Just got the latest (Sept. 08) issue of ITA in the mail yesterday and it's a real rockin' issue if I do say so myself.

First, our loving Editor, Chris Pfouts weighs in on the past and future of tattoo flash with an informative and entertaining editorial. Next, there's a feature by yours truly about the super-rad Carson. It's a short, one page article written by me with a dozen or so pages of eye bursting artwork from one of my new favorite artists on the scene. Carson's stuff runs the gamut from cute to rockin' and is all bright, bold and bad ass. There are two full pages of his "Pillcult" characters that'll really flip your lid.

Next, there's a nice article about the most recent "Ink and Iron Fest" written by Sara Ray that's all greasers and gassers as far as the eye can see with some great candid shots including pics of Jack Rudy and the mindblowingly cool backpiece he collaborated on with Guy Aitchison, some hand tapped tattooage, Joe Capo gettin' down on some calf acton, Pizz pointin' at a corndog and much more.

Tattoo historian and writer of the AMAZINGLY AWESOME book, "New York Tattoo", Mike McCabe goes in depth with a hugely informative article about Japanese tattoo Master, Sensei Horitoku of Tokyo. There's some great info about Horitoku, the tebori method of traditional Japanese tattooing and some nice photos of the Sensei in his private workspace. Top notch stuff from Mike, as usual.

Editor Chris Pfouts brings the radness with the incredibly talented Karrie Rosenbaum, AKA "Pepper" whose work crosses multiple stylistic boundaries with a focus on realistic portraiture that puts others, more well known for this style, to shame. The feature also showcases some of Pepper's unfuckingbelievably superb fine art pieces. Pepper's out in West Lafayette, IN (Purdue town!) at Revolution Tattoo which used to be one of St. Marq Agee's "New Breed" shops, the same tattoo empire that once featured Marq's lil' bro and super rad tattooer Monte Agee, Jerry Frost, Joshua Carlton and lil' ol' ME.

Sara Ray does double duty on the hot rod circuit with an article on the Viva Las Vegas Car Show. Tons of pics of lowriders, lead sleds, hot art, pin striping and pompadours overflow the pages like greased lightnin' or a scene from Ed Roth's nightmares. I can smell the gasoline, One Shot, PBR and Royal Crown as we speak.

All of these articles are followed, of course, by a mandatory dose of miscellaneous tattoos from up and comers as well as old timers in Tattoos From Around the Globe. Hit the newsstand now and getcha some!

"There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold..." -Zep

Some call it the rat race. Human animals running through the maze of life in search of the elusive "cheese". Some call it "The Struggle" or "The Fight" or "The Grind". I call it "The Never Ending Ladder". No matter how how high you climb on the ladder it automatically extends itself. There is no end to the climb. The only way to end the climb is to stop climbing (and who wants to live in the middle of the ladder, bird's nest on head, looking down at the ones about to rush over you or looking up at the asses and elbows of those who already have) or let go of the ladder and feel the weightlessness of the fall... 4, 3, 2, 1, splat!

Some folks are content to while away their time at a same ol', same ol' kinda job. Put the screw in the part. Put the screw in the part... Or, "may I take your order? Thanks, drive through". These are the people with the bird's nests on their heads or they are the people saving up the gumption to get further up the ladder. Then there are those who strive and work and toil, climb and claw and fight who never leave the rung they're sitting on. Then there are those like me. Never satisfied. Always hungry. Always wanting more. Not material things more, but more success, more applause, more handshakes and pats on the back. More "you did good kid". The first time I found out that there would be an article written about me in a major tattoo magazine I was overjoyed. The magazine came in the mail and I opened it and read it and felt... empty. I somehow expected to be filled up by this milestone. I should've at least been able to sit and smile and glow for a minute but I was already on to the next project. The next scrap of press. At that time, I was still playing in my punk band full time in addition to tattooing, doing t-shirt designs for my own companies and several others, doing posters and album covers for bands and daydreaming up new ventures. I was fairly lucky to be successful enough to get some fairly major press for most of my creative outlets. I have been written up for something or another in literally hundreds of publications ranging from photocopied punk zines all the way up to the glossy, internationally distributed publications. I've been published in book form on multiple continents and have appeared on records, CD's and stages alongside many of my musical heroes. Never satisfied with the level of exposure I was garnering I started writing. I've always been a writer. Writing is an early love of mine. When I say I "started" writing, I mean I started getting published and getting paid. Regularly. A few music reviews for a few smaller publications lead to a lucky break here, a lucky break there and soon I had my very own weekly music column with a rad title and header featuring my pretty mug in every issue of Dayton, Ohio's alt-weekly newspaper. Still not enough. I soon tried my luck and landed a gig as a regular freelancer for International Tattoo Art, my favorite tattoo magazine of all time (thanks Chris!). Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy writing for ITA. I've enjoyed myself in all of my creative endeavors but there's still something missing. There's still a void. The void keeps growing every time I fill it. The ladder keeps getting longer.

