When I was born I was only three inches tall. During the day my devoted mother would carry me around in her pocket and spritz me with milk at regular intervals. At night she would keep me folded up in a damp paper towel waiting for me to sprout. One morning mother unfolded the paper towel and was delighted to find that I had grown feet. Because, of coarse, initially I was just a finger with a face. Before you know it I had legs. Hands formed around my original finger, and my face migrated to its proper place on my newly formed head.
“AT LAST!”, my soul screamed, “NOW I CAN FULFILL MY DESTINY!”
Apparently that involved widespread travel and working on several continents during the formative years of my tattoo career. Now, after some time wandering, I have come to make a home in Asheville. In addition to tattooing, I love painting with oils, and I’ve recently discovered a renewed fondness for ballpoint pens.