Rich In Terroir
I am not going to get a tattoo everywhere we go. I will quickly run out of places I’m willing to have inked. My policy is that I won’t get a tattoo where I can’t see it. I’m not enduring a tattoo so other people can be entertained.
That leaves out the back and the face. Which is fine. It does leave belly and chest, but those, truthfully, are no longer attractive canvases. So… Limbs. Since I want each piece to stand on its own and not just blend into a sleeve, that leaves only a limited number of spots.
To occupy one of those few remaining locales, a tattoo has to check a few boxes. Most importantly to me, the design has to capture something specific about the location. When I look at it, I want it to evoke its origin. It should be rich in terroir.
The tattoo I got in Oaxaca qualified, as it was based on a traditional Oaxacan embroidery motif.
I wanted a tattoo to commemorate our trip to Cuba, but I couldn’t come up with something distinct enough to the locale to justify the real estate. Nothing really site-specific suggested itself for Cuba.
Morocco, on the other hand, was so easy I had the idea before we even got here, and did my research ahead of time. I even found the tattoo parlor, and booked my appointment for our second day there. I wanted to make sure I was fully healed before we had another transition. Plus, I was really excited to get it done, since the idea was so clear. What could be more evocative, more on the nose, than a henna-style tattoo from Marrakech?
In doing the research, I was drawn to designs around the ankle and lower calf, and that was certainly available real estate. I collected images that spoke to me for one reason or another, and went through them all with my design consultant, my daughter Ruby. We discussed what I was drawn to in each of the photos, and she helped me winnow the bolus of images down to a handful that told a fairly coherent story.
After reviewing those images with the tattoo artist, she brought me back this:
Which, justifiably, I loved. It felt like she’d plucked an idea from my head that I hadn’t been able to explicitly articulate. Thanks to Ruby for helping to prune the images to the few that would communicate my intentions so clearly.
Unlike my Oaxacan tattoo, I wasn’t able to capture any good process photos. Alice, my Russian-born artist, was working down at my other end, and I wasn’t really well positioned to see what she was up to. And I certainly wasn’t going to contort myself into pretzel knots in the attempt. Too much needles.
Could. Not. Be. Happier.
Of course, there was nothing about getting a permanent henna-style tattoo that prevented me from getting a real henna tattoo. Because if some is good, more is better. Siham, the host for our second stop in Marrakech, is, among other things, a henna artist. We met her at a craft fair and one of her talented artists had at me.
I feel like I’ve launched our Moroccan adventure on just the right note. I am very appropriately decorated, and ready for whatever comes next.