Getting Tattooed by Horiyoshi III

From 2000 to 2012, I traveled annually to Yokohama Japan to be tattooed by the legendary tattoo artist Horiyoshi III. This was perhaps the most interesting experience of my life, so I recorded my experience in a series of blog posts that I hope you will enjoy.

If you intend to read the entire series, I suggest you begin with the first post and read them in chronological order. After you finish a post, view the subsequent post by clicking Newer Post (desktop), or < (mobile device) in the lower left corner.

This blog series originally appeared as a guest blog on website Needles and Sins. I am grateful for the platform that Needles and Sins provided. At some point Needles and Sins went offline, taking my guest blog posts with it. Thus I am re-publishing my experience here, enhanced with better photos, plus a few entirely new posts.

14 Cheating with Lidocaine

I had heard that anesthetic could not be used for tattooing, but I had quite a bit of leftover Lidocaine 5% cream. I threw it into my bag just in case and set out for Japan to get tattooed.

During my first appointment, I asked Horiyoshi III what he thought of trying the Lidocaine. He replied, “Sure, it's better if it doesn't hurt.” So I decided to give it a try.

About an hour before my next appointment, I applied the cream and covered it with Saran Wrap. Even though I washed my hands immediately, my fingertips became a little numb. That was a good sign.

And then I went to get tattooed. The project was koi fish on the insides of my thighs, a very painful place to be tattooed. But with local anesthetic, it was completely tolerable. As Horiyoshi's son Kazu observed the session, he commented to me, “Wow, you're really strong.” I sheepishly told him the real reason I was taking it so well.

I missed some places with the cream, and I tell you, that was some serious ouch. An even more distressing problem with this area was the nerve reflexes that made me move involuntarily. The anesthetic reduced this effect at its source. Horiyoshi also had a sandbag that he plopped onto my leg, and he often sat on my calf to arrest my movement.

If there is a problem with using Lidocaine cream for tattooing, I think it is the physical form of the cream. A potentially inexperienced client must properly apply it before coming under the supervision of the tattooist. It is a bit messy and is best applied in private where soap and water are available. It must be applied according to schedule, potentially when you are in an inconvenient location. I once had to apply it in the restroom at the Dai Ichi Hotel Tokyo while wearing a business suit. After application, the cream must be covered with Saran Wrap for maximum effectiveness. Why would anyone bring Saran Wrap to a business meeting?

When I asked Horiyoshi III for his opinion on anesthetics, he said that Japanese law prevents him from making a recommendation without a license to practice medicine. He did say that personally, he would prefer to not cause suffering, and if the client had a way to avoid it, then there was no reason not to. If the client seeks the therapeutic effect of becoming stronger through the painful ordeal, then that too is fine. He added that there was no particular unfairness in how some people endure the pain of tattooing, while others can choose to escape it.

But wait. Isn't pain an integral part of tattooing? Is it really okay to remove just this part of the experience? It certainly removes the macho “I can take anything” element of being tattooed. I'm cheating, and cheaters like me will never make yakuza boss.

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It was early days for tattoo anesthesia when I experimented with Lidocaine. Nowadays, the tattoo industry has much more experience with anesthesia; a wide variety of products specifically intended for tattooing are available. My one technical recommendation is that you remove all traces of Lidocaine cream before beginning to tattoo. Beyond that, refer to more modern articles for information on what to use and how to use it.

13 How Horiyoshi III Designed My Bodysuit

I arrived for my appointment to find a woman discussing the tattoo she would be getting. She was there with her boyfriend, whom I recognized both as a client and from photos in books about Horiyoshi's work. She had decided to go big, but was undecided about the design. She asked Horiyoshi III, “Is there anything that you have always wanted to tattoo onto a woman?” Well, I thought to myself, tattooing whatever you want all over an attractive young woman surely must help break up the monotony of being a world-famous tattoo artist.

When I later commented on this encounter, Horiyoshi told me that in fact he dislikes this kind of freedom. When he got such requests in the past, he would draw up a design, but then the client would not like something about it. He needs the client to specify the basic theme.