I don't want to end this on a negative note. I could certainly have other addictions, if that's what all of this is. I am a (mostly) clean living guy. I don't smoke cigarettes, drink or run around on my wife. I've got a hell of an awesome group of friends and clients and instead of destroying my body with bad habits (actually, I did do a lot of damage to myself as a kid, but who's counting) I'm leaving a legacy of work with my name slapped all over it. Maybe someday somebody will want to do a line of clothing or baked beans or hot sauce with my name slapped all over it a la Von Dutch or Ed Hardy and they'll make my kid rich. All this grey hair's gotta be for something.

I've been tattooing a lot of butterflies again... and I like it. I don't know why they're the hot tattoo again right now. They've never gone down in popularity at walk in shops but I haven't done one in forever and I've recently done a pretty impressive handful. No, it's not the same thrill I get from doing one of my experimental, Stream of Consciousness tattoos or finishing a sleeve or a backpiece but it's cool. I haven't done small tattoos like these for a long time. They're like candy. They're small and quick to complete and have a pretty little package that you can cram all kinds of bright and happy color into and they make the people that wear them smile. It's a different kind of smile than you get out of someone with a Satanic, bio-mech landscape on their back. It's an innocent smile. A pure, childlike, soft kind of thing. They're not always tiny of course, my wife has a butterfly on her leg that took three sessions to complete. Of course those sessions were spread out over several years because she doesn't like to bother me to tattoo her after I've been tattooing customers all day.

I received a couple sweet and happy little tattoos the other day. There's a bit of a backstory. I had a regular client cancel his sleeve appointment on Friday at the very last second which left me with a nice chunk of time to fill at the end of the night. My wife, who often comes to the studio to help with paperwork and general management of the business brought my 4 year old daughter, Presley Jayne (P.J.), to work with her. Presley is a big fan of tattooing and has sat with me and watched me tattoo many regular clients, friends and family members. While tattooing my mother a couple weeks ago, I let Presley draw on her grandma with Sharpie markers while I worked on an ongoing fairy piece my mom has going on her thigh. Presley was the proudest little girl ever when grandma decided to get PJ's initial's tattooed on her foot. Presley had drawn the initials on her foot, off to one side, kinda crooked and very cute so mom decided we should commit the masterpiece to permanence and we did. Anyway, Friday Presley and Michelle and I were having a great time in the studio and Presley was having a lot of fun greeting my customers and letting them know that she could do "whatever she wanted" because she was in "her daddy's workshop". When everyone was gone for the day and my last appointment had cancelled, I offered to tattoo my wife and finish her butterfly that had been unfinished for so many years. She accepted the offer and I got to work on the insect. While I tattooed my wife, my daughter drew on my wife and on herself with Sharpies and pretended to answer the phone, "Presley Jayne Wells, CUS-TOM Tattooing". When I had finished my wife's tattoo, I asked Presley if she wanted to tattoo daddy. "For real?" she asked. "Of course" I said. She was ecstatic. I set up a liner needle grouping and tube in my Godoy Brothers' machine and poured some red ink that I wanted to try out and I dipped the liner into the ink and placed it in her hand. I helped her position her hand comfortably on the tube and the machine looked huge in her little hand. She was excited but dead serious because she understands that "real" tattoos are on there forever. Mommy nervously warned P.J. to be sure to not touch the needle coming out of the end of the tube because it would hurt her and leave a permanent mark on her. Presley carefully positioned her self above my left, inner calf and drove the needle into my leg up to the hilt. I set up very straight and reached down and stopped her hand. "That was a little too quick and hard" I said, "let's go a little more slowly and take our time to make it pretty". Presley then took her time to ink a wobbly little smiley face on the inside of her dad's leg. When she was finished she was beyond excited and still hasn't stopped asking to look at her masterwork. My wife, never one to be left out of a good time, picked up the machine and tattooed a tiny heart with a "P" for Presley in the middle in a spot near Presley's smiley face. We left the studio with great big smiles on our face and went home for a rare Friday night family meal.

