s biggest draws, tattooed this chest piece on Dean Bodily in about five hours.

In regard to the technique’s proposed level of pain, Stokes said it harbors the same intensity as other forms of tattooing, only accompanied by a tapping sensation. She also dispelled the perception of it being more methodically paced: “It probably took less time.” Unfortunately, not everyone shares such an optimistic outlook on the unique technique. In 1986, the minister of health in French Polynesia placed a ban on the use of traditional tools there, citing the potential risk involved with wooden and bone equipment, objects that are difficult to properly sterilize. The order to cease and desist only increased tatau’s valuable status among enthusiasts—and made it a huge draw at the convention.

Most who attended came with the purpose of obtaining a tattoo, cashing in on the opportunity to travel across town for something that would normally take them on either a cross-country or global trek. The upside to getting work done at a convention is the definite absence of “scratchers,” or novice artists, thereby decreasing the chance of etching a horrible mistake into your skin. Those who missed out on this year’s event can look forward to next year, when the mainstream will once again collide with the underground. Plans for the second annual Salt Lake City International Tattoo Convention include a bigger hall, a children’s area complete with (temporary) face painting and an appearance by Diamond Mike, a juggler and sideshow performer known for his full-body tattoo.

Few changes will be made, however, to an event that exceeded all expectations. “I think all of my dreams were realized,” Starkey said. Not bad for a member of the funniest-looking generation.
jamie@red-mag.com