Skin Doctors

"When I was young, a lot of old-time [tattoo artists] would say weird things about being a shaman," says Damon Conklin, owner of Super Genius Tattoo and co-founder of this weekend's Seattle Tattoo Convention. "One guy would say, 'Every night you go home with blood on your hands.' And the truth of the matter is, we spend quality time with people and they end up getting advice, giving confessions, or just venting. We're right up there with bartenders and therapists."

The guy with the needle etching "Mom" on your shoulder a therapist? The good ones are. After all, that image will likely stay on your bod until, well, your bod is no more.

About a third of all 25- to 29-year-olds have tattoos, and most are purely decorative, but many have a commemorative, spiritual, or emotional dimension. In the process, tattoo artists become inadvertent, unconventional Dr. Phils.

"As soon as someone trusts you enough to tattoo them, they trust you enough to tell you everything," says Laughing Buddha's George Long. "A certain level of intimacy is established because you're changing their bodies. People will just tell me about childhood abuse or the way they feel alienated from the rest of the world or their favorite things, and sometimes they won't hold back."

They also may not even know what they want on their body when they walk in, says Conklin, making his job one part production artist and one part mind reader. And when someone does have a specific idea of what they'd like, the design may still require thoughtful discussion. Long, for example, won't tattoo art printed off the Internet. He helps the customer find a more individual route to a similar end. Liberty Tattoo owner Matt Arriola says these conversations call less for therapy than for "brutal honesty."

"One woman I knew wanted something to represent her divorce," says Arriola. "Her husband never wanted her to get a tattoo, so she had all of this pent up, you know? She wanted this big tattoo of being brokenhearted and, don't get me wrong, I like sad and depressing stuff sometimes, but eventually I talked her into getting a cherry blossom on her wrist to represent the transience of life. We probably talked for like an hour, but now, even when she's moved on, she'll have something pretty."

Although a tattoo artist is typically on the listening end during lengthy sessions, a customer's tattoo may hold emotional meaning for the artist as well.

"I'm working on a half-sleeve for a guy who's been sober for a couple years and became a Christian," says Conklin. "He's trying to incorporate the elements that tell that story. Elements of urban landscape, of nature, and graffiti, and my job is to blend all these things together to basically say he's gone from this dark place to this place of light. Which is, ironically, something I went through years ago, and it's giving me a new chance to see the lights come on."

But ultimately, like a bartender, a tattoo artist knows emotional counseling has its limits. "I had one guy tell me I was his therapist," says Long. "I had to stop him and say, 'No, I'm not. I don't get paid enough to be your therapist. I'm not trained in that.' It's totally legitimate and amazing that people will tell you personal, private things, but you can't be rude and cut them off. Sometimes the best response is, 'I don't have a response to that.'"

kbecker@seattleweekly.com