In other Wells household news, we've been in the midst of a massive room swap and cleaning adventure. We live in a small, single story, 3 bedroom home with a living room, family room, combined kitchen and dining room and 1 bath and we are busting at the seams. My collections of absurdities and P.J.'s never ending influx of toys has the Wells Family house at maximum capacity. One of the three bedrooms has been used as my office, art and music studio and storage for all my weird shit. One room is the parental sleeping quarters and the smallest room was P.J.'s nursery. Presley's little room recently reached it's limit and her stuff was starting to leave little "room" in the room so we decided to move Presley to the larger bedroom being used as my office. My office was to be moved into Presley's little room. I thought it would all fit albeit a little snug. I was wrong. After moving the contents of Presley's room to the living room or "front parlor" as we like to call it, I started moving the contents of my office into the little bedroom. Three quarters of the way through the ordeal, my stuff overflowed the little room and started accumulating in the front parlor and family room and kitchen and back porch and shed. I started the whole process at Noon and finally "finished" for the day at 11pm. It would take us several more days and we would have to sacrifice our larger family room to become my new office and my wife Michelle would gain something she never had imagined that she would want or need, a sewing room and office for Mommy. Of course, my stuff has a a way of being omnipresent so she has to share her sewing room with my record collection and half of my guitar collection.

I am still in the process of arranging and organizing my new home office and I'm finding treasures I forgot I had. For your enjoyment in the coming weeks I'm going to share some of the items and stories I'm uncovering including some old issues of International Tattoo Art dating back to the magazine's first year. I'm going to try to start pulling together some video and audio files to share as well as pictures and words. Here are a few pics from the beginning of the big room swap. I started taking these pics after the swap was already underway so you don't really get the see the old office 100% as it was. I'll try to find some pics of it so I can do a before and after later...

Under this window was where a giant homemade work surface made out of closet doors and milk crates used to live. The window and curtains above served as a super crappy but handy dandy way to show off some of my collection. Here we have an Iron Maiden banner, Anthrax backpatch, a dozen or so buttons, a towel covered in fake blood from Samhain's reunion signed by Steve Zing and assorted Spider-Man paraphernalia on top of the curtain rod.

Here you can partially see my drawing table and storage shelf with one of my first screen prints, a poster for Heavy Rebel Weekender, tacked up, a Misfits and a Motley Crue poster and assorted crap on the floor.

Another view of my drawing table with one of the first Rok En Rol skate decks given to me by my previous boss Brian Brenner and a singing Frankie in the foreground.

Pawn shop guitars and trash.

A closet full of stuff. The orange boxes that all match are NSync marionettes given to me by my former manager, Bradley Darrell.

P.J. made me leave up all the Frankie posters for her. They're mostly Electric Frankenstein posters by other artists. I've done a shitload of posters for those guys but I feel weird hanging my own shit up. There's also a poster of flash by MikeBelzel in the upper left corner of the page that I love. Pentagram necklace on the doorknob.

Better shot of the window. Notice the "Funeral" flag, procured from a funeral procession up there as well.

Awesome little sign my Uncle Randy made in the early 70's about how comic book artists need to learn to draw the "peace sign" properly so as not to be labeled as a "warmonger honky pig".

Starting to fill the little room. I did all that sweet nursery painting in there.

A BC RIch Warlock I'm painting for my client Wil.

Vinyl. Mostly 70's. Insane collection of rare Zeppelin bootlegs, KISS rarities and everything else from AC/DC to Zappa.

More rare vinyl and my prized 78 rpm records. That Roy Rogers on top has been with me since birth and originally came out in 1949.

Little amp on a stack of big amp.

My Spice Girls dolls. Unopened. Hell yeah.

A very tired Rev after a long day's work next to a painting by Little Billy Catfish of Frankenstein playing a banjo painted as a birth gift for my daughter.

Rev. Dr. Chad Wells
http://www.wellstattoo.com
http://www.myspace.com/revwells

Ya' know, I've talked a lot in my previous posts about how I'm really sorry for not turning in my blogs on a regular enough basis. Well, guess what? Here I go again.

It's been a really long stretch since my last blog. Been busy with the studio, sideline business deals, family stuff, writing for the magazine... Seems like there's not enough time in the day to do what I do. I'm also worried that these blogs aren't being accessed. I get a few comments but there aren't that many hits rolling through these pages. I get blown up when I post these blogs (usually a week after they're posted here, at the ITA site) on Myspace so I know people read the blogs, they're just not reading them here, or if they are, they're not commenting like they do over at the myspace page.

So blow up the comments here and let me know you're out there. Let me know what you want to read.

