The Tattoo Question

Every few years the idea comes back: I should get a tattoo. Something small. I wanted black stars on my arm at twelve, my parents said no, probably the right move. Now I think maybe something on my hand, an empty triangle on my forearm—something small enough that I could pretend it was just an impulse if I hated it.

Taylor Green lives in Austin and has moved past the hypothetical stage. She’s got that spiritual thing going—plants, animals, the whole world—and it’s written across her body. Everywhere. Arms, legs, chest. Color and lines and what looks like a real commitment.

I saw photographs of her, shot outside where she belongs. The density of the work caught me, the way it covers skin without erasing who’s underneath. I wasn’t sure what I was responding to exactly. The aesthetic, yeah, but something underneath that. The fact of deciding and doing it instead of thinking about it for decades like I do.

I’m still thinking about it. The what and the where. But something shifts when you see someone who actually committed instead of endlessly circling the same thought.