Like other top artists, Thomas Hooper has a signature style and can charge thousands of dollars for his best pieces. His name is known around the world and clients go to great lengths to seek him out for his vision, immense skill and keen sense of artistic purpose.
But Hooper, 31, born in Bexhill-on-Sea, England, and now the toast of New York, is neither a sculptor nor a painter, but a tattoo artist.
For many, the difference between fine art and the cutting edge of modern tattooing has now virtually disappeared. “A lot of my work is to do with our own mortality and what could be called our souls,” Hooper said as he sat in his studio, New York Adorned, where rock star Lenny Kravitz and DJ Samantha Ronson have been inked.
PHOTO: AFP
Hooper is one of the key figures in a burgeoning scene, a long way from the old stereotype of tattooing as the preserve of sailors and soldiers (though tattoos were once popular with Victorian aristocrats and even, it was rumored, the royal family). It is also a long way from middle-class professionals asking for Chinese characters or butterflies to be inked on their backs.
Now many tattoo artists have the coveted initials MFA — Master of Fine Arts — after their names and have studied in respected art schools. They have waiting lists up to two years long, and clients often have to persuade the artist of their own commitment and vision.
Hooper has a waiting list of about six months. Sometimes clients seek him out and effectively offer him their skin as a blank canvas, something he always declines as he prefers some client input. But he does understand that the reason people want a “Hooper” on their bodies is partly the same as a collector shelling out money for a David Hockney painting. Hooper has a style of his own, often featuring motifs of skulls, acanthus leaves and mandalas, that earns both recognition and value. “My goal as an artist, and as a businessman, is that I want someone to see a tattoo and, if it is done by me, to know that it is mine,” Hooper said.
PHOTO: EPA
He is not alone. Many major cities have tattoo artists with huge followings. In New York, Anil Gupta is reported to charge up to US$400 an hour. Another Briton living in America, Steve Byrne, also has people seeking him out. “At least half of the people I tattoo have traveled to find me, or caught me at a convention in their area,” Byrne said.
Tattoo conventions are commonplace now. More surprisingly, so are art gallery exhibits featuring tattoo artists and their skin work. Last year, Vancouver held an exhibition of tattoo art, as did the Noyes Museum of Art in New Jersey, the Arts Center@319 in Virginia and even the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.
Just as the modern art movement is fractured, so too is the tattooing scene. On one hand, there are auteur practitioners such as Hooper and Gupta. On the other, there are the tattooing equivalent of Damien Hirst, big on flashness and publicity, who can make millions from their work. Perhaps the most famous is Mario Barth, who charged US$150,000 for five hours’ work tattooing rock star Tommy Lee. Other celebrity tattooists are stars of TV, such as Kat Von D on the reality show LA Ink. They are now just as likely to pop up in magazines as their clients.
Hooper is dismissive of the publicity around such artists, but recognizes their talent. “One of the reasons they are on TV is that they are very good,” he said.
There are, of course, reasons why tattooing is different from other fine arts. First is the medium: human skin. Then there is the fact that a tattoo, unlike a painting or sculpture, cannot be sold on. “To a degree, the fine art world has jumped on it. But a tattoo has no resale value. That is crucial,” London-based tattoo artist Alex Binnie said.
Then there is also the intimate client relationship in tattooing. A tattoo artist almost always carries out the wishes of a client to some degree, rather than independently insisting on their own vision.
Defenders of tattooing as fine art would point out, however, that many masterpieces were created by artists operating under the instructions of patrons or clients. Hooper sees his work as an amalgam of his vision and his clients’ wishes. “The clients that get the best work are the ones that enjoy me and I enjoy them,” he said.
Taiwan’s English education system is being pulled apart by three opposing forces. Bilingual Nation 2030 pulls students toward English and global communication. Artificial Intelligence (AI) readiness pulls them toward digital judgment, verification and AI-mediated work. But Taiwan’s old exam culture pulls them back toward memorization, grammar drills, timed reading and correct answers. If the education system keeps using old exams to define success, it risks producing graduates who are neither genuinely bilingual nor genuinely AI-ready, but trained for tasks machines can already perform. The first force is Bilingual Nation 2030. Launched in 2018, the policy aimed to “help Taiwan’s workforce connect
It seems every few days one bumps into one of those “real man” comments in which Taiwan is urged to “face reality” or similar, and “make a deal,” with the speaker implying that soon it will be too late. “Deal” advocates always present themselves as having a superior grip on reality, and the manly ability to make the “hard choice.” Their testosterone-laden language often echoes that of Taiwan sellout advocates. Note that such commentary always specifies a process (“make a deal, work with, make progress”), never the end state of what occupation by a violent authoritarian colonialist state will entail. In
There are shadowy cabals plotting to sell out Taiwan to be annexed by China, by invasion if necessary. Fortunately, they are buffoons. In 2019, former Bamboo Union gangster and founder of the China Unification Promotion Party (CUPP), Chang An-le (張安樂, colorfully known as “White Wolf”), led a protest at the Legislative Yuan against comments made by then-premier Su Tseng-chang (蘇貞昌) that in the event of an attack by China, he would never surrender, but would protect the nation by fighting to the end, even if he only had a broom. Chang had party members bring a wooden casket that they
June 1 to June 7 "If all Taiwanese were as afraid of dying as you, then what would happen?” Physician Shih Chiang-nan (施江南) reportedly said this to his wife Chen Chiao-tung (陳焦桐) after she urged him to stop intervening on behalf of Taiwanese soldiers stranded overseas after serving in the Japanese Army during World War II. Shih had clashed with high-ranking officials over the issue, engaged in several heated arguments with Taiwan governor-general Chen Yi (陳儀) and allegedly shouted at general Ko Yuan-fen (柯遠芬), chief of staff of the Taiwan Garrison Command, over
RSS