In other news International Tattoo Art is celebrating it's 15th year this year! If I were a cursing man, I would say, "Holy Fucking Shit!" to that. Time flies when you're having fun I guess. I have been a loyal reader of this esteemed mag since it's inception and am daily stoked to b e a part of the creative team still churning out a beautiful and interesting read on a regular basis. My tattoo career started the same year that ITA hit the shelves and it's no coincidence that I was pushed to be the artist I am because of ITA. Sure, I read (and still do) those "other" magazines but NOBODY was doing it like ITA did it back in the day. Super high quality photos, covers and writing about super high caliber artists. The other mags turned out some good stuff too but were never as consistent or as dedicated to QUALITY as International Tattoo Art and at a time when all the other books had pictures of leather fringe clad biker mamas on their covers exclusively, ITA happily put beautiful girls with amazing work on their bodies on the cover even if they were rocking a mohawk or a shaved head and facial piercings which was exactly what my youthful punk rock eye wanted to see. Nothing wrong with biker mamas, I grew up around that, but to see a girl my own age with interests outside of of the typical "V-twin straight to Sturgis" mentality represented by the other mags sent a huge message to me that it was okay to be myself in this industry and that it was okay to explore artistic avenues beyond the pale of tradition. Of course, it wasn't just the covers that drew me in to ITA it was the content. Many of my all time favorite artists got their first respectable spread in the pages of ITA and EVERY spread blew my mind.

So, again, I'm gonna shoot to keep this thing up on a weekly basis. Don't hate me if I don't because I'll probably drop the ball at least a few more times but leave me some comments here and let the world know what you think about my stuff, ITA and the current state of affairs in the world of tattooing. If tattooing or getting tattooed is your passion, let the world know it and show some support so we can keep this snowball rolling.

(Note: I wrote this piece a week ago but it's been a burden getting up here for technical reasons. Since I wrote this piece, I've had a bit of a relapse with my health - nothing major to worry about - I just have to clean myself out with a Dr. imposed fast and some antibiotics. Gut problems are a bitch...)

I know, I know, it says "weekly blog" and I really am trying my damnedest to crank these things out but it's always something. I skipped last week's communique because I was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to oxygen and intravenous drugs and such. Long story short, I've put a lot of miles on my 34 year old body and it's starting to behave as though I'm 50. I'll turn it around. I have no choice. I'm the sole provider for my family and I want to be around to watch everybody grow up. Medical bills are a bitch for most Tattoo Artists. We generally have no insurance plans and if you're smart and set up a medical savings account, there's always some furnace or car blowing up that will drain that account and leave you holding the bag as it were. I'm not complaining. Far from it. My freedom is worth every bit of the struggle. I've worked factories and warehouses and construction and restaurants and sales and every other kind of job you can imagine and not a single one of them have allowed me to meet and befriend the kind of people that tattooing and writing have brought into my life. I love the relationships I've forged in this business, the roads I've travelled for this business and the time I've spent trying to constantly give back to this business. So what if I have a lot of bills now? I'll double the workload and turn out some amazing work not because I feel like it but because I have to. You know the old saying about life handing you lemons right? Rev. Wells is busy making a lot of lemonade.

So it goes. I'll be eating like an old man for the rest of my life, trying to find healthy options while I'm on the road or when I've got a long day at the office and no time to cook but it's all worth it. I've lost 40 pounds since I ended up in the hospital. The discipline alone is worth it. My entire career has been built on discipline. Following my path and shooting for my goal no matter what roadblocks stood in my way and no matter how much my mind tells me, "It's okay. Take a day off. You deserve it. You've been tattooing all day and writing all night, designing t-shirts and album covers, compiling music CD's and books, writing blogs and newsletters, updating websites and drawing the week's tattoo assignments... You can rest for one day." The discipline to continue and to complete the tasks at hand have built my business and my relationships and I honor any new discipline that comes my way. So you may run into me at a convention or out and about and I'll be tired and I'll be hungry but I'll be jazzed to be at these great shows and I'll be jazzed to meet you. I'll be high on life and buzzing from my new healthy diet that's fueling me cleaner and more efficiently than my pizza and Pepsi diet of the past. I'll be working my ass off tattooing and taking pictures and meeting new people and hanging with old friends. I'll be running back to my room every few hours to see my wife and daughter and when I get home and I decide it's time for a nice break from it all, I'll tell myself that there's time to sleep when I'm dead and I'll start it all over again.

Rev. Chad Wells
http://www.wellstattoo.com

So here I sit on my couch, clacking away at this keyboard again. This time, with my mouth hanging open, stunned. I was checking my Myspace a few minutes ago, minding my business, dredging through the several pages of friends requests I need to approve or deny and I come across a friends request from another tattooer who shall remain nameless as I'm not out to cause any problems for anyone. This particular artist had several pictures of his work displayed on his page, many of which I thought looked familiar, as if I had perhaps seen them in the magazine, when, low and behold, I stumble across a blatant rip-off of one of my own pieces. I must state here, for the record, that it is common knowledge in the industry that you DO NOT steal somebody's tattoo from a magazine. It's just bad fucking mojo and it's bound to bite you in the ass quicker than a spider monkey on a Gin and meth bender and if you do it, well you're lazier than a hat full of assholes.

We magazines are here to inspire and entertain and educate but we are not a substitute for good drawing skills or a good flash collection if you're an artist of the non-drawing variety (Oxymoron? Perhaps). Either way, the flash is paid for and it's meant to be used as a design source to be copied over and over but a tattoo that's on someone else's skin belongs to them and to the artist that designed it and made it permanent in the flesh. Not that I haven't done it... I wasn't taught the proper etiquette early in my apprenticeship and I lazily copied a handful of designs from magazines in the early days. I always re-drew them and refused to trace them but I copied them and pretty damn spot on. I soon learned that this was about as shitty as an outhouse at an Ex-Lax cookoff and I stopped it post haste. The lesson was learned and the lesson stuck and so should this lesson stick to you all.

Now I know that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and all that jazz and I've actually been ripped off prior to this but I've never received a friend's request from the person who did the art theft and to top it all off, this particular tattoo was one I drew and designed especially for my youngest brother. Now my brother's tattoo has been stolen and corrupted and diluted and that just cuts me to the quick.

My first thought is to rock this dude with an e-mail assault and tell him he's a complete ass clown. My second thought is, that he may be a shitter just starting out and he doesn't know any better and maybe I should kindly let him know how bummed my brother and I are that he stole the image that way. My third thought is that I should point out his flaws in the execution. It's a blatantly obvious copy, but it's a pretty poorly executed blatantly obvious copy. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, I may take the high road and not do anything. The point of this whole ramble is to drive it home just one more time. Be inspired by what's in the magazine but don't steal from it. If you're an artist that's not creative enough to draw and create your own designs or find your own new references for an old idea then please, do us all a favor and quit tattooing. Just stop it. The tattoo industry is bursting forth with amazingly creative and talented people who will absolutely destroy you in art and in business. You have no hope. Stop while you're ahead. If you're a tattoo collector who sees someone else's tattoo and wants it and wants nothing more than to have that tattoo, in the exact same spot and in the exact same style and with the exact same colors... Shut the fuck up and let your artist guide you. If you trust this person to alter your body FOREVER then trust them to tell you your idea is horrible and the placement will suck. Don't try to force them to do a tattoo that they are going to feel dishonest and dishonorable executing. This doesn't mean you have to allow the artist to make you their great statement to the world and let them disregard your feelings either. You should get what you want, but get it in a way that makes sense aesthetically and ethically.

I'd like to think that these plagiaristic kind of artists will eventually fall away and stop tattooing and that only the strong tattooers shall survive and the cream will bubble it's way to the top but I'm reminded of a quote by the late great, Dr. Gonzo himself, Hunter S. Thompson... "The scum also rises".

Sincerely F'n' Peeved,
Rev. Dr. Chad Wells
Editorial Enforcer

Also check me out at:
http://www.wellstattoo.com
http://www.myspace.com/revwells

Reminiscing about tattoos, tattooing and getting tattooed brings to mind a lot of different things for me. I have a huge flash of memories and emotions when I think back. Here's some "Stream of Consciousness" recollections of mine. Comment back with your own.

Drawing on myself with old felt tip pens. Those things had this really vinegar tinged, weird smell and the way the felt running across your half dirty kid skin after they had started to dry out and the tip was turning into like a miniature cotton ball afro on the end was electric. It tickled and kinda scratched at the same time. I remember using Crayola markers. Those things got all over everything. In kindergarten I got sent home for drawing all over my hands and arms with a poster marker. I believe it was blue and it soaked into my skin like crazy. I did these crazy twisty designs that were like tribal mixed with that decorative henna stuff. Or like the background on an old psychedelic rock poster. The teacher freaked most heavily because the decorations on the top of my hands looked like swastikas. I was 5 years old and it was the late 70's, I had no idea about tattooing, tribal, henna or swastikas. I just needed to decorate myself. I remember sitting with a needle and a bottle of stolen India Ink trying to poke tattoos into my legs a few years later. Also cutting designs into my skin with razors and rubbing ink over the cuttings. These rudimentary tattoos would stay for a week or two, sometimes a couple months before they faded to nothing. A few still remain. I got sent to the office constantly in Junior High School. 7th and 8th grade for drawing fake tattoos on other students. It wasn't a problem until it was on the female students breasts. I used a black Sharpie to draw on the outlines, usually roses or other flowers, sometimes hearts and banners, keys and bats. I would then color the designs with watercolor markers and would use a bit of powder from one of the girls' makeup kits in her purse. We also tried to set a few of the tattoos with Aqua Net. Back then, every self respecting hair metal chick had a large pink can in her enormous white denim, fringed purse. Hell, I had a can in my locker for my blow dried and feathered mullet. A year or two later we graduated to punk rock and machines we fashioned from a Stomper Truck rotary motor, a toothbrush, a hollowed out bic pen and a guitar string. We had a battery hook up and were mobile enough to tattoo in cars, bedroom floors, warehouses and on picnic tables in community parks. While Dead Kennedys, Minor Threat and The Misfits blared away on cheap boomboxes we tattooed girlfriends' names, anarchy signs, rat bones, peace signs and pentagrams all over each other. I remember the smell from the leather jackets, hair dye, dirt, model paint on skateboard grip tape, patchouli oil, Camel cigarettes and stale beer. I remember not cleaning the needle between tattoos because we were like blood brothers and would never be apart. I don't see any of those guys anymore and my disregard for health sickens me now but I was 14 and 15 years old and was... Well, I was a dumbass. I remember watching homeless, runaway punk rockers getting spiders and skulls and anarchy signs tattooed on the side of their crusty mohawked heads at a warehouse space in Dayton where one of the older guys I ran around with had a makeshift tattoo shop in his illegal living space in the warehouse. I remember breaking bottles in the parking lot there and rolling in the glass to try to "out punk" my buddies. I'm surprised I never got Hepatitis or something equally horrific. I remember walking into the first professional shops I had ever entered. They were dark and smokey and seedy and the people who worked there looked like they could kill you if they didn't like you. I remember tasting green soap during my apprenticeship just because it smelled so strong I had to taste it. I remember scrubbing tubes with no gloves on and breathing soldering flux while I made needles and watched out the front window of the shop while the hooker across the street get beat with a payphone receiver by her pimp and the tattoo on my head itched and the tattoo on my knee scabbed like hell and the outline on my back would welt up and itch like hell at random times and I'd itch it with the arm of the tattooed mannequin in the lobby. Then I'd smear more Neosporin all over the side of my head again.

