Tattoo

I spent most of my life never wanting a tattoo. I found it unlikely that I would love a design so much that I would want it on my body forever. But I was wrong and I did find I design that I fell in love with. The tattoo itself is simple but its story is beautifully intricate. 

2007 was terribly unkind to me. I struggled to make it through that year only to have my last remaining grandparent pass away just a few days shy of Christmas. Ray, my grandfather, would have been 92 in just a matter of weeks. 

I never got to know my grandmothers since both had died young, and so my grandfathers became very important to me. It was heartbreaking to lose my last grandparent when I myself was so young. 

On New Years Day I raised two proud middle fingers as the ball dropped in New York. 

"2007 - I will see you in hell." 

I welcomed 2008 with open arms, ready to put the mess behind me. Turns out I got a lucky break when I began working with DRIP. Something that just started out as an internship transformed into a wonderful opportunity. I had been making art all of my life but being involved with DRIP made me feel like I was part of an artistic community for the first time. I wanted to get a tattoo to commemorate how I felt and how far I had come. 

It was a pretty radical thought since I had gone 25 years without ever having the slightest desire to get inked. I remembered a conversation my sister Jenny and I had a few months ago. She made a joke about wanting to get a cave painting tattoo across her butt. After laughing I stopped and thought for a moment. I loved art history and cave painting was at the very root. Maybe my sister was on to something. 

I let the idea simmer over the next few months. I got "The Complete Idiot's Guide To Getting a Tattoo" and read it cover to cover. I learned lots of great information about getting a tattoo, however, what interested me most was the art of ancient tattooing. 

Tattooing is far older than most people realize and nothing made that more clear than the discovery of Otzi. Otzi, was a man recovered in the Swiss Alps. Originally, the people who found him thought he was a lost hiker they needed to identify. However, it rapidly became clear they had someone much older on their hands. As it turns out, Otzi lived around 3,300 B.C. and is one of the oldest human remains ever to be found. Scientists were amazed that he had been so well preserved, so much so that his tattoos were still visible. It appeared the art of tattooing has a longer history than anyone imagined. 

In most ancient cultures tattoos were treated as a rite of passage. You only received one after achieving a milestone. Even sitting through the process of getting a tattoo was a testament to your character. In some cultures, if you cried or complained the person giving you the tattoo would stop. You would forever wear the unfinished tattoo as a mark of shame. 

I also found out that where you placed the tattoo on your body carried a significance. Some cultures believe that you should avoid placing tattoos anywhere on the center line of you body front or back. Most cultures, with the exception of the Maori, avoid facial tattoos.

So after a years of never wanting a tattoo and a few brief months of research I had my heart set. 

I felt confident that surviving the previous year only to reaffirm my love of art was my heartfelt and most sincere rite of passage. 

I walked into the tattoo parlor well feed, calm and sober. Mentally, physically and spiritually ready for the next phase of my life. 

I wanted the hand prints of the ancient cave painters on my right shoulder. I love art history and cave paintings are such an important part. To me, the art work of the cave painters says more about our humanity than anything else. What thought went through the mind of the first person to create something that was as functional as it was beautiful? Our minds and our creative drive set the course for our culture. The hand prints they left behind are deeply personal. Not only did they leave us with their hand print, but the dye they used was created by mixing in their saliva. Their language may be gone and their history may be sparse, but I can still connect with their art. 

I wanted six hands - one for each member of my family. I wanted to wear my family tree. I wanted to acknowledge all of the amazing history behind me while realizing that I was creating my place at the present moment. 

I went to get my tattoo at Granted Ink. Todd Grant came highly recommended to me by friends who had gotten tattoos. 

All I brought Todd was National Geographic magazine. He was nervous knowing that I was an artist.

"Are you sure you don't want to design the tattoo?" he asked politely

"I just want six hands. You can arrange them any way you like. I didn't come up with the design, I just want you to recreate it. Besides, you're a great artist, I trust you." 

