JASON JESSEE
INTERVIEW & PHOTOS BY M.FO
ARTANINAL PART MACHINE
My first tattoo was in Sacramento; I got a happy face on my back. After
that, I got a tattoo of my graphics, before my board came out. Mark Mahoney
did the Neptune guy on my back. On the other side of my back I have a
castle and skulls. Now I'm getting covered with underwater stuff. I got my
name down my arm because the Godoys have theirs. After hanging out with
them I figured. "Yeah I gotta get my name!" Big influence. I got the sun
on my shoulder, because I wanted to go from the sun to the earth to the
water. After the sun I had to get air stuff, so I got an eagle. It's an American
fruithead, Marine-type eagle, but it's kind of custom. Then I got the elephant.
My mom made me get it. She gave me some good ideas. Then I got the
full tiger scene, with kudu and leaves
I got my first tattoo when I was sixteen years old. Then I went berserk
and I wanted more and more and more. After the little jungle thing, I started
working on my back more, trying to cover it up with serpents, the manta
ray and some Hawaiian fish. Then I got a ring of flowers around my finger
at Mahoney's. My girlfriend was going to get a tattoo but Mark was busy.
We drove all the way up there and I wanted to get something, because I
had the itch. "Mark, do you have time to do some little finger stuff, rings?"
And he said sure. So she and I got flowers on our fingers. That satisfied
me for a couple of months. I went back and got my dad's portrait tattooed
on me for his birthday. He's nineteen in the picture, and I was nineteen
when I got the tattoo. I showed it to him for his birthday and he thought it
was cool. He was really happy.
The "Part Animal, Part Machine" thing came when I got the eagle. I got
it because of Henry Rollins and that song he sings. I like Henry Rollins a
lot. I'm anti-drug like he is. The Godoys gave me ankle tattoos a long time
ago. They were good then, but they're better now
Tonight I got the Santa Cruz dot because of Duane Peters and Santa Cruz
and Olson. I wouldn't have started skating if I hadn't seen the Duane picture
in Action Now doing the slider Okay, so I have a couple of tattoos. I need more.
The Japanese get tattooed because it's a shield against modern Japan.
That's basically how I feel. It separates me from the norm. When I got my
first tattoos, I was all nervous. I'm not nervous now. I want to tell people that
it hurts so bad so no one gets them. It's neat, though. It's a great feeling
The back stuff kind of hurts when he starts going to work. Toward the middle
of your tattoo it doesn't hurt and then towards the end, the last couple of
hours, it starts hurting again. Then you say. "That's enough." Six hours,
seven hours, is the most I can handle. I went crazy. Sitting there going. Ow!
I like the tattoo of my dad the best, because he's still alive. The photo was
taken in 1958. My mom and dad are really cool. He's been building pools
for about twenty-five years. He's going to build me a pool in my back yard
I guess you could say we're both pool masters in our own way.
As far as other tattoos, I want Indian stuff, tribal stuff, on my other arm.
I'm heavily into Indian stuff. My back's going to be a big underwater scene
with a sunken treasure chest, mermaids, an octopus, coral reef, everything.
When I get older I'm going to get flames coming up my leg, with a racing.
stripe up to my thigh. Then I'll get Ford tattooed. Nothing on my chest. Never.
Never anything on my chest or stomach. I don't know why, I just don't want to.
Tattoos are definitely addictive. My mom just got a tattoo. Okay, I'll tell the
story. When I first got my tattoos, I had them hidden for about a year or two.
One day I was getting ready to go to church and I said, "Hey mom, how
does this shirt look? Is it wrinkled enough?" "You can't wear that, it's too
wrinkled," she says. So I took it off and started walking back to my room)
all mad, and suddenly, "What? What is that?" I put on my shirt immediately.
"Oh, what Mom?"
"Let me see your back."
"What? There's nothing on my back." So she rips my shirt off and I show
her and she freaks out, calls my dad and he freaks out. "What is that?"
They kind of accepted it after a while. I still wore my shirt after I got out of
the shower for the next year or so. Then I got the Jessee down the arm.
My dad thought it was
cool. Then my mom
started to go along with it,
but was still telling me,
"You know, you really
shouldn't do that, your
body is a temple,"
and that whole
(Cont on page 116),
Right: Jaime Trujillo does a bloody
number on Mike Jiggles" Johnson.
Below: Bill Salmon cranks a very stylized
piece by K. Ancell into Bryce Kanights' flesh.
UNCONVENTIONAL
INK
By Michael Corcorant
At about the same time skateboarding en-
joyed its rebirth in the mid-70s, the ancient
art of tattooing also began a new era of
prominence and prosperity. While the skate
revival was credited to technological ad-
vances such as urethane, the new
renaissance in tattooing was caused by a handful of artists who set out to prove that tattoos were a valid
art form, not just something sailors get when they're drunk. Such inksmiths as Ed Hardy of San Francisco.
Mike Malone from Honolulu and Zeke Owen of San Diego followed the lead of the late great Sailor Jerry
Collins and created imagination-testing designs. Suddenly, tattoos became permanent plumages and per-
sonal adornments. The clients were no longer just bikers and military men, but musicians, artists, doctors,
lawyers, Indian chiefs you name it Ideas that had only been dreamed of before, like weird concept back
pieces, finely sketched portraits and nouveau primitive skin etchings were not only available, but quickly
becoming commenplace. Basically, several conscientious tattooists set out to transform the human body
into a living, breathing canvas. Intrigued by the progress of tattooing over the past dozen years, I attended
the National Tattoo Convention in New Orleans. What follows are some of my impressions.
The words tattoo convention seem a contradictory pairing, like "common sense," "radio personality"
and "Republican party, though the choice of host city couldn't have been a more natural selection. In an
architectural era when pre-fab gingerbread seems the most-used building material, New Orleans is an honest-
to-God city of history, rock and iron, wrought with character. Every night thousands of whoopie-worshipping.
tourists do their best to emasculate this urban stud and every morning New Orleans wakes up hard.
The profession of tattooing is undergoing a similar struggle to remain potent, It was once a near-mystical.
art-the conspiracy of modern-day pirates who were as tight-lipped with their trade secrets as Grandma
was with her blue ribbon pie recipe. Today, tattooing is a business within reach of anyone with $300 and
a copy of one of the three or four national magazines which carry advertisements for tattoo machines, ink.
design sheets and even certificates of merit, "Last week I couldn't spell tattoo artist, now I are one" is the
way sooners to the-skin-rush mock the Sailor-Johnny-come-latelies, whose ranks include bikers named after
mammals of similar hygiene ("Rat." "Bear" "Preacher"), former candlemakers who invariably call their
shops (their zodiac sign) Skin Boutique" and the ever-growing" Brake for Unicorns sect
Though this influx of scratchers" has taken
business from all but a handful of the most elite ink-
slingers, their presence was virtually unfelt at the
New Orleans convention, where tattooing was
presented as a powerful art. Through the work of
its best artists and the richness of its heritage,
tattooing remains the sinister gram that refuses to
be stepped on
Held in a huge room made bigger with enough
mirrors to satisfy the narcissism of a high school
drill team, the four-day convention kicked off at
a cocktail party Thursday night. They all know
each other, or if they didn't, they at least knew of