For myself, I wanted the artistic beauty of a Japanese tattoo more than any specific image. As with all matters related to Japan, I also demanded authenticity. The intricate relationship between the images in a Japanese tattoo are beyond me—this was a job for an expert. I would make my preferences known, but ultimately Horiyoshi III would be my guide.

I already told you that for my back, I specified a dragon with black scales, red belly and yellow dorsal fins, full size. It turned out that these would be the most detailed instructions I would ever give Horiyoshi. Later, when it was time to fill in the dorsal fins, Horiyoshi recommended orange because “it looks cooler that way.”

When it came to the front of my torso, I wanted a mixture of designs, but choosing the right combination was a job for a real Japanese tattoo artist. I wrote Horiyoshi a long fax that specified mainly what I didn't want: macabre, violent or religious scenes, nor humans or human creations like weapons or buildings. I asked him to help me choose an auspicious combination of images from the natural world: plants or flowers, plus real or mythical creatures with scales or feathers.

It was not until the day that he was to start that we discussed the design in earnest. He suggested a munewari format, with chrysanthemums and two dragons. “We'll have the two dragons facing each other, the one on the right facing down, the one on the left facing up,” he said, sketching on his copy of my fax. “You're tall, so for you we'll make the empty stripe down the middle wider.”

He once again rummaged around in his drawer marked “Dragons”, found a suitable image for the upper dragon's face, and commenced to tattoo it onto me. The next day, he repeated with the lower dragon. I never played Dungeons and Dragons, never read fantasy novels, never even had a dragon T-shirt. Yet why did I have dragons tattooed all over my body? I like how dragons look when rendered as tattoos.

Then we finished my munewari. We had been discussing the design for the insides of my thighs for years. Horiyoshi initially suggested images with Edo period erotic innuendo: mushrooms on one side to represent male, and a wolf on the other to represent female. I had thus far stuck to wholesome images, but I became intrigued with the idea of branching out and acquiring something more lurid, and this was the perfect location. But meanwhile, Horiyoshi seemed to become less enthusiastic about such images for me. I pressed him, and he said he had some sketches at the other studio, where my next appointment was scheduled.

Once again, the day to start the tattoo arrived without a concrete plan. Horiyoshi III produced a file folder and laid out several sketches of couples engaged in various mischief. He had already tattooed over half the surface of my skin, yet this was the first time he presented me with a choice of flash, where I would select an image, and say, “I want that tattoo.”

Without seriously examining any of them, I told him, “This isn't right for me. My tattoo collection does not include humans.” With some sense of relief, he immediately suggested koi (carp), and I agreed. The erotic sketches disappeared but were not replaced with a selection of koi sketches. We returned to our usual arrangement—with no further input from me, he rummaged around in his koi drawer, selected sketches that he felt were appropriate, and tattooed them onto me. I did not even know what color they would be until I saw them in my skin.

Next up was my sleeves. We both knew that this was an extremely big deal, as I, like most Japanese tattooed people, usually conceal my tattoos. This was my first tattoo that would not be hidden by a T-shirt and short pants. Yet we were to start the following day, and as usual I was still undecided on the design. He flashed his mischievous grin. “John-san, it's tomorrow, you know,” he chuckled, raising his voice slightly for emphasis.

For my arms I initially considered hanafuda, Japanese playing cards. Hanafuda would make a great tattoo for a professional poker player, but I had played hanafuda only once, and I really do not care for games at all. This was not the theme for me. Horiyoshi did suggest an interesting approach to a hanafuda tattoo: use the symbols on the cards in a valuable hand, but render them in the tattooist's usual style, without the rectangular cards.

What I initially wanted for my arms was koi. No, Horiyoshi said, all the koi on your body must be contiguous. Oh, it would have been nice to know that earlier this week when I got them tattooed on my thighs... Another phoenix? No, I already have the maximum of one. Tigers? My arms are not muscular enough for tigers. Even more dragons? Horiyoshi was unenthusiastic.

He suggested chrysanthemums and peonies. He explained that since peonies bloom in spring and chrysanthemums in fall, together they represent the whole year. Further, flowers can be added one by one, so I can stop at any point. He noted that flowers already appear throughout my existing tattoos.

