The Last Tattoo by Su Zi

 

The Last Tattoo

It might be that some of us have scars—surgical or experiential—as souvenirs of where we have been. Certainly, as children, some of us might have been privy to those intimate histories of where the scar was born, how it came into existence, how we grow around it if we are lucky enough to become old trees.

It also might be that some of us have tattoos—one or many, faded or still fresh—and these too ride shotgun to every moment ever after. For those you have considered, but yet to have encountered the tattoo experience: it is intimate. For those with a few tattoos, we know of what sense of resonance we must have with the totem to choose it.

And also, it might be that there are a few tattoo collectors—people who have many tattoos. Sometimes we might see a sleeve—an entire arm—in a swirl of markings, some intricate, some boldly graphic, a personal totem of the body.

I have many tattoos. Some of them I can only see with multiple mirrors, or in photographs. There are some in places few people will see ever, although there are photographs. As a tattooed person, you will be photographed—first by the artist who takes a picture for their portfolio, which is only of your fresh tattoo prior to bandaging. It might be that you attend events specifically for tattooing, and these have a history unto themselves, as all ritual events do. At one point, there was a convention of women tattoo artists only: Marked for Life. At such conventions, there are photographers. Some of the photographers exhibit through galleries and publication. I am told that I, as a tattooed person—in addition to specific tattoos—have appeared, perpetual apparition, me—in Italy, a place I shall never see.

Eventually, it might be that some of us grow into health issues. It might be that a surgeon scars a tattoo, or that life scars a tattoo. When we wear a tattoo for years and years, it is no longer a totem on our skin, it is our skin. While archeologists have found tattooed bones, our eventual future, we are still in our skins.

But, it might be that the rigors of that intimate ritual are eventually beyond us—perhaps there is only skin on bone now.

No more new tattoos.

And so, what of what is now the last one—

For me, it is a shared tattoo with someone no longer in my life

For me, it is a mark made in grief for a life lost

It is a standard flash broken heart that can only be seen if I am warm enough to wear short sleeves. We were walk-ins right before closing, in pre-plague times when every shop had to smell of green soap. The tattoo is on my forearm, right between the elbow and the crook with visible blue veins. I cannot remember the name of the artist. The shop is now closed.

But the tattoo rides with me in everything I do—because the grief it totemized rides with me in everything I do. People might see it riding my arm between Kimo’s forearm rose and the upper sleeve done long ago by Patty Kelley; there’s rich history in all the arts, and this includes tattoos and their artists. 

And while there are many opportunities for remembrance in our ordinary days, some ritual holidays might echo deeper for our own personal ghosts. We all honor our own histories in our own ways; for some of us, we wear them as well.

Su Zi is a writer, poet and essayist who produces a handmade chapbook series called Red Mare. She has been a contributor to GAS from back when it was called Gypsy Art Show, more than a decade ago.

                     

Check out her author page on Amazon.

GAS Featured Poet: Alan Britt

Alan Britt poems have appeared in Agni Review, American Poetry Review, The Bitter Oleander, Cottonwood, Kansas Quarterly, Midwest Review, Minnesota Review, Missouri Review, New Letters, Osiris, andStand (UK). His latest books are Garden of Earthly Delights and The Tavern of Lost Souls, from UnCollected Press and Červená Barva Press respectively. A graduate of the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University he currently teaches English/Creative Writing at Towson University.

 

US & THEM

 

Thank god for mulligans;

some would say, heaven sent.

 

But the memes floating around

like spaceships

& sometimes like a heavenly ray

of dawn with quantum flecks

of our lives broadcast all

over the place—one could enter

these timeless atoms being transported

to another dimension

including the one where some of us

have a bad reputation.

 

Anyway, thought you might want

to hear that before you

make your next move.

THE STAIN

 

We are nothing more than a gray stain on a worn sidewalk.

 

Stain that began dark as thunder but over the years became Rorschach from a tropical storm.

 

The sidewalk also contains pink gum turned into tar, plus political jesters ground into dust.

 

If I had a ladle, I’d lift the shadows from that sidewalk like they were crawdads escaping 

a cast iron Nola pot.

 

But I wasn’t born with a ladle, & I wouldn’t boil another lifeform while it was still alive 

as long as I’m a member, such as that is, of the human race on this blue gyroscope called 

by its terrestrial name.

 

Oh yes, the stain. 

The Making of Red Mare 30 by Su Zi

 

Red Mare 30

I am making another Red Mare: This one will be number 30.

I have made Red Mare through the years—first just June, now both of the Solstice.

Making is a meditation; there is a process, and each part of the process is a meditation.

First, there’s the rude saw of investment—the manuscript has a hue, and choosing paper was once a meditation in the tenderness of touch: what will hold the ink, what will embrace the text. 

Also, the secret petticoat of the flyleaf—over the years, it had been mulberry inclusion, Tibetan handmade with seashells, bamboo paper and this edition is a Japanese Onuro Lace.

And always are the hours of sewing, a one knot stitch for the binding that a teacher said once was from Japan, too, as are the sheets folded raw edge to the seam—this edition, the text too has texture.

But of all the aspects of Red Mare, the first meditation is the block.

To blockprint, the image must be reversed, letters and numbers are backwards, and the block must be carved to reveal itself.   There are technical tricks, but habit has me drawing directly onto the block—seeing the reversals under my pen. For this edition, and for the first time, i took notes.

They are incomplete, because this edition is still under construction. There are thirteen sections: a log of this project...

1

it’s seeing in reverse

the direction of flow

the shadows change—the light changes color in autumn

spectrum. Spectral

it is I

(hybrid2)

the walking bones

speaking with my hands

2

carving each negative away

the blade

this knife, the direction, how much will be seen

and always stopping         making water 

3

(20 hours after medical treatment, unsmiling cheshire)

to see what will be read in reverse

to just look

sometimes too ill to pick up the knife

(chime)

And there’s a sudden memory of Red Mare at book fairs—she was out, seen; an edition is a crop, a litter of poetry. She was seen in cities, in Tampa, in New Orleans. Each edition a micro collection of ready to read fingers to fiber.

4

the lines of the light

ever steady in motion

steady

the knife

against the light

(hybrid3)

a look

a cut

a line

ever in reverse

reverse reveal

5

stillness

hands shaking

6

the small islands

the current of the cut

the flow of the knife.

7

sharpen the knives

spill water on stone

eyes blur

hands shake

(hybrid4)

8

cut the line backwards

and still see the flow

9

the paper

can catch fight, an organza in the hue of first light

10

the plate rests

awaits testing

the paper waits

her eventual runway

i await with myself

in hunger

11

suddenly pink

print the plate

press azul oscuro

and shifting colors

ever because

(hybrid5)

12

as the prints dry

air and paper

touch the night

13

folding

what it is to

this touching.

Note Below: Next come the cotton

         Next comes the needle

           Planned release is always to honor the Solstice.

Red Mare Origin Story

Su Zi is a writer, poet and essayist who produces a handmade chapbook series called Red Mare. She has been a contributor to GAS from back when it was called Gypsy Art Show, more than a decade ago.

                     

Check out her author page on Amazon.