I was at the library the other day, and my daughter was playing at the Art Table with two other girls. One of the little girls’ mother was near by and said “Aren’t you girls good little artists!”
And the third girl perked up and said “My dad’s an artist!”
The woman smiled indulgently and says “Oh really, what kind?”
The little girl proudly told her “He’s a tattoo artist.”
And the woman. Oh man. Her face just twists, crumples into something nothing short of disdain, and she opens her mouth and says “That’s not…”
“An easy job,” I cut in, looking the woman in the face because really? You’re going to tell a child her dad’s not a real artist. “In fact it’s very very hard, because that art is alive forever on a person, not like on paper. And that’s scary! You have to be really good, to be a tattoo artist. Your dad must be really, really good.”
what kind of person could just try and crush a little kid like that? goddamn.
Do people not realize that tattoo artists have to know how to draw really well and produce straight precise lines on a moving canvas, and make the right color selection and know how to blend those colors and do proper shading, and a million other art things and no single client/canvas is the same and they have to adjust based on the pigment of the skin and where the person wants the tattoo?! What the hell
did the aliens from star wars just enjoy that band in the cantina playing the exact same fucking song over and over again or was it a situation like that diner with Whats New Pussycat on repeat
considering that han solo was in that cantina, I think we all know the answer
and then when i was about to request the song for the seventh time, my buddy chewbacca, genius that he is, stopped me and said “rrrRrrrghghghhHh”. and that is when the afternoon went from good to great.
