If you’ve been dreaming of getting ink, this is the year to scratch your deep, persistent tattoo itch. While no one tattoo style truly ever becomes outdated, women are embracing these delicate tattoos in 2017.

1. Small pieces

Sure, these pieces are small, but they look amazing. Many of these little works of art are done in clusters or alone. Some of these tattoos are done are with machines or are hand poked. If you choose hand poked, make sure the artist is licensed to practice tattoo procedures.

Popular tiny tats include moon and stars, leaves, snowflakes, words and simple animal outlines. Tiny tattoos are typically black, but the recipient can choose from additional colors, too. If you get a small, individual piece or a few pieces, it/they will most likely cost around $50-80.

2. Bugs, plants, and geometric animals and shapes

These pieces resemble the intricate, beautiful works of art often found on specimen posters. While they aren’t exactly lifelike, they are beautiful and perfect for the person who loves the outdoors and natural landscapes.

These natural pieces are often paired with geometric patterns, landscapes or animals. Alone or combined, these works are gorgeous and no two are alike.

This type of piece typically costs anywhere from $150 (for black line work on a small to medium piece) on up. The more color and detail, and the larger the size, the more it will cost.

3. Black line work that’s anti-establishment

This last piece adorns my thigh. When Trump won the presidential election, I got upset. Then I got angry. And then I got ink. All my pieces mean something to me—how I’m a survivor, a feminist, etc. And while I’d like to think of myself as a trendsetter, women have been getting tattoos similar to mine in droves for years. Example: this glorious, tiny Fuck-Uterus from @pokeeeeeeeoh.

My work was done by the talented Erin Bratzler at BDC Tattoo in Lawrence, Kan. You can view some of her work here. My pieces were done in pairs, or four at a time, but the average cost for the coffin tattoo is around $100-120.

All prices depend on the shop and artist, so always ask for a quote. And remember: Tip your artist! They buy their own equipment, ink, etc.

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Modern Farmer recently profiled Andy Feehan and Wim Delvoye, two artists best known as the guys who tattoo pigs. Living, breathing, oinking pigs. But it’s not animal cruelty. It’s art!

Feehan, who started tattooing pigs back in the 1970s, explained that his original intention was to bring awareness to the plight of pigs in captivity.

There are currently more than 65 million pigs on factory farms in the U.S. They are intelligent creatures; as intelligent as dogs if not more so. And gestation crates that confine pregnant sows are some of the cruelest measures used in captivity.

“I wanted to extract them permanently from the pig factory,” Feehan said in Artlies magazine in 2000.

Delvoye started tattooing pigs in the 1990s, inspired by Feehan. “He decorated swine with everything from images of daggers to Disney princesses, and has showed live tattooed pigs at exhibitions,” explained Modern Farmer. “Eventually he took the experiment a step further, establishing an ‘art farm’ in Beijing, where pigs were raised exclusively to be tattooed with his artwork. The pigs were killed and their flattened skins sold to customers who display them as works of art. The industrialization of his work became a commentary on art-industry demand.”

I love pigs so much that I haven’t (knowingly) eaten any part of one since I was a teenager. It seems to be the best way to show my love. You know, by not forcing them to suffer before I gnaw on their cooked flesh. I love tattoos, too. My right arm is covered in them. But here’s where Feehan and Delvoye get the combination so terribly, terribly wrong.

“I believe the manner in which I had the pig tattooed was as humane and painless as possible . . . My intention was, in addition to making them art, was to save their lives,” Feehan wrote in an email to Modern Farmer.

But that’s kind of like putting a pig in a cage on Main Street to bring attention to the animal’s suffering; it doesn’t free the pig, it just turns her into a spectacle. And when we sensationalize animals (or humans), we stop relating to them. “It probably just reinforces the prejudice that animals exist for us to use — if not for meat, then for art,” author and animal rights activist Peter Singer explained to Modern Farmer. “It may be better for the pigs he tattoos than the fate that would otherwise have awaited them. Taking these pigs out of meat production will just mean that other pigs are bred to suffer. ‘Art’ is no excuse for failing to show respect and concern for animals.”

We don’t need tattooed pigs to explain their plight or show the similarities between pigs and humans (there are many!). What we could use, however, are more people with tattoos of pigs on their bodies, so that we can always be reminded that we are who we eat—suffering, humiliation and all.

Find Jill on Twitter @jillettinger

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ColumnConscious life, hear me roar.