Memories like these are bitter sweet. It was a great experience to have lived through on one hand but on the other hand, I put myself at such constant health risk and for what? To be worried forever about what harm I may have done? Thank the world for the spread of knowledge in the tattoo industry in recent years. I am grateful to have the knowledge I have today about cleanliness and prevention of disease. I only wish I knew it then. Artists, I hope you're always reviewing your processes to make certain you're doing the absolute best job you can to protect yourself and your customers and Collectors, please choose to educate yourself on the matters that can effect your health. Don't worry about what kind of machine or needles your artist is using. Don't worry about your artist's outside activities and what a neat job they have. Worry about whether or not they use a properly tested Autoclave and throw away needles and gloves and they aren't just some schmuck spreading disease tattooing out of a dirty garage with homemade gear and stuff stolen from tattoo shop trash cans. An ounce of prevention, as they say, is worth a pound of cures.

?Rev. Dr. Chad Wells
?http://www.wellstattoo.com

Welcome to our world. The future is at hand.

What is the future of tattooing? Techniques are at an all time artistic high and are jumping leaps and bounds every day. There is a patent out there right now for a computerized tattoo "robot" that has been tested and used. The electronic beast has been allowed to mark the skin. Soon we tattoo artists will be replaced by the robots. Make your mark NOW so you can sell your style "program" to be translated into 1's and 0's by the electronic brain. Soon we can go to the mall, throw our arm in side a machine and dial up a Paul Booth, 2003 style piece or a Guy Aitchison 1996 piece or a Tony D' Anessa, 1959 piece. I'll be damned if there's a Rev. Wells program in there. I'll start making my money stealing those infernal beasts and selling them as scrap. It is coming. Be prepared. Did we ever think, sitting around a smokey tattoo shop back in the day that we'd be where we are now? Does anybody remember those old places? There are still a few around. Left over and still kicking ass from the days of walk in, pick it off the wall, hop in the chair and go. Some of the younger guys do it out of love for the old styles and the boldness and simplicity of the art, some of the old guys are still there doing it because it's just what they do and they do it fucking well.

With all the attention on tattooing, thanks to multiple reality TV shows and a glut of products and publications being delivered for mass consumption to a larger and larger audience, tattooing has become big business. Mario Barth was just on the cover of "inc." magazine. No, not "INK"... "Inc.". Tattoo shops and studios are, for the most part, still a small business affair, owned by their artists and operated as they always have been but more and more we're seeing non-artist owned shops popping up in tourist areas, malls and casinos. Computer kiosks have replaced tattered old folders and binders and racks of flash. Tattooing's not just for the rugged individual types anymore. Sure, Doctors and lawyers and yes, even Soccer Mom's have always gotten tattooed but not in the numbers they do today. Susie Stockbroker can now bring her 18 year old glee club daughter and her 19 year old fashion forward, faux-hawked son to the local tattoo salon for a tattoo like the one they saw last night on TV or the computer. They bring their designs on "thumb drives" and cell phones and those little personal assistant do-dads that look like a baby computer. They "text" their friends a digital photo of the design after it has been stenciled onto their bodies to get an immediate opinion from their pals and instead of starting small, most folks go big the first time nowadays. Mom wants a backpiece. Asian flavored, bonsai tree from hip to opposite shoulder, Sonny Boy gets his sleeves started. He draws his inspiration from his all time favorite emo band's newest CD. Actually it's their only CD and he doesn't own a physical copy of it but he loves it and he's got the video on his cell phone to prove it and sweet young Glee Club Gertrude gets stars all over her feet and her hip bones and her ribs and, hey, why not, let's throw one, just a little one, right next to her left eye. They are wearing T-shirts emblazoned with classic tattoo imagery of bygone eras, encrusted with sparkles and bling, but distressed for that "lived in" look. How much did that torn up t-shirt cost? Enough to feed a family of four for a week or more. Mom's purse cost twice that much and Daughter's belt did too. It's made out of vinyl so it's vegan. And they say we're in a recession...

