Skin Deep

A SMALL & SCARY story

Thanks to Garen Marie of Only Child Originals for bringing us all together for this fun SMALL & SCARY / BIG AND BEASTLY event! The Small & Scary premise was “showcasing smaller Stacks that pack a big punch” but we had some bigger Stacks weighing in too with their Big & Beastly tales. You can find the full list of horror and dark fantasy stories on TiF. Thanks also to Edward Marlo Ruiz for the beta read: my first time being beta-read by someone who doesn’t live in my house!

INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT

Date: 27th May

Location: Shoreditch, London

Participants: Joshua Lawrence for Art Rush magazine — Zuri Scarlett

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JL: Thanks so much for talking to us today as part of our series on body art. My first question is, why tattooing? What attracted you to this profession?

ZS: I love the design process, but I guess the real reason I started was the thrill of getting to literally leave my mark on someone, you know? Really change them.

JL: Has art always been a part of your life?

ZS: Not art per se, but creativity, yes. My mother and grandmother were both creatives, although their talents were stifled by their fear of self-expression. They were afraid to use their gifts while simultaneously resenting the people they imagined would judge and ostracise them. I promised myself I wouldn't squander my potential like that. I guess my early sketches were an outlet for all the disappointment I felt at their weakness. I wasn't copying any particular style, but I gradually came to realise that the thick lines and bold colours I drew were characteristic of tattoo artistry.

JL: Can you tell us a bit about your early days in tattooing?

ZS: Yeah, well, I got lucky. I got an apprenticeship with Jared Cole. He’s a fantastic artist over in Clerkenwell, and he’s been a guest tattooist in the US and Brazil. I stayed with him for 18 months. Of course, I never showed him what I was really capable of. It was just about learning the job at that point: the techniques, the ink, the needles.

JL: What's it like working with needles? I mean, a lot of people have a real fear of them.

ZS: They're the smart ones, eh? There are all sorts of things needles can deliver: life-saving medication, a vaccination, oblivion. They can feed an addiction or communicate a deadly disease. Sometimes, I catch myself staring at them. They're fascinating little things, aren't they? So tiny, and capable of so much, in the right hands.

JL: You're referring to the impact of your art?

ZS: Oh, yes.

JL: Earlier, you mentioned your disappointment in your mother and grandmother. Do you feel the way they raised you had an effect on you as an artist?

ZS: Absolutely, although I never subscribed to their ‘us and them’ philosophy. I don’t believe all humans are bad people. But, when you grow up in a family like mine, you learn hate from the cradle. I definitely carry a lot of righteous anger, but I'm not like my mother and grandmother. Their rage and fear were directionless: everyone was an enemy. My own anger is targeted.

JL: Targeted?

ZS: Yes. I have specific targets, and my work has given me a way to identify them.

JL: Sorry, I don't really understand. Are you saying this ‘righteous anger’ feeds into your work as a tattoo artist? As in, it inspires you in some way?

ZS: It's more than inspiration—it's my why. Like I said at the beginning of the interview, I want to change people, and because of my gifts, I can. Heritage like mine has always been a double-edged sword, and I’m glad to be making some practical use of my skills.

JL: So … Can you tell us more about the practical aspect of your work?

ZS: Certainly. It’s something people tend to have misconceptions about due to the amount of misinformation in media and literature. It used to be demonised, and now it’s glorified as some new-age spiritualist practice. But it’s never been about spirituality. It's primal: tactile and basic. It's dirt and sweat and blood. That's why I need to get under their skin. That's why needles are so perfect for someone like me.

JL: I’m sorry—what?

ZS: Let me explain. It isn't the needle itself, or the design; it's the ink. That's what contains the essence of the work. It has to be. Some of these formulae take years to prepare and they're very complex. I need a lot of options because no person is exactly like another—even similar crimes require different punishments.

JL: Punish —? Right. … Right. OK. So, your clients … you see them … they're, like, your … victims?

ZS: Victims? No. No, no, no. These aren't innocent people. I told you—not all humans are bad, but I can quickly determine the ones who are.

JL: How … how can you tell?

ZS: I can see you've got a few tattoos yourself, so you know when you're getting the work done, that's a very private time. I can learn a lot about a person while they're on the table. We get to talking, and it's such an unusual situation. It breaks down social barriers that are usually a given in everyday life. I mean, you're trusting a complete stranger to make a permanent mark on your skin. It makes sense that you start trusting them with other stuff too.

JL: You … You judge your clients … based on what they tell you?

ZS: Yeah, but I have to have enough information to make an informed decision. I need the whole picture, and sometimes there just isn’t time, or people don’t open up and I lose the opportunity to work on them. I never jump to conclusions, you see. The truth is very important to me. The best are back pieces because they take so many hours, and they're painful. Sitting with that pain, and knowing it's a choice, really cracks something open inside people. They find their strength, and I find their weakness.

JL: And then?

ZS: Then, at the end, when I’ve got the measure of a person, I switch needles for the fine detail, and inks, for the personal touch.

JL: Jesus.

ZS: What? I only give them what they deserve: an addiction, a gambling problem, or I mess with the chemical balance in their brains. The exact details are different every time.

JL: So you think you're—what? Playing God?

ZS: I wouldn't go that far. I see myself more as a purveyor of justice. Like a vigilante, I guess.

JL: Shit. Are you serious?

ZS: Would I joke about something like this? We're talking about the descendants of people who burned women like me at the stake. Do you think hate like that just goes away? It’s ancestral, ingrained in our cells and our psyches—my hate and theirs. It’s passed down through generations, spoken and unspoken. It mightn’t be directed at witches these days, but there’s still that loathing of the unfamiliar and the divergent on their part, and the desire for retribution on mine.

JL: So, this is about revenge?

ZS: One hundred percent. Although, to be clear, it’s not some reactive spur-of-the-moment thing. I’m meticulous and I take pride in my work. I’m gratified to know I'm leaving my mark on society. For most artists—painters, writers, musicians, filmmakers—their work has an emotional impact on a select group for a short time. Tattooing is different: it's something a person will wear on their skin for the rest of their days. The way I do it, it's even more enduring. It doesn’t just affect the person getting the tattoo. It leaves a legacy of broken people, broken homes. It’s like a web branching out from my shop, destabilising lives, altering the fabric of society. How many artists can say their work has had that profound of an effect?

JL: Christ. … OK. … OK. I think we'd better wrap this up. Any … any … uh - advice for aspiring artists like—uh—like yourself?

ZS: Sure. I'd advise people not to get hung up on how many followers or subscribers they have, or whether people know their name. Play the long game. It isn’t about fame or notoriety in the end—those things are only skin deep. It’s about creating a legacy that will outlive the endless bullshit that other people churn out day after day. When it comes to true artistry, you don’t have to be bigger, you just have to be better. Think outside the box. Take back your power in any way you can, and use it to make your inimitable, indelible mark.

Photo credit: Pavel Danilyuk on pexels.com