This sounded good. I like gardening, so flowers are sufficiently meaningful to me. I was seeking an integrated, uniform design across both arms. These tattoos would be seen on occasion, so I wanted neutral images that broadcast no particular message. Well, no message beyond “heavily tattooed”.

So, we settled on this motif. Before starting, Horiyoshi checked with me one more time, “A combination of chrysanthemums and peonies on each arm, right?” He had never been so careful. I confirmed, repeating his words as if we were launching a weapon.

And once again, I crossed that line, this time pushing it down to my elbows.

12 Anything for Irezumi

Horiyoshi III answered the phone and listened intently. “Sure, come by any time!” he told the caller. He hung up and explained to those of us in the studio, “A Dutch company is doing a television program on koi (carp) and they want some material on koi tattoos.” Horiyoshi returned to tattooing me, declaring with a bemused smile, “I'll do anything for irezumi.”

And he does. Horiyoshi opens his studios and techniques to anyone who can promote and enhance the art of tattooing. I already told you about the frequent visits by journalists.

Once I arrived at the studio to find Horiyoshi examining a pile of aluminum stock. I inquired what he was up to. “People do not know how to make tebori equipment that can be properly autoclaved,” he explained. “So, I'm going to make some, and sell it so people can copy them. Indeed these tebori kits were for sale on Horiyoshi's web site, where he wrote humbly,

Nothing makes me happier than seeing the tattoo world advance. Be it tools or whatever, if I find something good, I do not want to keep it to myself. It is with this feeling that I publicize and sell this kit...

This is what I am currently using and what I think works best. Of course, I do not think that my own method is the only way. People all have different ideas, and I think it would be fabulous if someone could use this as a step toward an even better design.

Another time, a guy with a computer was industriously scanning a pile of the tracing paper sketches that Horiyoshi uses as the basis for his tattoos. I assume the images found their way into one the books of his sketches. I asked Horiyoshi why he publishes his core intellectual property. He answered, “I want them to serve as inspiration for other artists.”

He'll do anything for tattoos.

11 These Tattoos Bite

I love chatting with the locals in small neighborhood bars. In the comfortable anonymity of these places, I sometimes reveal that I am tattooed. Often people want to see. If the situation is right, I oblige them and take off my shirt.

And then the most surprising thing happens. Sensing a rare opportunity, other customers and bar employees join in by pulling back their clothing to reveal tattoos—usually over half the men and women present. Most Japanese think that their countrymen do not have tattoos. The reality is that they don't show their tattoos.

Only one of these people admitted to a Yakuza connection. He was a civilian, but his father was a Yakuza gangster who wore a dragon tattoo. He had an amusing story from his boyhood.

When he was a child, his father threatened, “If you're bad, this dragon will bite you!” (お前が悪いことをしたら、この龍が噛みつくぞ！) That scared the hell out of the young boy.

Like many Yakuza, the father was missing portions of his fingers. Instead of admitting he had chopped off his own fingers in atonement for gangland transgressions, the father claimed to have been mutilated by a fan. The boy spent summers in mortal fear of electric fans.

His father left when he was young and had been largely incommunicado thereafter.

Nonetheless, on his chest the son bore the same dragon tattoo as his father.

10 Horiyoshi III on Tattooing Women

In all my time at Horiyoshi III's studios, I have seen a female tattoo client just three times.

The studios have no private room. My appointments were always in the afternoon, so initially I guessed that perhaps women’s appointments were in the morning, when somehow greater privacy was afforded them. As I have already told you, there was often a squad of male apprentices and tattoo enthusiasts present. Undressing and getting tattooed in front of them would surely give pause to any woman. It certainly intimidated me at first.

I avoid talking about other clients, so I did not ask about it for many years, but in 2009, I finally inquired with Horiyoshi about his female clientele.

“John-san,” he said in a slightly incredulous tone. “Now, how often have you seen women in my studios?” I admitted that most of the women I had seen were journalists. I asked why he had so few female clients.

