Lawyer
Kaireddyn (Kai) Orta began fabricating his own, rudimentary tools for
making tattoos in 1996, while still in high school here in Oaxaca,
Mexico. One day a neighbor saw him carrying a shoe box, and asked him
what was in it. Kai showed him the adapted motor, needles, ink and other
paraphernalia. The neighbor was the recipient of Kai's first tattoo.
Kai then began doing tattoos for his schoolmates.
Kai had been
interested in tattoos (tatuajes) and body piercing (perforación) since
boyhood. It was natural for him, since his father was a history teacher,
constantly recounting stories of rituals of Mexico's indigenous
populations. There was no shortage of books around the house with images
of pre-Hispanic peoples who were accustomed to self-adornment. Kai ate
it up.
But throughout Kai's youth, seeing tattoos in the flesh was
a rarity. Aside from in books and occasionally coming across a tattooed
person on TV, he would only have an opportunity to actually see real
live people with tattoos and body piercings when he would catch a
glimpse of mainly North American and European tourists walking the
streets of downtown Oaxaca, a Mecca for international tourism.
The
modern tradition of tattoos and body piercings had been established in
countries such as Canada, the US, Spain and Britain, long before it
arrived in Mexico. Like so many representations of emerging subcultures,
it takes upwards of a decade for them to catch on in Mexico, especially
in the more isolated and conservative regions of the country, like
Oaxaca.
The state of Oaxaca was by and large physically isolated
from the northern half of the country, and indeed the broader world,
until the arrival of the pan American highway in the late 1940s. While
the odd adventurer would make his way down to Oaxaca between then and
the early 1960s, it was the hippie movement later that decade and into
the early 1970s which opened up southern Mexico to the concept of North
American and European counter-cultures, including tattoos, and then body
piercing. However the prevailing sentiment of the Mexican middle
classes was that their children should be insulated from foreign youth,
and all that its subculture stood for.
Leap forward to the 1990s.
Change would begin to emerge in Oaxaca. Tattoos, body piercings and
other non-traditional forms of self-expression had begun to be perceived
as mainstream throughout the Western World. The silver screen and
magazines promoting its pierced and tattooed stars had become
commonplace. Oaxaca had to take notice. And that included its older
generation, which was then forced to recognize if not accept that the
ritualized behavior of their grandchildren (and to a much lesser extent
their children) could no longer be equated with something devious, dirty
and wrong, simply as a consequence of changing their physical
appearance through piercing and painting their bodies, permanently. Many
in the Oaxacan youth culture were becoming critical thinkers through
higher education, therefore better able to make informed decisions,
stand up for them, and celebrate them.
Kai is thirty years old.
Practicing law wasn't for him. By the time he had graduated and had a
taste of the working world of attorneys (less than a year), he had
already become an established tattoo and body piercing artist, with his
own studio, albeit quite smaller than his current digs. And besides,
most lawyers in Oaxaca do not earn the level of income that provides for
a middle class lifestyle, at least by Western standards.
Kai's current studio, Dermographics, in the heart of downtown Oaxaca, consists of:
•
The reception area with long desk and computer, tropical fish filled
aquariums, display cases with mainly jewelry relating to body piercings,
wooden African floor sculptures and masks (as well as a few Mexican
masks), a bookcase filled with albums containing drawings and
photographs of mainly tattoos, and two comfortable sofas where customers
can browse through the "catalogues" at their leisure
• A similarly adorned middle room with supply cases by now of course filled with modern, commercial equipment and supplies, and a small adjoining workroom
• The back room, with chairs and "operating" table, for attending to tattoos and body piercings
• A similarly adorned middle room with supply cases by now of course filled with modern, commercial equipment and supplies, and a small adjoining workroom
• The back room, with chairs and "operating" table, for attending to tattoos and body piercings
"Here
in Oaxaca we don't refer to ourselves as 'artistas,' Kai explains. "In
the United States there's much greater acceptance of the art form and
those who are dedicated to the skill, so in the US and other countries
such as Canada it's acceptable to use the term 'tattoo artist.' But in
Oaxaca we just refer to ourselves as tatuadores."
Kai & Colleagues Participate in Twelfth Annual Tattoo Fest in Oaxaca, Summer, 2010
During
the course of a 3 ½ hour interview at Kai's studio, his friends and
fellow tatuadores from Mexico City, Daniel (Tuna) Larios and his
girlfriend Angélica (Angy) de la Mora, were in the shop working and
otherwise serving customers, while for part of the time Kai was out
running errands.
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