Santa Fe, New Mexico is home to one of my favorite coffee shops, the Aztec St. Café. When I lived there, I would spend hours with the locals, smoking American Spirit cigarettes and drinking strong coffee, including a too-sexy-for-his-own-good Taos Indian man, two actresses from New York City, a writer from Cape Elizabeth, Maine and a lesbian Kung Fu expert.

We were something off a Bob Dylan Basement Tapes album cover, a ridiculous on-again off-again crew, but there were always, always great conversations and ideas. In the year and a half that I lived there, these hatched into a pitched play for David Mamet, an affair with the Taos Indian man, and a near close encounter with the Kung-Fu expert.

In Santa Fe, as in any small town community, everybody knows everybody, which is why when Dave strolled into our space one day, we  took the time to size him up. Most people couldn’t help it, with his thinning, long brown hair, his full-sleeve tattooed arms, his large, crooked nose and his rolling swagger. Dave was the freak fusion of Woody Allen and Braveheart, with tattoos.

The first time we talked, I was alone writing poetry. I had high hopes for myself getting published. I would roam the desert all day with my dad’s vintage 35 mm camera, looking for pueblo ruins and cemeteries and would come back to piece it all together, juxtaposing what was outside the Aztec’s door with what was inside the café.

One day, Dave said something to the effect of “Got a light?” or “Got an extra smoke?’ and that was it. We sat and talked for hours about writers, places we would see, and tattoos. It was like we’d been friends since birth.

When the big idea came up one day that I should get a tattoo, we drove over to meet Dave’s “guy” and have a “consultation” with Frank who had done most of Dave’s tattoos. I was 21 and sober and I just went for it, getting my first ink of the same koi fish as Frank’s. The fish was exploding from the water; the finished work depicted letters meaning “Live life.” I’ve never gotten another one, but over the years, have taken friends there to get their own.

In three weeks, I’ll be in San Francisco for work and a friend has told me about his tattoo artist I should check out. There’s always the sensation that returns, of ink equaling some vital form of rebellion. Over the years, I’ve considered many tattoos: a needle and thread, arrows, compasses and mantras. All hardly symbolic of something groundbreaking, which is why I never follow through. The tramp stamp of the fading fish is testament enough to little thought.

I doubt the majority of people in the world get tattoos they think hard about. Maybe, in fact, it never makes sense why we get them. Maybe that’s why I’ve never gotten another, instead content to tell people of my tattoo fantasies. They may think I’m a little off, but one day, when I’m 90, perhaps smoking peyote in the desert and clad in all the tattoos I want, it will all make sense.

I want names.

It’s not the symbols but the names I want. Hieroglyphics, badges of glory from people who have left a profound impression on me, for good or for not:

Snider, McCullough, McCallister, Manning, Pawlina, Parks, Bregman, Carlon, Burt, Cox, Oliver, Kerouac, Plath, endless swaths of heartbreak, laughter, shame, joy, darkness and inspiration. I want these people’s names inscribed up and down my back and arms, covered by crisp shirts so only I know the secret: That they are not only a part of my soul but real people.

And maybe someday, I can let my body tell a story, of once upon a time, in a land truly far away – the past – there were people who mattered and altered and created the woman who writes this to you now. To be the aged woman in the desert, wild-eyed and wasted, whispering for Dave.

Between the Lines, is a weekly column navigating the sometimes-sharp, sometimes-blurred lines of life and culture between city and country.

Image: mtungate

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Do not get a tattoo. Just don’t do it. Nine times out of 10, it’s a regrettable act of stupidity, or vanity. Or both. Resist the urge.

You’re still reading this? Still craving some ink? Well, if you insist (and you had better want a tat enough to insist on it), then let’s proceed.

8 things to keep in mind when choosing a tattoo:

Tats are a big damn deal. They last longer than marriage and mortgages. Be lucid. Get meaningful. Is Mickey Mouse on your ass the best moniker of your Higher Self? That tribal arm band…what tribe you from, mister? Getting a tat to be cool, or as a right of passage is plenty understandable. Just dig deeper than the flash art available on the tattoo parlor wall. Good rule of thumb: think about a specific tattoo design for one year. If you still LOVE it, go for it.

