Palm Sunday

The answer’s in the palm of your hand.

I have one tattoo. I got it almost two years ago. It’s in the palm of my hand.

Not a lot of people know that, those who do don’t really know what to think of it — and I’ve only told a few people, vaguely, what it even represents. For a while, I didn’t know what to think of it myself.

It’s about making mistakes. And the simple act of getting it — on the palm of my hand no less — was, in itself, a mistake at the outset.

Over time, I’ve grown to appreciate it, though — both as an allegory for life and also from a strictly aesthetic standpoint.

It started with a few beers and a friend visiting town — what a clichéd start to a tattoo story. Anyways, he had a few tattoos and had taken a liking to a t-shirt design that I had made which he was actually wearing that day — then he said he wanted to get a tattoo of it. It was a solid design that I was proud of and would certainly work well as a tattoo.

After giving him my nod of approval, he said something like “c’mon man, why don’t you get one, too?” I told him I didn’t have any tattoos nor did I have any ideas for what I would even want.

Then I looked down at the shirt I, myself, was wearing which happened to be a design I worked on at one point that I really messed up — and pretty much gave up on. But even though the design wasn’t what I had envisioned because of mistakes I made, I was still actually wearing it — and owning it. And beyond that, I was the only one in the world with a t-shirt that had that design on it.

On the surface, the design is a visual representation of a single mistake I had made and learned to live with — then even like. And during that time of my life, there were other mistakes I wasn’t dealing with quite as gracefully — so maybe there was something larger and more symbolic to take away from this one rather trivial slip up.

As the story goes, the design was actually supposed to be a perfect circle —representing balance, symmetry, and completion — made with the use of a few stencils and some bleach. I’m a screen printer, so up until that point all of my printing had involved adding something, usually paint or ink, to a medium — mostly apparel, but also to paper, wood, and other textiles.

This would be my first venture into attempting to remove pigment rather than to add color. I liked the simplicity of the concept — get rid of (color) rather than add more. It had a cleansing quality to it — and to be honest I’d never seen it done before. Considering the timing of the tattoo, a cleanse was probably just what I needed, too.

Anyways, after cutting stencils and planning how to apply the bleach with as much precision as I’m capable of, the whole experiment went awry — the pour was off, the stencil didn’t hold, and the bleach bled out. The perfect circle ended up looking more like a hurricane spinning out of control — yet even more symbolism in the midst of my very own tropical storm season. And the succession of mistakes seemed pretty representative of me not actually being in balance — at all — or feeling whole with myself.

After my initial disappointment with the process and outcome, I came to the conclusion that some things just can’t be controlled — or reversed — and ultimately I’d be better off simply coming to terms with them. I’ve since experimented further with bleach and while I’m continually fascinated by its potential, I’ve relinquished the notion that I can control it.

The placement on my palm has significance, too. To start, the tattoo artist advised against it — saying it would hurt like a bastard and would undoubtedly fade over time. But that just made me want it there even more. And the fading part seemed particularly weighty, too — making me envision it actually looking better with some honest wear and time-honored patina.

Beyond that, I’d never seen a palm tattoo — so that was appealing in and of itself. And from a more significant standpoint, my life and livelihood are, in a very real way, based on the things I make with my own hands — mistakes and masterpieces abound. So, while the tattoo isn’t visible to most people — in fact, it took my mom up until a few days ago to ever even notice it — I happen to see it all the time while I grab for tools, print shirts, shoot photos, and design and draw at my desk.

So, for me, it’s a constant reminder that it's okay to try new things, put myself out there, and even fuck up — because while some things may be out of my hands, others can only be fixed with them.