He seemed surprised by my faith in his abilities without ever having a tattoo. But he was a professional and quickly set to work. My tattoo took about fifteen minutes to complete. 

I loved it.

It was art, it was family, it was beautiful.

It wasn't until I had gone home to visit my family several weeks later that I realized that I had gotten my tattoo exactly one year to the day my grandfather had passed away. December 19th, 2008. A coincidence that reminds me that I have angels on my shoulders.

I came a long way to find my purpose. My rite of passage made me a much stronger person. I am grateful for everything I went through because my own personal evolution has helped me grow into the artist I am today.

Granted Ink: https://www.facebook.com/GrantedInk

Photoshop World Orlando 2011

I was able to go to The Photoshop World Conference again in the spring of 2011. It felt so good to be back. 

The Orange County Convention Center is cavernous and full of beautiful archways. I spent most of my time in the expo center. Even though I wasn't able to attend many of the classes I still had a wonderful time. The expo center was bustling with information and enthusiastic presenters. I filled every moment trying to absorb as much information as I could. 

While I was walking around I ran into Rod Harlan again and he invited me to the Midnight Madness Party. A long standing slogan of the Midnight Madness party ensures that "you won't learn a thing". It is an event designed for pure entertainment. Multiple boxes of donuts are passed around as participants playfully compete for prizes. Robert Vanelli, one of the Photoshop World organizers, becomes the life of the party and he interacts with the crowd causing waves of laughter. 

After Midnight Madness I went up to thank Rod for inviting me. He told me that a group of the instructors was headed to a late dinner at a 24 hour restaurant in the Peabody Hotel across the street, and he welcomed me to that as well. "Of course" I said enthusiastically. How on earth could I turn that down?

It felt like Boston all over again. I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to be having dinner with all these industry professionals all over again. I was on cloud nine. 

Even the walk to the Peabody was interesting. I got to meet another instructor by the name of Frank Doorhof, a Dutch fashion and celebrity photographer. It turned out to be a happy accident running into him. I had seen one of his presentations earlier but I hadn't had a chance to meet him until that moment. 

(To see Frank Doorhof's work please visit: http://www.frankdoorhof.com/site/). 

At the restaurant everyone gathered across two tables. I was in the mood for dessert so I ordered the grasshopper, which ended up being a massive bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. The conversations were just as lively as they had been all day. Everyone was happily recounting events from the day and sharing the latest technology and art information. 

At one point Rod turned to me and asked about the work I was doing with DRIP. I began to tell him about some of our past events and how we had just gotten a venue on International Drive, within walking distance from the Peabody. Others began to join in our conversation. Between the great conversations and wonderful company I was thrilled. I never thought I would be able to match the wonderful experience I was so inspired by in Boston. 

Robert Vanelli with other guest at dinner. Nothing but smiles and laughter. 

Robert and I at the end of the Photoshop World Conference. 

Rod Harlan and I posing outside of the Convention Center.

As it turns out, the amazing time I had was not a once in a lifetime event. It has recurred several times and I have the phenomenal group behind Photoshop World to thank. I am constantly inspired by this collaboration of people who joyfully educate others while remaining students themselves. The icing on the cake is that they are all genuinely wonderful people. I certainly believe in the power of doing what you love and loving what you do. Knowledge and joy have never been so infectious. 

The Mirror Project

A contractor messed up the tiles in my new place so that ended up postponing my move about a week. My landlady and her boyfriend worked on the building themselves so that I could settle in as quickly as possible. She fussed over the details but in my eyes the apartment was beautiful. I appreciated that she took so much time to make the place look good. Little things like uneven tile and spots that needed touch ups of paint didn't really bother me. I finally had a place that I could truly call my own.

Everything was pretty much set. The only thing my landlady needed to get was a bathroom mirror to put over the sink. She was going to take her time and pick out a nice one for me. 

At first I was a little worried. No mirror in the bathroom - how was I supposed to put on lipstick? Fix my hair? Check for boogers? 

I dug around in my purse and found a long forgotten compact. When I opened it up I realized the glass was cracked. 

"Great" I thought. "I only have one tiny mirror and it's broken."

I placed it on the sink next to my toothbrush. I guess this will have to do for now. 

It was a little odd balancing the mirror in one hand and a toothbrush in the other. It was even trickier trying to brush my hair into a ponytail since I need two hands for that. Some days I would be rushing to get ready for work trying to put my lipstick on as smoothly as possible, but it was a little more difficult than I anticipated with the shards of broken glass. 

I got used to staring at the blank wall over the sink. I studied the texture like some topographic map. That was probably the strangest thing to adjust to. I realized that I had gone 29 years with a mirror in the bathroom. Now brushing my teeth wasn't as much fun without me making faces at myself. Funny those little things you take for granted. 

I remembered a while ago I overheard someone ask a hypothetical question to a group: What would the world be like if there were no mirrors?

Some people said very beautiful things like "We would all be reflections of each other" and "We would see what was on the inside". 

As for me, I actually got to live this out. And what I found for myself was that I got to feel again. Most of this past year had been very rough and I hadn't had much time for myself. I had gone almost three months without a single day off work between both of my jobs. I hadn't planned on making this move but a difficult roommate made it necessary. It actually ended up being one of the best things I could have done for myself. 

I finally had a place I could call my own. I was growing into myself more as an individual. I was making more time for myself and learning how to take deep breaths. I began to live more in the moment. 

About a month went by before my landlady installed the mirror, and I was surprised by how much things didn't change. But one major thing did. I could see myself in my apartment literally for the first time. I could see how happy I had become. My physical self didn't change but I could see myself in a whole new context. I am growing into the person I was always meant to be. 

The first thing I did was make faces at myself. 

The Fallen One

On March 24, 2013 Orlando got struck by an unusual storm. It rained for most of the afternoon but for a twenty minute period of time the conditions where eerily reminiscent of a hurricane. Rain slapped against windows, we received tornado warnings, and parts of the city were pelted with marble sized hail stones. When the weather calmed down there were scattered tree branches everywhere. Luckily, since the storm was so brief most people only lost power for a little while. 

A few days later on my way home from work I drove past Lake Ivanhoe Park. One of the parks giant trees had fallen during the storm. 

The tree's main fracture had occurred about six feet off the ground. 

One of the large branches had crumpled a dog waste bin. 

I took this photo of my hand against the core of one of the smaller exposed branches. I couldn't even begin to count the rings. 

I climbed on one of the fallen branches to get a better look at the tree. The blurry upper portion of my shadow was about four feet away on the ground. 

Large sections of the rough bark were stripped away revealing a smoother, speckled layer underneath. 

The main fracture, several feet off the ground, brimming with texture and a surprising variety of color. 

A smaller split branch with a dark streak - a telltale sign that this tree was already weak when the storm hit. 

The fallen tree was so large that it's branches damaged a neighboring tree. 

A close up shot of the rotted out core of the tree. Brittle and dry, it looked like a foreign landscape within the tree. 

This is where the rotted core and the healthy trunk meet. 

Parts of the tree that once faced the sky now look down to face me as I capture a jet flying by. 

Becoming The Lion

I met German Lemus back at the City Arts Factory when I had some artwork on display. However, it wasn't until he became a regular feature at DRIP's local art night that I became more familiar with his art work. And off all the works of art he displayed, it was the lion that I fell in love with.

The painting was a close up of a lion's face staring at the viewer with a powerful, unwavering gaze. Wild brush strokes mimicked the texture of fur. Colorful mane burst from the face to the edge of the canvas creating an aura of vitality. It was a still image that felt as though it could surge to life at any moment. A glimpse of a wild animal in a very controlled state.

