Tiago Tavares Tattoo
Trust
Most people think they are coming to choose a design. They are not. They are choosing someone who will take responsibility for something that will stay on their body until long after they are gone. A tattoo is an act of trust, and trust requires clarity: technique, narrative and ethics.
Every person arrives with an initial idea. Sometimes clear, sometimes fragile, sometimes shaped more by desire than by understanding. My role is to translate intention into something that actually survives on skin. That shift — from “I want this image” to “this is how the body receives an image” — is where the real work begins.
When Intention Meets the Reality of Skin
Before talking about drawings, I ask what the person wants to express. Strength. Softness. Elegance. Provocation. Or simply beauty with no message attached. That defines everything. Then come placement, size and technique. This is where most illusions break. Many people associate delicacy with small size, when in reality, tiny compositions are the first to collapse. Pigment spreads, the skin changes, and the details that seemed poetic on the screen dissolve into noise.
I often use a concrete example: the miniature composition that tries to hold a tree, flowers, birds, a sunset, words, a hummingbird, a dandelion, a female face, a rose and musical notes. On paper it seems charming; on skin, after a handful of summers, it looks like the aftermath of a motorcycle crash. Harsh, but true — and people usually understand immediately. Humor is a useful teacher.
A Living Process on a Living Person
My process adapts to the project. I draw in my mind, on paper, on tablets, directly on the body. I use 3D software when movement needs to be tested. The tool is irrelevant; the body is not. The only way to know if something works is to see the client move with it. A tattoo is a living artwork. It exists in motion, not in the stillness of a photograph.
Three technical pillars guide my work: texture, contrast and application. And three conceptual ones: vibrancy, narrative and respect. Call it style if you want, but to me it’s the way I think images function. Painting, photography and journalism shaped this approach long before tattooing entered my life.
Over the years, I learned that people underestimate how much better they will feel with a good tattoo. They expect satisfaction and leave transformed. I also learned that tattoos operate in many dimensions: memory, presence, healing, or simply desire. All legitimate.
Limits, Ethics and the Studio Routine
There are limits. I do not tattoo racist, fascist or homophobic symbols. I do not tattoo minors. I avoid repetitive, hollow patterns marketed as spiritual depth. I refuse to place a first tattoo on a face, neck or hands. Not out of moralism, but responsibility.
Some insist on ideas that will fail. The answer is conversation. I explain, draw, illustrate. The final decision is theirs, but I do not execute what I know will turn into regret. Adults are often unaccustomed to hearing “no.” Part of my job is being the first to say it.
Studios vary, but the routine is the same: preparation, sterilization, quiet concentration, music when needed, coffee when possible. Technology improved. Machines lightened. Needles became safer. But the core of the craft is unchanged: observe, reason, decide and apply.
Tattooing is a commitment. When someone chooses me, I feel honored. When I begin the work, I honor them back through technique and responsibility. I have spent my entire life dealing with images. Tattooing is simply the most intimate and lasting form of that relationship.
If I could change anything, it would be the commute. Some days I wish for teleportation. Until then, I keep walking.
And tattooing.