15"x20" Woodblock Print

My cousin and I both ran out and got lower back tattoos the moment we turned 18. This was back in 2000, before the “tramp stamp” stigma became a pervasive stereotype I proudly object to, sort of get a kick out of, and – in a rare vulnerable moment – feel insecure about. What must it be like for a mother when their child tugs back their shirt, rolls up a sleeve, or pulls their paint leg above their ankle to reveal a freshly inked tattoo on their baby skin? My mother’s reaction was quiet, practical. Neither approving nor disapproving. “Oh!”she said. Several years later, she turned my tattoo into a piece of art. She might have been validating it, celebrating it, or perhaps simply considering its aesthetic existence. I’m not really sure. Every time I look at the print my mother carved of my little tattoo, I am reminded that she saw only beauty in me, in all that I did – in my youth, my experimentation, my triumphs, my discovery, my growth – always, always, always. - Estate of Holly Meade

Tatoo-You by the Holly Meade Estate