Mortal Ink (part 2)
Alisha Adkins, 2012
The brothers froze the upper half of
one man and the lower half of the other.
The following morning, they set to work on the remaining halves; Michael began with an upper body and Matthew started
with a lower.
Initially, drawing and inking went
smoothly for the brothers. The tattoos they
created on that first day were works of rare beauty, for they had found that
applying vibrant ink to dead skin created colors that popped brilliantly
against grey flesh. However, by that
evening, they had already begun to experience some complications due to the deceased
nature of their clients.
"The bleed is
different." Michael noted with some
frustration.
The ink was developing an increasing
large spread area when applied to the dead skin, making precision difficult to
achieve.
"Compensate. Adjust for it. Adapt to accommodate the media, brother --
it's a dynamic canvas."
Michael sighed. "That's a nice way to say it's getting
more and more rotten."
"Mmmhmm." Matthew agreed,
scratching his beard. "But there
must be suffering for art."
"Absolutely, brother. But nobody said the suffering had to be the
artists'." Michael said with a smile.
In all, it took three days for the
pair to complete the work on their respective halves. The works of both siblings were beautifully
intricate, belying the siblings' artistic maturation. Each had adorned his half in his own unique
style. Matthew had tattooed elaborate,
interlaced abstract patterns around the legs of his client body. Michael had drawn detailed mythological figures,
depicting gods of death and passage to the afterlife.
"You tattooed coins on his
eyelids?" Matthew asked, surveying his brother's work.
Michael nodded, unable to conceal a
little smile of pride in his work.
"Nice touch!" he said
approvingly.
Michael felt that this body, rife
with symbolism, could now comfortably pass out of the world of the living. He was very pleased.
"Expression is paramount."
he said.
"It's really a shame that we
can't display our masterpieces." Matthew lamented, running his fingers
over the designs he had etched into his own client body.
"I do feel that this piece is worthy
of framing." Michael concurred wistfully.
Struck with an idea, Matthew bounded
into the back room and returned with his camera.
"Artist's pride will be our
downfall, of course." he said, as he began to frame a shot.
"Oh, that's perfect! "
Michael exclaimed, naturally picking up his brother's train of thought. "As long as they are close ups, nobody
has to know the tats are on dead people.
We can put the photographs all along that wall." he suggested,
gesturing.
Matthew was already beginning to
shoot details of his own work. "Such
a shame. I did some really elaborate
patterns there. " he muttered to himself as he adjusted his shot to exclude
some areas that were growing off-color.
After he had taken a few dozen photos,
he moved over to his brother.
"Photograph
the less decayed bits." Michael instructed. "Zoom out as much as you can there --
lose the rotting details. That bit is
too green and slimy." he said, pointing.
Once they were done, they set out
the other halves to thaw. They were
disappointed by the length of time it took for these portions of the bodies to
grow malleable. Time was ticking away,
delaying their grand opening. The gore
had all been cleaned away, the equipment was arranged, the photos of their work
were hung, but the doors had to remain closed while there were partial bodies resting
in their client chairs. They were determined
to finish their flesh masterpieces. It
had become a rite of passage.
When the two remaining halves were
mostly thawed, they made their next disheartening discovery. Both halves were littered with patches of
freezer burn, rendering large portions of skin too unsightly to use. Once they began to work on the bodies, they
also found that the consistency of the flesh had been changed by freezing. The skin no longer adhered well to the muscle
it cloaked and was more flimsy and fragile.
Even gently applying a needle to it invariably was producing tears.
"Damned rancid skin, tearing as
I ink..." Michael grumbled as he worked.
"It is delicate work, that's
for sure." Matthew said. "It
requires a gentle hand. I must say
though, we are going to come away from this experience more skilled than any
regular old tattoo artists of the living."
Michael chuckled. "We ought to open a tattoo shop just for
the dead... We could call it After Images."
" Post-Mortem Ink."
Matthew suggested.
"Afterlife-Ready Designs?"
"Ah, pipedreams, brother."
Matthew sighed.
"If only this were ancient
Egypt, I bet we could actually market the idea." Michael said. "I have always loved tattoos as an art
form because the art becomes part of self-concept, a piece of the tableau of a
person's life journey. But now I'm
beginning to think that preparing men for their final journeys may be the
highest form of art of all."
"It does indeed take special
skill, an artistic vision and a steady, careful hand to send men to their
makers adorned with a message."
"Even bloating as they are now
-- they may be growing ripe, but they are rife with symbolism." Michael murmured,
the eyes of the big man growing wet from emotion.
"And the dead are really ideal
clients -- they don't move or whine or complain. " Matthew pointed out.
"Or even bleed."
"Yes. If only there was money in this..."
Then the brothers fell into
silence.
They worked carefully upon their masterpieces
until they were complete, then photographed for display the areas that looked
least necrotic and disposed of the
bodies. After spending the next couple
of days on efforts to freshen the air in the shop, they opened their doors.
But it was as if inking the dead had
tainted their dreams. Matthew and
Michael were finally creating their art for a living and working for themselves,
but neither brother was able to find joy in achieving his former dream. Each day, they inked the images their clients
requested, secretly dissatisfied forevermore with the confines of living
flesh.