It’s bad luck to tattoo your boyfriend’s name on your ass. Yes, it is from experience that I speak. I thought Seattle Boy’s signature on my bootay would rock his world (never mind that he was legally blind.) Just as the tattooist is about to put the needle down on my tush, he looks up at me and says, “You know, this is the kiss of death. Your relationship is like, so doomed.”
“Shut up and brand me,” I said with conviction. I left Seattle boy a few months later.

Tattooists are generally arrogant, intimidating, secretly very sensitive artists. I said generally, not universally. I have seven tattoos (most of which I regret, a few of which I adore,) all from different artists. Most of them were scarey to me. While it’s a life-changing event for you, it’s just another gig for them—they will put their 100% best into their art, but if you want a cake and candles for your big day, forget it. They’ve seen every stupid, masterpiece-worthy design that’s ever been inked. As my first tattoo artist quipped, “Quit yer grinnin’ and drop yer linen.” End of creative discussion.

Bearing in mind the aforementioned, stand your ground. Be particular. Risk being annoying. If you don’t feel “heard” by the artist, leave. It takes some mettle to walk out on a pierced punk with FTW on his neck, but you won’t regret it.

The best tattoo artists are worth the wait. Just like hairstylists and good lovers. And the best ones are good listeners. (Just like hairstylists and good lovers.)

Don’t get tattooed when you’re drunk. Not because it’s dumb ass, but because alcohol thins your blood and you’ll bleed more.

Yes, it hurts. Imagine scrapping a hot needle across your flesh, firmly and repeatedly. For pain management I use this technique: I clench wads of tissue in each hand (because my palms start to sweat), I chew a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and I say to myself: This will be over and it will be so worth it. Or not.

Tattoos can be life affirming, flesh-honoring symbols that celebrate your truth and remind you of who you truly are. Go sacred or go home.

Editor’s Note: Danielle LaPorte is the creator of WhiteHotTruth.com, which has been called “the best place on-line for kick-ass spirituality.” She is the author of The Fire Starter Sessions: A Digital Experience for Entrepreneurs, an inspirational speaker, former think tank exec, and news show commentator. You can read all of Danielle’s EcoSalon guest articles here, and find her on Twitter @daniellelaporte.

Image: Bob Jagendorf

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Tattoos are hot right now. It seems like you can’t click on a celebrity rag without seeing the latest ink on the arms of starlets like Scarlett Johansson or Megan Fox. But not ready to write out your thoughts on your inner wrist? Not to worry, because temporary tattoos are the Next Big Thing. In fact, the JWT Intelligence Think Tank lists them as a “thing to watch” in 2011.

What exactly does the mainstreaming of tattoos mean? For one, you now can get temporary skin art from Chanel. For $75 clams, apply limited addition markings to your skin that look like earrings, necklaces, and the iconic Chanel logo. Beyonce’s mother’s fashion label, House of Dereon, is also offering temporary skin art for a more affordable $16. And finally, JWT Intelligence reports that you can even get temporary tattoos made of gold in Dubai.

But what if you just want a good old-fashioned henna tattoo? I live in Los Angeles, and for years I would make a bimonthly trip to Venice to get a henna tattoo. Henna artists line the Venice beach walk and they do spectacular work. I’d get hennaed up and spend the next week or two sporting artistry on my hands. Best of all, I could mix things up. Some weeks I’d have hands covered in designs, other times I would just go for a simple symbol.

Almost all the time, people thought my markings were permanent – which, naturally, pleased me like an teenager eager to fit in with the cool kids. (I don’t have any permanent tattoos.) But after years of getting temporary black henna tattoos, I have to wonder – is the ink safe? As it turns out, if the artists were using black ink – probably not.

Traditional henna, as seen above, can be very pure. The art of henna, also called mehndi, has been practiced in India, Africa and the Middle East for centuries. Pure henna is actually a paste made from a dried henna plant. It can be mixed with lemon juice and cloves, or it can be mixed with essential oils. It creates a paste that is applied to the skin – and when it falls off, it leaves a dark brown marking that will generally fade after a week or two.

But throw some modern technology into the mix and you could end up with a toxic soup. Black henna ink can contain para-phenylene diamine (PPD). This is the ink commonly used by street vendors. At best, PPD can cause an allergic reaction. At worse, it can cause cancer, reproductive issues, neurotoxicity and more. Skin Deep gives it a rating of a 10, which is practically saying it was made in the vat of a nuclear reactor. So if you notice your henna artist is using black ink, be sure to ask him or her about the ingredients he or she used.

Image: Henna by Heather – Mehndi in Boston / Providence M

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