On Saturday I went to a tattoo studio in Greenwich, arriving via a series of unfortunate events just on time, whereupon my tattooist was late and we didn’t get started until an hour after we were supposed to.
I had not had any work done by this fellow previously, in part because he only moved to England in December, and one of the important parts of tattooing for me is being able to manage a reasonable conversation with the person tattooing me so that I don’t actually fall asleep. As it was I was overtired and became drowsy a few times (and oddly cold), but the conversation itself was satisfying as we dissected music, sound recording, legends and mythos of musicians, the difference between music performance and stand-up, the story-telling properties of songwriting, books we both liked, and cultural change.
The first of the two tattoos I received was discussed at length in a previous post:
The second, which I kept schtum about, is a depiction of Narcissus taken from a pencil drawing by Gillian Blekkenhorst, which I have had for several years, folding it and unfolding it as I move house. Narcissus was the subject of one of my Creative Writing projects at university, and naturally represents here the notion of self-love and also a caution against excessive self-involvement: