I had underestimated the ability of a tattoo parlor to serve as a community center. About fifteen cars are parking front and side of the large cinder block building and there's a barbecue sizzling, out the side door. Two young men are sitting on the concrete out front, enjoying a meal of fast food. I'll have to visit just to see how many booths are running. I guess the old location on Hackley grew too small. In Virginia Beach and Dallas, I dropped by a few parlors to visit art shows. Tattoo art, as displayed on an art gallery wall, is its own genre. I loved seeing twenty different artists on display at a gallery in Deep Ellum, Dallas's funky district northeast of downtown. In Norfolk VA, the underground arts group Seven Silent Cities exhibited in the few parlors there. I remember the very strangeness of the items, especially the work of a dollmaker, her work both macabre and beautiful. Recently, I learned of a tattoo artist from Whitehall, who passed untimely this summer. The community mourned as one, with a lovely memorial dinner and evening at the Whitehall American Legion and a benefit concert with numerous bands at Club Envy, downtown Muskegon. Now, I have to add last week's amusing shock. My daughter attended Hollygrove, the Renaissance Fair near Detroit, and all her girlfriends emerged with henna tats on their right hands. I read this as a female bonding ritual and see it as endearing. Ah, that fades. As tattoos are fairly universal .... As for me, maybe I'll go in and have a tattoo imprinted of mom. Once dated a splendid woman who graduated from Harvard Architecture School. One date, she described her plans for a Veritas tramp stamp.
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