“They just don't come here. It's hard for them to undress; it's uncomfortable. Personally, that's better for me. Frankly, I would rather not tattoo women.”

09 Horiyoshi III on the Addictiveness of Tattoos

 

In 2005, Horiyoshi III finished my backpiece. Yet I was in the grip of tattoo addiction, and I still had more time reserved with the master. The very next day we continued with munewari, the front of my torso. I had only a backpiece for just one day.

I commented to Horiyoshi III that tattoos are addictive, and he corrected me:

Tattoos are not an addiction; they are a collection. A tattoo collector is just like a conventional art collector who buys a painting, hangs it on the wall, and then moves on to acquire the next, unique piece.

Tattoo collecting is a spiritual pursuit, while addiction is a physiological need. Addicts repeatedly take the same drug over and over without limit. A tattoo collection has variety, and it has an end. Once you collect the whole set, you're done.

As you complete your tattoo collection, you yourself become art.

Indeed, soon after this I did start to feel like art, mostly because observers began to treat me like art.

08 Machine vs. Tebori Tattooing

I am often asked about the difference between machine and tebori (hand poke) tattooing. I experienced quite a bit of both, because in the years that he tattooed me, Horiyoshi III transitioned from tebori to machine.

As for how it feels, the location matters much, much more than the method. The main sensory difference is the sound and cadence of tebori. In this video of Horiyoshi III doing tebori, I can almost feel it myself.

Horiyoshi explained that it is the result attained after about four years that makes the biggest difference. He said that a machine works best for outlining because its precise, thin line does not spread out over the years, while tebori does spread out into soft, smooth gradients ideal for shading. He had an almost poetic way of stating it in Japanese that went something like, "The disadvantage of one method is an advantage in one application, and the disadvantage of the other method is an advantage in the other application."

Horiyoshi then commented, "You like tebori better, don't you, John-san." This man can see right through me. I guess I do like tebori, not because it feels any better, but because it's a rarer and more authentic experience that yields a superior result. Both methods involve needles, and getting stuck with needles hurts.

For the past few years Horiyoshi has used a machine exclusively. When I asked about this, he said that as one ages, it becomes difficult to perceive fast-moving objects. He dramatized by waving his hand past his face, then making a mystified expression as if he had missed something.

As you can see in the video, your skin moves around quite a bit during tebori, but with a machine, it stays relatively stationary. So, no more tebori.

07 The Changing Scene at Horiyoshi III's Studios

During the first years of my visits to Horiyoshi III, all manner of tattoo devotees were constantly present: foreign and domestic apprentices, Horiyoshi's clients, Horitomo and his clients, journalists, even graduate students researching their master’s thesis or doctoral dissertation.

Quite a few of the apprentices and clients I recognized from photographs in the various books about Horiyoshi's work. This photo was taken by Mr. Handa, who appeared in Takahiro Kitamura's book Bushido. This book influenced my tattoo choices, and here one the characters from the book had come to life and was taking pictures of my tattoos! What a role reversal.

Everyone took advantage of the opportunity to brandish their tattoos. Japanese of many occupations change clothes for work, which allowed the apprentices to show more skin, and of course we clients had to expose our tattoos. Outside the studio, tattoos could be displayed only at public baths and once a year at festivals, so this was a welcome respite from the disapproval lurking out there in the real Japan.

Everyone was polite, yet quite interested to see each other’s tattoos in progress. When I undressed, those present would take the opportunity to scrutinize me. Privacy was not a part of this experience. Nonetheless, I became accustomed to it, and I too was able to observe many superb tattoos.

Around 2007, the scene changed. The hangers-on were gone, and Horiyoshi and I were regularly alone during my appointments. Journalists, sensing the opportunity to record the end of an era, descended on the studios, where Horiyoshi welcomed them. I found it interesting to listen in on the interviews and even got the opportunity to comment myself. For a time, an article about Horiyoshi III appeared in almost every issue of Tattoo Burst, Japan's premier tattoo magazine.

Once in 2008 I arrived at the cramped Isecho studio to find it jammed with photographic equipment, a columnist for Tattoo Master magazine, an interpreter and a photographer. They took this fine cover photo for the Spring 2009 issue right there in that tiny room.

