Just in time for Mother's Day

Ok, so back on my 27th b-day last year, my dad asked me what I wanted. I blurted out that I really wanted to get the tattoo I've been planning since, oh, my son was born. I had in my head a lovely cross with some sort of nod to the vines I have, and Anthony's name written NOT in that crappy, everyone-has-it-script, but printed neatly in the same font as Nightmare Before Christmas. I never had the money (or the support of the ex-hubster) to get it done before, and this was my chance.

Soooo...after my little birthday surprise of landing in the hospital, I was quickly barrelling into the busy season at work, and my "gift" sort of got backburnered. Once January rolled in and the psycho 12+ hour days trickled off, I finally got around to calling Ben at Apocalyse, the nice gent who did all my original work. But, well, I still work 6 days a week, and the guy was pretty much booked through JUNE. So, I resigned myself to finding a more conveniently located studio, with a more open schedule. Boooooooooy was that a mistake.

See, I stupidly wandered into the infamous Top Tattoo which is just blocks away from home. I checked out the books, and settled on an artist who seemed to have a good array of black and grey work. He came out and talked to me for a bit, and we set an appointment, with the art to be pre-sketched based on some referrences I dropped off and checked out a week before the actual inking.

When I went in to look at the art is where the trouble began. I had originally dropped off a copy of a cross I have on my wall, a referrence of the font, and explained the desire to tie in my leaves. I explained that because of the pencil sketch look of my leaves, and of course the very nature of the tat, I wanted it to have a soft, organic feel. What I got was a hardlined sketch of a typical sailor's cross, no leaves, and apparently he thought putting my SON'S NAME on me was "trite". He didn't want to do it at all, and said the significance of the cross should be enough. I gritted my teeth, reitterated my original designs, and let him know that instead of a tattoo in one week, he'd be showing me another sketch and we'd push my appointment out until I was happy. He was very bully-ish about the whole thing, insisting that what he was doing would be fine. Nevermind what I was wanting to wear on my body for the rest of my goddamn life.

An hour before I was supposed to go look at sketch #2 he rang me up and explained that there was a power outage and he couldn't finish my sketch, so he'd call me when it was ready. I didn't hear from the asshole for a month. I finally called and demanded that since I had no sketch, and the first was NOT what I had originally presented, I wanted my deposit back and I'd go somewhere else. The guy totally creeped me out and made me feel bullied. Needless to say, the SOB still has my deposit, because despite the fact that he screwed up, non-refundable means they can screw you.

I called Ben back in tears, and he promptly calmed me down and asked me to come to his studio and check out the books of his bretheren (who have more open schedules than he). His confidence in his mates is great, and I agreed. Scott and I had a day we were spending downtown, so we wandered in and flipped through a few books. All the work at this particular studio is honestly nothing less than artistic mastery. No flash could ever do justice to the talent that ALL the artists there have. Seriously, if you need ink and you live around here, hunt them down and let them work their magic.

I settled on the book of young master Bryan Griffith. His black and grey work was beautiful, and it must have been fate because within his book there was a cross DAMN close to what I had envisioned. He came out and was immediately excited about it, and had me completely at ease within nanoseconds. He's even a Burton geek himself, and whipped out a book when I mentioned my desired typeface. I knew this guy was the one (geesh, it's like falling in love) and I made the appointment, trusting him enough to even let the sketch be set on the day of.

See for yourself, what the guy did is above and beyond what I expected. It's gorgeous, and everything I wanted in this piece. I even have grapes now (he worked them into the center of the cross), so all those who whined about the vine being barren of fruit can shaddap.

Excuse me now while I go limp through another happy dance. And thank you, Daddy, for making this dream finally come true!!

Hippity Hop Hop

So, Easter is next week and I have already scurried to a few stores and picked up a basket o' goodies for the wee one. He's at that age where I have to be pretty damn creative with the contents now. Can't really do candy, because dear God nothing is scarier than a three year old on a chocolate bunny sugar high. Can't do the typical toys because Anthony can't really get into them yet, and can't do the crayons and like because I like having clean walls. I swear, whoever invented that crayola colour wonder stuff must have had a hyperactive toddler, because I am telling you that shit is genius. I also got a Dora DVD (and tylenol for myself), and a few random soft toys.
So, I make the plans for egg colouring and brunch with the folks, and then turn on the news to see a giant protest hullabaloo over an anatomically correct chocolate Jesus Christ that was supposed to be displayed in New York. Some Catholic whack job is acting displaying less maturity than my toddler, adn the artist is sitting there in mild amusement and disdain for the ruckus his unique creation caused. Granted, his "reasonings" were very tongue in cheek, but it did really bring the whole holiday to a glaring point for me. Note to Catholic whackjobs...it wasn't this mans fervent display of faith that irritated me, it was his demeanor. I've seen plenty of well spoken and well thought Christian Activists, but this guy was simply being an asshole and insulted the entire artist community, thus negating any real argument he may have had over the nature of aforementioned sculpture. Referring to all artists as Losers and the entire community of SoHo as a "dump for filth" does not a valid arguement make.
Like many people, I think of Easter and think oversized chocolate bunnies, cadbury eggs, and getting brightly coloured vinegar all over my kitchen table. I will stick bunny ears on my offspring and the cats, attempt to create far too many deviled eggs in my efforts to rid myself of hard boiled nightmares, and revel in teh glory that is Dove chocolate.
Do I understand the true meaning of Easter? Of course, I was raised catholic, DER. But as I have drastically changed my opinions on faith in recent years, I choose not to attend mass, hang up little Jesuses, or pray to the glory of the resurrection. I still don't eat meat on Good Friday though, habits die hard.
But I chose not to celebrate this item of faith, and I chose not to cram my developing child's head with the unintangible concept of Faith. He gets confused with the science fiction that Disney channel has, how could he possibly grasp the intricacies that a thousand year old "idea" based on an archaic book attempts to implant? He couldn't, so I choose to teach him that this is a celebration of something comprehendable, such as the return of Spring. Hence the bunnies and eggs, which by the way, harken back to Paegan traditions so all of you Bible Thumpers might want to forgo the cadbury bunny.
But the concept that the artist was bringing to light was not the concious choice of spring versus resurrection, but the one of laziness and acceptance of Hallmark ideals in christian groups. They drag the kiddies to mass, then stuff them with chocolate bunnies, but don't explain the concepts behind either. So young children see Easter as this oddly confusing blurp in the year that revolves around cadbury chocolates, bright pink eggs hidden by a rabbit and...uh...jesus. And then the day is gone and all that's left are jelly beans and a bewilderment as to what all the ruckus is over a particular Sunday.
So I find what Cosimo Cavallaro pretty understandable as a person of faith. You want your Christ and your friggin hallmark? Fine, have a chocolate Jesus. Oh, now you are protesting it...why?
"Because it's appalling"
Why?
Being anatomically correct to me is no more offensive than the graphic nature of that horrid snuff film Mel Gibson came out with.
And it being chocolate shouldn't be offensive, because we eat the body of christ every time we take the communion (hello, tasteless wafers).
So, why the uproar? Perhaps it's because it's too glaring a reminder of the hypocricy many people of faith are currently upholding. Especially when there are the ridicuulous explanations of Jesus loved bunnies and they had eggs at the Last Supper. *sigh* one, or the other, or explain both. I'm going with Spring, and when Anthony is older I'll explain the other side of "Holy Week" to him, and let him make his own choices on intangible things such as faith and belief. But right now he's three. And bunnies make sense.