The tattoo artist takes a break to make a deal with some large corporation to design "skins" for some sort of digital device they're trying to market to kids like Sonny and Gertrude and it's all tied in to some new energy drink/malt liquor hybrid that'll just knock your socks off. It already tastes like puke so you'll be used to it when it comes back out your nose at thirteen o'clock in the morning. The shop blares music through a sound system the size of a loaf of Wonder Bread powered by a machine smaller than a pack of smokes that's crammed full of 3,000 CD's worth of music that no one payed for. Who could pay for music when their tattoo inspired sneakers cost as much as a used car?

There is nothing wrong with progress. I love progress. I am sitting in my private, appointment only studio right now with my MacBook Pro cracked open typing this piece while music pours out of my studio's Mac G5 tower's Harmon Kardon speakers that look like spaceships or futuristic dildos more than they look like speakers. Of course, I'm old school... I'm listening to Hank Williams, and KISS and Danzig and The Monkees. My cell phone sits here next to me. I don't wear a wrist watch anymore because the cell's got the time thing covered. I'm an entrepreneur now with a tattoo studio, t-shirt company, publishing company and record label and I don't have time to breathe so I use pre-mixed inks and pre-made needles and I use a scanner and mouse and digital camera to design my tattoos just as often as I use a pencil and paper. I use online social networking sites like Myspace to meet clients and do preliminary consultations instead of the strip clubs and blues bars my mentor used. I met my apprentice on Myspace but he cleans my toilet just like I did during my initiation into the tattoo world. Hopefully, some things will never change. Welcome to the future. Hey, where are the fucking hover cars!?

Rev. Dr. Chad Wells
http://www.wellstattoo.com

I'm a Reverend. Legal... Ordained... I've probably performed over one hundred weddings. I'm not religious as such, just thought it would be an interesting thing to do. All my friends accused me of "preaching" to them all the time about philosophy and politics. Seemed like a good fit. At the time I became ordained there was only one other "Rev" that I knew of in the world of body modification. I'm sure there were others, but the only really public persona was Rev. Mad Jack who hailed from, I believe, Chicago. Guy Aitchison was connected to him in some way which made him cool in my eyes. I was young fanboy. So sue me! There was also Rev. Horton Heat in the music biz and a few other assorted men of the cloth that I found interesting in various cults and fringe religions like the Church of the Subgenius, Church of Satan... So I wrote to the Universal Life Church and got my Minister's Credentials. They shipped 'em right out and I displayed 'em with pride. Started signing my artwork "Rev", or actually, at the time, "Da' Rev"... My stage persona in my punk rock band of that time, The Jackalopes was based entirely around this "Rev" persona and it definitely made people remember my name. Not too many folks ran into a Reverend that looked, dressed or acted like me. The local rock station here in Dayton, Ohio had caught wind of my new tattoo shop, Vision Quest Tattoos (that lasted about a year before I mismanaged it directly headfirst into the side of a cliff) and asked if I would donate some free tattoo work to give away in a contest they were promoting in which they would be giving one lucky couple the chance to be wed at the Nutter Center, the local Hockey Arena, in between sets by the newly reunited Black Sabbath (with Ozzy! Horns up fuckers!) and Pantera (R.I.P. Dimebag). I jumped at the chance for the free advertising attached to such a major concert event and when I found out they had no Minister to join these rock heathens in the state of UNholy matrimony, I offered my services there as well. It was to be my first official wedding service and was conducted in front of 16,000 screaming metal fans. When I asked if anyone in the audience objected to the wedding the crowed roared... Awesome. I didn't get to meet Ozzy, but had access to the radio station's private box and front row tickets as well as 6 months free advertising on the big radio station in town.

