It’s for Dad, a dual narrative piece. One person anchored to the ocean floor by immense pressure, the other weightlessly floating above earth. Two explorers unable to breathe freely, separated by water and space.
I nod. “Thanks, Logan.”
He steps to the side, arms folded, eyes tracking my movements. Not judging my technique, just quietly supporting me from the sideline. Ever-present, like he always is. People stop to watch and ask questions, lots of pictures are taken. At first it was a little scary, but after a while, they faded into the background, just like Logan promised this morning.
Two hours passed. Then three. Then five.
Nearing the end, I switch to a smaller needle, using white to highlight the edges and add detail to the reflection of the astronaut’s helmet—which is already finished on her right thigh. Then I take a few more passes, adding detail and cleaning up edges where I can. I sit back and scrutinize my work, tracing every line, every edge, every shadow. Double-checking light sources, line weights, and shading. It’s beautiful.
“Finished,” I say, peeling off my black latex gloves and taking a deep, restoring breath. My fingers are a little tingly; my grip tension was a bit strong, but that was mostly nerves.
“Holy shit,” Val beams. “I fucking love it.”
“He’d be really proud of you, Kelly,” Logan adds.
I nod. The hours I put into this piece were worth it.
I wipe both thighs; the contrast between the two pieces is remarkable. It conveys the loneliness of separation, but they balance each other so perfectly that it feels whole. At this moment, I realize that it doesn’t matter what other people think about my art. I love it, Val loves it, Logan loves it—who the fuck cares about the rest of them? This ismyart.
Toward the end of the day, they announce it’s the last chance to turn in the tattoos that judges will look at. There’s a competition at the end of each day for the fresh pieces that were completed at the convention, and then at the end of the event weekend, there’s a final competition for best of show. Logan tells me to head over to submit my piece and stay to watch the judging.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask.
“I can’t. Thor and I have to head out for a bit.”
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
“Just some Bozeman paperwork I have to take care of that I didn’t last time I was in town.”
Probably condo stuff. Damn.
“Oh. Okay. What time will you be back?”
“Shouldn’t take too long. Go have a drink at the hotel bar when you get done here, and I’ll text you when I’m nearby to pick you up,” he says. “You did great today. I’m proud of you.”
He wraps me up in a hug, holding me for a moment, like it’s hard for him to let me go. Our embrace is interrupted by anotherannouncement for the last call. Then he presses a kiss to the top of my head before releasing me.
At our booth, I hand over the contest submission form to my model and follow her toward the judging area. I stay behind when she turns in the paperwork; artists can watch from a distance, but they aren’t allowed to submit the forms as an attempt to keep the judges unbiased. It’s important they judge the piece and not the artist.
Every convention has different categories split up by style: black and gray, color, anime, realism, abstract, American trad, et cetera. After that, the groups are usually broken down by size: small, medium, and large. I am entering the medium black-and-gray contest.
Casper is submitting a realism tattoo he did earlier this year. His client agreed to come to the convention so he could enter it into the competition. They are judging realism tattoos on the last day. A lot of the realism artists submit pieces that were completed at their own shops.
Realism tattoos sometimes take several sessions to complete, so there’s not enough time in a weekend to finish a tattoo like that with as much detail and shading as the style requires to make it look hyperrealistic. Casper’s is an entire leg piece that took about six sessions to complete.
Different conventions have different ways of judging, and for this one, the judges have comment sheets and appear to be taking notes on each one. The judges are meticulous as they analyze each piece. They are judging numerous aspects of the work: shading, composition, saturation, linework, and probably a million other things I’m not even aware of. Watching them is as intimidating as it is fascinating.
When they get to my piece, my nerves are firing on all cylinders. I watch the judges’ expressions and the various areas they point to. They scribble notes on their clipboards. Fromnearby, I hear a spectator compliment my piece, so I smile. The other submissions in my category are incredible.
I don’t expect to place, not with as many seasoned, award-winning artists who are entering the same contest as mine. I’m still learning, but I’m honored to be able to compete alongside many of the artists I admire. I’m not doing it for approval; I just want to be seen. Judged by people who know what they’re looking at and understand the art and the effort that goes into each and every tattoo.
Third place goes to the local shop that Logan has done a few guest spots at, a hauntingly beautiful Medusa. Second place is a detailed octopus, and first place goes to someone who did a high-contrast Batman. Their artwork is stunning, and the awards are well deserved.
The announcements crackle as the crowd nearby claps. I’m about to head back to my booth, feeling happy and satisfied, when they make another announcement. “We do have an honorable mention for fresh medium black and gray. Kelly Everhart of Black Rabbit.”
Holy fuck.
My stomach flips. I glance behind me toward our booth, wishing Logan were standing here with me. I wish Dad were here too.
