When I leave the shop, it doesn’t turn off. The projects stay with me — the planning, the pacing, the execution, the stages, how the tattoo will heal, how it will read years from now. I think about energy. I think about alignment with the person I’m working with. I think about whether the work deserves more time, more refinement, more restraint.
At this point in my career, I’m obsessive about the projects I take on. About how they’re built. About protecting the integrity of the work. That obsession isn’t something I can compartmentalize, and it isn’t something I’m willing to dilute just to stay busy. I pour an enormous amount of effort and care into every tattoo I do — mentally, physically, creatively. I always have.
I was tattooing while I had an active blood clot in my lung.
I was tattooing while dealing with a tick-borne illness, right up until the moment I ended up in the emergency room.
One of my clients said to me, “Most people wouldn’t even be at work right now.” And they were right.
There’s a tattoo I did during that period — an eye — that ended up becoming the image on my business card. Every time I look at it, I remember exactly what it took to finish that piece. I remember pushing through being seriously sick and still showing up fully for the work. I remember recovering from a pulmonary embolism and still making things I was proud of. The PE couldn’t even stop me.
I also regularly give more time than I get paid for. I recently gave about seven hundred dollars worth of tattoo time to a client- because the piece needed it. I was more than happy to do the additional work to make it perfect! My standard for how I wanted it to look mattered more than their budget.
I don’t go home and forget about my tattoos. I don’t stop thinking about how they could be better, stronger, more resolved. I am my biggest critic!
When I thought I might be dying, one of the first thoughts I had wasn’t wishing I had worked less. It was that I hadn’t done enough cool tattoos in my lifetime. Even tho the saying is “nobody wishes they had worked MORE on their deathbed” - I DID! 😆That’s when the ultimate realization happed- this isn’t my job. It’s my passion. That realization told me everything I needed to know.
This is why I’m selective. Why I work at a lower volume. Why I don’t take on projects that feel out of range, even if they would “pay the bills.” Why I hold out for the right work and the right clients — people who understand how I operate and respect the level of care that goes into what I do. That selectiveness isn’t about scarcity or exclusivity. It’s about protecting something that’s incredibly valuable to me.
Tattooing, for me, is a labor of love in the truest sense — not because it’s easy, but because it demands everything. And I’m committed to keeping that energy intact as I move forward, even while navigating injuries(fuck frozen shoulder btw), limitations, and the realities of a long career. I care deeply about my work. And I think that care shows.
