My friend Zoë has a passion for sewing. However, instead of pulling needles through fiber, she directs needles in and out of her private canvas—her skin. Before you pass judgment too harshly, remember that Life tends to weave itself on all our skins. Some people just like taking a little more active hand in creating their own personal design.

With a defiant conviction reminiscent of the French performance artist Orlan, an artist well known since the 80’s for her identity changes via plastic surgery and for her founding of the Carnal Art Movement, my friend Zoë is determined to not only modify her skin with multiple holes and metal—but to do it in public.

Like other arts, skin art enthusiasts have communities, fairs, and conventions. At a recent Chicago tattoo and body art convention, held at Chicago’s touristy Navy Pier, I supported my friend Zoë in her pursuit of a unique body corset. I expected the convention to have all sorts of new piercing fads and tattoo designs—the kind of hip, custom work that you see proudly displayed on the arms of those who try merging the ancient arts with images from either contemporary fine art or pop culture. Instead, almost all the images that I observed throughout the maze of booths and stalls were traditional tattoo designs–Japanese, tribal, and flash images reminiscent of the late master tattooist Norman “Sailor Jerry” Collins.

At a booth called Sacred Tattoo (an impressive outfit from Oakland, CA), I asked a man about the apparent lack of modern designs at the convention, and he tells me that most of the tattoo artists are very proud of their tradition and prefer the traditional designs. The success of the great pioneer Ed Hardy in exploring and promoting the tattoo-as-art sensibility is quite evident. It occurs to me that tattooing and body art may have had more of an influence on contemporary art than vice versa; although, many wacky or cool images still may fall under the category of “poke-and-joke” body art.

I flashed back to a friend of mine who, on a drunken lark, had a large Captain Crunch logo drilled into his right bicep. He had no explanation for choosing this image—except that he liked it and it was funny. As for myself, I’ve been walking around with a snail on my shoulder for twenty years. Mostly I just tell people that I have no idea how the hell that snail got back there—and they laugh.

Zoë is sober and serious. Her ribs are prominently displayed, as she leans back in the piercing chair. Big biker dudes with full-tattoo body suits gather around to gawk—shaking their heads in disapproval.
More than a few onlookers mumble, “That’s crazy.” She has decided against the traditional corset (up her back) for a strange arrangement of piercing along the sides of her torso—nine in all. She already has six pierces on her lower spine area and two on her shoulders.

I’m glad the piercer is taking his time. However, he seems a little shaky, and I start to doubt whether he really has the precision of an artist’s eye. He spent the earlier part of the afternoon getting a tattoo sleeve of a Japanese lady holding the head of a decapitated man – an amazingly detailed tattoo, with breathtaking shading and intricate fine lines by an artist from California named Vince Rio. The piercer is from Chicago. He goes by the name of Tony T. —or Tony the Piercer. Part of Tony the Piercer’s shaking was from his own raw nerves—having been under Vince Rio’s gun for hours.

Most of Zoë’s piercing ordeal is caught up in aligning a paper pattern of dots in straight lines. Once the pattern is arranged and the placement dots are straight–the actual piercing takes just a few minutes. The design is very much Zoë’s, the piercer acts only as a surgeon. The rest is quick and painful. I’m relieved to see an autoclave on sight. Besides health concerns, all I can think about is that when she is done she can weave a big potholder on her stomach. On the way home, she looks over the pictures that I took of the procedure. Needle through skin. Tiny bolts through a tiny bride of Frankenstein or exotic beauty?

Days later, Zoë remains a bit miffed by her decisions and her new body modification. “I think these may be permanent—even if I take the steel out, they may never heal shut,” she realizes out loud. I show her web-sites on Orlan and the Carnal Arts. She nods with amazement and smiles. She begins to weave her own narrative of the events and investigates different ways she might connect her steel dots with laces or fibers. When she shows her torso to people, they demand a story. Why? She begins to improvise and invent. The development of the story is half the adventure.

As with many pieces of art, the narratives and justifications often unfold to the artist or the bearer long after the image is complete or act is performed. It is only later that a story is developed around the object, and theories are developed or applied. This is a dilemma for all art. It may be non-functional by definition; however, we all seem to need explanations and reasons. While art may require of itself that it be non-functional, its greatest function may be to help us explain the tacit—the unexplainable that unites our spiritual and corporeal existence.

EPIGRAPH: Carnal Art loves the baroque and parody; the grotesque, and other such styles that have been left behind, because Carnal Art opposes the social pressures that are exerted upon both the human body and the corpus of art. Carnal Art is anti-formalist and anti-conformist. —Orlan’s Carnal Art Manifesto (www.orlan.net)

by Renay Kerkman