The mix of clients has changed over the years as well. In the early years of my experience, most appeared to be construction tradesmen, followed by an approximately equal numbers of foreigners and Yakuza.

In 2009 I mentioned these changes in clientèle to Horiyoshi and asked about the current mix. He gave the following estimate by profession:

• 60% Craftsmen and tradesmen. Through conversations with these clients, I found that many were themselves tattooists.
• 10% Yakuza. Horiyoshi added that there are other tattoo artists whose clientèle is almost entirely Yakuza.
• 30% Other. “You're in this category, John-san,” he told me with a grin.

As for nationality, 30-50% are foreigners. “In fact, today all appointments are with foreigners,” Horiyoshi commented one Saturday in 2009.

Rather than the mark of the Yakuza, these days a traditional Japanese bodysuit just might be the mark of a foreigner.

06 Horiyoshi III on Why We Get Tattooed

 

The client before me inspected his freshly colored skin in the mirror while gingerly dabbing it with a tissue. He and Horiyoshi III were discussing the motivation for getting tattooed as I listened with interest. I understood the main idea, but I knew there was more. So the next chance I got, I asked him for clarification.

Here is what he said:

We get tattooed for our own self satisfaction, but just like any social animal, people crave having an impact on others. When your tattoos are recognized by other people, you see their reaction, which in turn makes you feel good. If you lived alone on a deserted island where nobody else could see your tattoos, then they would be much less interesting.

It's just like anything else in life. We do things like work primarily to support ourselves, but we also live in a society, where we like to see our career success recognized by others.

This opportunity to ask a master at the top of his craft anything I want has been one of the supreme pleasures of my life. If only we practiced the same craft, I could take real advantage of the situation and ask some more practical questions.

04 Horiyoshi III on Tattoo Aftercare

Before sharing these stories, I first related them to Horiyoshi III to make sure he felt they were accurate and appropriate for disclosure. I also proposed topics that would remain off limits, but he waived these restrictions. He encouraged me to share all my experiences.

Horiyoshi had forgotten, or simply not noticed many of the events that I found memorable. Telling my Horiyoshi stories to Horiyoshi himself was fun for both of us. Today's anecdote is the one that seemed to amuse him the most.

Around 2006, a foreigner was getting tattooed by Horiyoshi. In the West, it is customary for the artist to provide the client with detailed aftercare instructions. After his session, the foreigner looked puzzled when Horiyoshi finished without saying anything. So, the client requested his instructions.

Horiyoshi replied in English, “Don't touch.” The master subscribes to the LITFA (leave it the fuck alone) school of tattoo aftercare.

03 The Yakuza Boss

In about 2004, Horiyoshi III was working on my back at the Isecho studio when in comes this Yakuza boss and his, um, assistant. It was apparent from his attitude, speech, and presumably armed escort that he was a big cheese.

I have mixed feelings about the relationship between the Yakuza and tattoos. I endure discrimination in Japan because of the association. On the other hand, I owe a debt to the Yakuza for keeping traditional Japanese tattooing alive during that dark century before the current tattoo renaissance.

Anyway, the boss came to discuss a tattoo design with Horiyoshi. After he finished with that business, he turned his attention to me.

“That's a weird looking dragon,” he commented without regard to my (or the artist's) feelings. I suppose he was referring to the acid trip proportions of my dragon. I guess he had a point. The boss and his assistant leaned over me to further scrutinize my back. This was alarming, as I would rather not confront underworld figures while lying naked and prone on the floor. Chuck Norris would never approve.

The boss quizzed Horiyoshi about other tattoos I might have on the front of me. Always eager to meet unusual people, I engaged them in a bit of chit-chat, but the boss was more interested in talking than listening.

After a while, they left. I had survived my encounter with the Yakuza.

02 First Tattoo Session with Horiyoshi III

Having decided on Horiyoshi III to tattoo my back, I made plans to return to Japan in 2001 for my first sessions.

