I don't know what it is, but after you get that first tattoo, something gets tattooed on the side of your mind along with it, provoking the urge to get more. And according to some article I read in some recent magazine of some Conde Nast variety, tattooes are making a comeback for the good; not that I gave a damn anyways if they didn't, but I at least wanted to write the article first.
I'm heading back to London on Saturday, it is now confirmed, and one thing I plan on doing upon touchdown at some point is getting inked somewhere else. Something small, tasteful, and NOT of the biker variety, a.k.a. something worth spending the rest of your life with.
So, I guess it's sort of appropriate for The Selby to have just photographed Scott Campbell's place. He's some epic tattoo artist I am seriously considering calling up and a) getting my next tattoo done by after I've saved up a rubber band full of cash (he does Lily Cole's tattoos, and they suck, but that was her fault), and b) suggesting that I become his hot young apprentice.
No, seriously. Getting as close as I can get to his awe-inspiring studio conjured up all these lost adolescent ideas I had of learning the art of tattooing. I even circled and cut out a workshop for it that I found in the classifieds to show my mom one summer when I was about 14; that, and a bartending course. Both were wholly and heartedly given the 'Are you kidding me?', of course. But now I'm old enough. I've done the bar thing and now what about the tattoo thing?
I'm telling you; this is a mission set in stone right here and now, folks. Once I graduate, I'll be looking into this.