Vanishing Tattoo --
Trip Updates
|
|
|
Thailand Thomas and I entered the room where the Monks tattoo. We were told that there were several Monks considered to be Master tattoo artists and and their apprentices, numbering no more than a dozen in total at this one Monastery. We saw a single Monk, in perhaps his early forties, tattooing a young boy of no more than 14 or 15. The boy was hunched over, stretching out his skin as the Monk inscribed a design in the middle of his upper back. Thomas and I sat to one side. The Monk looked over at us and when we gestured to our cameras he smiled and nodded. Deep in concentration, the Monk tattooed with a long steel needle of at least 24 inches in length that tapered to a lethal looking point. One hand directed the needle, the fingers cradling the tip almost as if it was a two foot long pool cue while the other hand powered the needle up and down. After two decades of practice the Monk's wrist was a blur, powering the needle in and out of the skin at least two or three times per second. The boy grimaced but did not move or make any sound except for the occasional deep sigh when the Monk stopped to dip the long needle into the ink he had to one side. Once or twice a minute the Monk would briefly study the copper stencil of the design he was tattooing. The lines he was creating consisted of a series of connected dots, making the tattoo look remarkably like an embroidered tapestry. The tattoo itself took no more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Once finished the Monk wiped off the tattoo and uttered a short incantation. The boy nodded his head in cadence with the rhythm of the Monk's voice. At the end of the incantation the Monk blew on the fresh tattoo and slapped the boy on the shoulder with a good-natured laugh. Everyone in the room was in a good mood, even if those waiting to be tattooed had an air of nervous anticipation about them. The boy turned to thank the Monk, bowed his head and backed away respectfully. A few thin trails of blood trickled down his thin frame. All his friends gathered around him and congratulated him. The Monk gestured for me to come over, thinking I was there to get a tattoo. I tried to explain that we were making a documentary and wanted permission to film at the Monastery. Within minutes it was clear I was getting nowhere. Thomas urged me to show him the proposal. Once again, a picture was worth a thousand words. The Monk got to his feet and left the room... I wondered perhaps if we had offended him in some way, but that didn't make sense because he'd allowed us, even encouraged us to take photos and shoot footage. Had we done something inadvertent? The point was made moot a moment later when the Monk returned with two objects in his hand, a book under his arm and another young Monk in tow. The Monk bowed towards Thomas and I and presented us each with a stamped copper stencil, each of them as bright and shiny as a new penny and showing a picture of a crouching tiger. We bowed in thanks and made a gesture to make another offering but the Monk demurred. Then he opened the black book which turned out to be a photo album of his press clippings. There was a neatly clipped out newspaper article, a magazine story or two and a number of pictures of Western tattoo artists and enthusiasts from around the world who had made the pilgrimage to the Wat, many of whom Thomas was familiar with. The Monk said some of the visitors had made movies like Thomas and I were doing. I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. This was like traveling up the Skrang River in Borneo into the heart of the jungle and having a passionate discussion with Iban tribesmen about whether or not the WWF was real or staged. I was crestfallen. Of course Thomas and I weren't the first Westerners here. The Monastery was only a short distance from Bangkok, even if you were completely lost for most of the day. What had made me think we could portray something unique? I thanked the Monk and Thomas being Thomas of course we had to pose for a photo with the Monk. Thomas asked the Monk many questions about technique and inks and the Monk showed Thomas how he made his own ink in a manner very similar to the Japanese tattoo Masters. Thomas was fascinated with the long steel needles, the tips of which were split much like a fountain pen to retain the ink. Tom was confident the needles could be sterilized so I could get a tattoo. That was if we came back I replied... |
|
|
|
|