I asked Lemus if I could have one of the images as a magnet. He was sold out at the time but assured me he would have more soon. I realized I knew the meaning behind some of his other works but not this one. I asked him what the lion represented to him.

He said that artists are like lions. You may go long periods of time without eating, without anything to sustain yourself, but you still have to carry yourself the the King of the Jungle. You still have to be proud. You have to be ferocious.

Over the next few weeks I moved and got to reflect more on this thought.

You see, this was my 7th move in eight years, and my second move this particular year. I came to Orlando right before I turned 21 and I can't say that it has been easy.

Six months after I transferred to Orlando the grocery store that I had been employed with for five years went under. I was 100 miles away from home and living with a roommate who was suffering from profound depression. That was when I decided that I was going to rise from this mess.

I have worked jobs that have worn me down just so I could scrape by on rent. I have lived with people who have blamed me for all their problems even as I tried to help them. I spent five years in college working on a major people thought was impractical and stayed up for hours making my projects perfect. I was on a first name basis with the overnight crew at the local FedEx print shop.

One day I came home from being at work for almost eighteen hours straight only to find that my most recent roommate had trashed my room. I woke up the next morning - the day everyone thought the Mayans said the world would end - and the first thought that came to my mind was that I wanted to live alone. Let everyone else think this is the end. This day was going to mark my new beginning.

It wasn't until I moved into my new apartment that my head started to clear a little. And I began to see the past eight years in a whole new perspective.

Sure, I did spend a long time struggling through college. But I got into a major that I loved and I was so proud to finally graduate. I have had some awful jobs, but now I have a job that I adore. And even though the hours are long and the work is hard, the job is fulfilling and forced me to grow as an artist as well as an individual. And living with difficult roommates has allowed me to rediscover the beauty of being alone. These walls have become my breathing room, a means to center myself.

Looking back on these last eight years I am amazed to see how far I have come.

A short while after my move I ran into Lemus again and he let me pick out my magnet. I shuffled through the box until I found the one I wanted - the strong and stoic lion, bursting with color.

I held the magnet in my hands as I went up to thank him.

"I thought a lot about what you said about how the lion is like the artist. That really meant a lot to me. I have to fight for everything I have and I am glad I never gave up. I am so proud of the person I am today."

He smiled and said "Well, now you've got your own space so meditate and make it your own."

"I will."

I went home and placed the magnet on my fridge. A reminder of my power and inner strength. To always remain proud and ferocious. A mirror to show me that I am becoming the lion.

Original art work by German Lemus. 

To see more art work by German Lemus, please visit: http://www.rawartists.org/lemus11

The Black Racer

I have a Black Racer who lives just outside of my window. My first encounter with her was when I was doing yard work a few months earlier. I came across a patch of her shed skin which I posted in a previous article,  The Virtues of Yard Work. Since then she has shown herself quite frequently.

I see her most often between 9:00 am and 11:00 am. Trying to absorb the maximum amount of sunlight before darting off. I love this photo of her. She has her white chin propped up on a leaf. 

My cat loves to watch her as well. This is the closest he has ever been to a snake. He watched her intently as she bobbed her head up and down before sliding off into the bushes. 

I caught this lovely shot of her coiled up at the edge of my window. At close to three feet in length, she is one of the largest Black Racers I have ever seen. Her white chin raised up accentuating her graceful body. 

The Tower and The Tree

A while ago I was strolling around downtown Orlando. I happened to look up and take this beautiful shot.

 

This is the Waverly, one of the high-rise condominiums lining Lake Eola. Covering the trademark turquoise balconies was a giant tree. I thought to myself: The people who live in these condos have a beautiful view of downtown. They can see for miles, able to take in the city, the lake, and the tops of all the trees. How perfectly in place everything must look from that perspective. 

But from where I stand the high-rise is covered by the tree. Only small glimpses of the balconies are visible between the intricate winding of the branches and leaves which command my attention. This city claims to be made of steel and concrete, but from where I stand, I see something completely different. I see Florida running wild.