Anyway, that was 10 years ago and 10 million other "Rev's" ago. I'm not saying I was the first of these jackasses but c'mon man. Now every goober with a myspace page is Reverend Someshitoranother. I recently was on a Tattoo Artist's group webpage and joined a local, Ohio group there. There were 3 members of the Ohio group and TWO were Rev. Chads! I hate the idea that the name recognition that I've worked for over the years will just serve to be confused by this recent influx of new "men of the cloth" but such is life. I guess that's what I get for connecting something to my name that anyone else can do. Makes it kinda easy to have one's thunder stolen. I've thought about dropping the prefix from my name and just going by my given name. I still might but I've worked hard to spread that name and a lot of people only know me as "The Rev". If I called 'em up as Chad, they'd probably say, "Chad who?" I've got some other plans afoot. I'm gonna add more prefixes to this bastard of name. You'll all be calling me "Reverend Doctor Chad Alan Wells Most Supreme Grand Master of Every Damn Thing" soon enough. Do I kid? Perhaps.

So to wrap up this ramble... Herein lies my challenge to all the OTHER Reverend TattooRockstar types out there. If we shall be confused for each other, let's work hard to turn out the most amazing works and live the most noble lives because even though we have a (legal) Cracker Jack Box title at the front of our name, we all are representing each other. Like it or not, we're in a sort of disconnected brotherhood. Of course, we as tattoo artists should have this work ethic already but I feel that a lot of the folks doing the whole title thing or the crazy nickname thing may be trying to compensate for a lack of skill or experience by making their nickname or title or image their selling point rather than focusing on what's coming out the end of tube connected to their machine. I work everyday like I'm still an apprentice to further my ability. If you all do the same I'm sure I'll be happy to be mistaken for you.

Rev. Chad Wells http://www.wellstattoo.com http://www.myspace.com/revwells

It is damn cold here in the Heartland of Ohio. Not sure why they call it the Heartland. I assume if you were to look at a map of the U.S. this general vicinity would look somewhat like the heart area of the human body. Digressions aside and putting it bluntly it's cold. The first real snow of Winter has been dumped upon us like debris from an overfilled tavern's ashtrays. Not that there are any ashtrays in Taverns in Ohio. Citizens are banned from smoking in public buildings here in "The Heart of it All". Not that I give a rat's ass. I'm not a smoker per se and anything that would be worth smoking around here wouldn't be kosher to smoke in a public setting anyhow.

Didn't I put digressions aside half a paragraph earlier?

Snow slows the flow of the tattoo crowd around these parts. It's hibernation time in the great Midwest and much of the rest of the country right now. It's not as bad as it used to be, the Winter tattoo deceleration. Thanks to those crazy tattoo shows that seem to be the only thing that anybody talks about in tattoo circles currently. I love interviews like this...

"So, you've been tattooing for 15 or 20 years. You must have experienced so much in this industry. What do you think of all these TV shows?"

I've been guilty myself once or twice but for fucksake people...

Approaching digression, please return to your seats and close your overhead compartments.

Speaking of tattoo TV, it looks as though there's a new contender on the horizon. A show is currently in pre-production, tentatively titled "Marked" that should be airing later this year on the History Channel. The show will be more informative and educational than the current crop of docudramas on the air and will take the viewer around the world exploring various underground tattoo cultures. I received a personal letter from their casting department asking me to send in a tape for consideration as the host of the show but it was so last minute that I didn't have time to get it together. I don't think my out of shape ass would've been the best candidate for trekking up a mountainside in Japan or South America though I would've relished the experience and given it my best. A far better candidate currently in the running for this program is Durb Morrison. Durb is the former owner of Columbus Ohio's Stained Skin, the organizer of the Hell City Tattoo Convention and is currently working out of High Street Tattoos South location. I don't know who else is in the running but my vote is for Morrison for whatever it's worth. If anybody could eat maggots, climb a mountain and then base jump into a tribe of tattooed cannibals and come out the other side smiling it's Durb.

Did I mention how cold it is?

I have friends who currently live in Alaska. This would be picnic weather for them but it has the Schools closed here and the good Reverend planted firmly on the couch clacking away at the keyboard of his MacBook still in his pajamas dreaming of swapping places with his little brother out in San Diego for the Winter all the while knowing that a few inches of snow is far less fatal than the earthquakes, fires, flood, mudslides, killer bees and not to mention many of the humanoid inhabitants of the great state of Schwarzenegger.

Maybe I'll warm up with another cup of coffee or some snuggling with the wife and kid. Maybe I'll take a peek, strictly for the sake of science, at the www.SuperCult.com website. They're probably the most artistic and well done of all the "tattooed chicks in the nude" websites...

And they've got some pretty steamy pics of televisions favorite tattooer, Kat Von D.

Hey, isn't she from California?

Rev. Chad Wells www.wellstattoo.com