I vividly remember walking up the slope from the train station to the Isecho studio. These would be my last moments without an enormous tattoo in my skin. I waited in front of the bank as instructed, where Horiyoshi's son Kazu, then a teenager, came on a bicycle to meet me. He guided me to the famously obscure studio.

Once we arrived, I restated my specifications: a dragon with black scales, red belly and yellow dorsal fins, full size with background. This was all the direction Horiyoshi needed. I would later come to believe that this is the ideal level of detail to give a professional tattoo artist. Horiyoshi rummaged around in a drawer labeled “Dragons” and pulled out a sketch of a dragon's head.

I lay down on the floor and he sketched something on me with a brush. He then prepared to tattoo whatever it was into my skin. I asked to first have a look. Horiyoshi seemed slightly taken aback but motioned toward the sticker-encrusted mirror. I saw a dragon's face with a disturbingly huge claw next to it. I commented on the psychedelic proportions. “It looks cooler that way,” he calmly assured me. I assented. You don't engage someone like Horiyoshi III and then second guess his artistic judgment. Especially if you are as artistically impaired as me.

When he started to outline my backpiece, I crossed that line, a line that over subsequent years would inexorably progress toward my extremities.

01 Finding the Artist

From 2000 to 2012, I traveled to Japan to get a bodysuit tattoo from Horiyoshi III. Originally attracted by his first-class tattooing, I also had the pleasure of getting to know a fascinating and intelligent individual. The experience showed me a side of Japanese society that I otherwise would not have encountered. This has been by far the most interesting application of my Japanese language skills.

Getting tattoos all over your body is always an adventure, but an unexpected bonus has been the amusing anecdotes I have accumulated. In this blog I will share some of these stories with you.

I'll start with how I found my artist.

I had admired tattoos since I was a boy and had dabbled in hidden tattoos. In 2000, I decided that at long last it was time to go big with a backpiece. I began my search for a local San Francisco artist skilled in Japanese style tattooing, but Japanese style was not enough. I had the resources, experience and skills to do whatever I wanted in Japan (except vote). I relished extreme cultural adventure. For me, Japan itself was an essential component of this escapade. So on my next trip to Japan, I interviewed two artists.

My first consultation was with Horitoshi I. I arrived punctually for my appointment. An apprentice greeted me at the door. I was cordially invited to sit down to discuss to the tattoo. The apprentice brought us tea. I held forth in my most formal Japanese. Horitoshi responded in kind. Now this was first class. They made the people at department stores look like fishmongers.

I explained that on my back I wanted a traditional dragon with black scales, red belly and yellow dorsal fins. He examined my back, took careful notes and agreed to tattoo a dragon on me. Horitoshi was not just Japanese style, this man was the real thing—a first-class craftsman with impeccable etiquette.

The other consultation was with Horiyoshi III. He told me to just show up any time. Such informality is so uncharacteristic in Japan that I called a few minutes before my arrival to make sure it really was okay. When I arrived at the Noge studio, he was tattooing a client. The client did not seem to mind my intrusion; I myself would later come to welcome the diversion provided by such visitors. Horiyoshi listened to my plans as he worked. During his next break, Horiyoshi took a brief yet thoughtful look at my back and agreed to tattoo me. Horiyoshi had that rare balance of familiarity and formality, confidence and humility possessed only by those few who are accomplished and intelligent.

To my surprise, I had been accepted as a client by my top two choices in the world of tattooing. Both men were professionals I could trust. I liked both Horitoshi's more muted and traditional work, and also Horiyoshi's louder, evolved yet traditional style.

In the end, the tiebreaker was not skill or style, but logistics. Getting tattooed requires a huge time commitment, and Horiyoshi's Yokohama studios were more convenient. The three-hour round trip to Horitoshi's studio from my usual base of operations was too much. Ironically, I once lived just down the street from Horitoshi's studio. It's too bad I missed him, but back then I wasn't ready.

I neglected to contact Horitoshi to inform him of my decision and thank him for his time. I deeply regret this faux pas. I owe that fine man an apology.

Having made my decision, it was time for action. I'll tell you about the first tattoo session with Horiyoshi III next.