FEATURE ARTICLE—September 2004
CALGARY TATTOO & ARTS FESTIVAL 2004
Text by Bob Baxter
Photos by Bernard Clark
The week before I visited the first-ever Calgary Tattoo & Arts Festival, the Los Angeles Times reported minus-37 degrees in Canada. I don't know if they meant Celsius or Fahrenheit, but, when it's that damn cold, it doesn't make a whole lot of difference.
The temperature in SoCal had just dipped below 70. Time for a new winter coat. I did some research and opted for one of those triple-insulated puppies that Eskimos wear when they stalk penguins. I located the store where all the Everest guys go, added a stocking cap from eBay and headed to the airport. My photographer, Bernard Clark, knew all about Canadian weather and left from Toronto that morning. We planned to rendezvous at the Calgary Westin.
I didn't know too many participating artists and had never met the promoters, but I couldn't pass up this golden opportunity to connect up with our Canadian readership, meet new friends and take a peek at the legendary countryside. My coat was zipped and I was ready to rumble.
My intern, Lydia, and I were met at the airport by Steve Peace and Ken LeBlanc. They were two of the organizers. (Very classy that they showed up, I might add.) No sooner did I say hello than Ken asked if we wanted to see the sights. I told him I'd heard about beautiful Lake Louise and Banff. "No problem," he said and, within seconds, we were escorted to our waiting limo. "I'll pick you up in the morning," he called as he headed to his truck.
I rolled down the window, the temperature climbed a couple notches and the skies were clear and blue.
We checked in and Brian Ragusin from Outer Limits joined us for dinner at the Owl's Nest. In the lobby we ran into old friends Jamie Izumi, Hannah Aitchison, Judy Parker, James Kern and Bob Tyrrell. An hour or so later, Bernard arrived from Toronto, we got the keys to the photo studio and then it was off to the bar for tequila. Back at the room was a message from Tyrrell: "If you're going to Lake Louise in the morning, please don't forget to include me." It was getting more fun by the minute.
THE ROAD TO LAKE LOUISE
Early next day, Tyrrell, Bernard, Lydia and I piled into big Ken LaBlanc's SUV with its enormous crack in the
windshield. No fear of being attacked by polar bears with this long-haired muscleman at the wheel. "There's no polar bears in Canada," LeBlanc assured me, but to my way of thinking, if you can't see 'em, that's when they're
most dangerous.
When I asked about the windshield, Ken explained that the highway department spreads gravel to keep the roads from freezing. "All the cars get hit with road rocks," he told me, and, sure enough, every time we passed someone, they had a fractured windshield, too.
"That's the Olympic hill on the left," Ken said, as we drove by the former Winter Olympics site. "I've been to four of them," he added.
"Wow," I said. "You must really like watching the events."
"No," said Ken. "Not watching. Participating."
It turns out Ken was an Olympic bobsled champion as well as running track in the 100 and 200 meters. "I was the only six-foot-four white guy with long hair and tattoos in the dashes at the Milrose Games," he reminisced. "I stood out, that's for sure."
All in all, it was a memorable day. Ken enthralled us with bobsled stories and there was plenty to look at out the window. "Our sled team finished fourth over all," he said with a pumped fist. "I did the four man and steered the twos."
The closer we got to Lake Louise, the colder it became. I was glad I brought my gloves and a hat. The sun was out, but the chill in the air caused us all to jam our hands in our pockets.
Lake Louise is a beautiful mirror lake nestled in the lap of the Canadian Rockies. At the far end is a year-round glacier which feeds the lake. I'm told the color of the water is breathtaking, but, at this time of year, it's nothing but a giant hockey rink. On one side is a hotel decorated with ice sculptures. On the frozen lakebed, they'd carved an ice castle. The doors were big enough to stroll through.
It was truly a postcard day. Tyrrell was snapping digital pictures and flagging us down to take a look. After an hour, it was time to head back. Ken was getting cell phone calls every five minutes. He needed to prepare for tomorrow.
As we headed down the highway towards Banff, Ken yelled excitedly, "There's a herd of elk." But I was trying to rip open the beef jerky package and looked out the wrong window.
THE EVENT
In Calgary, the promoters, Steve, Ken and Spike, are all involved in the tattoo business. They measure success by making
artists happy. Sure, it was good to have an enthusiastic crowd through the door, but, for these guys, the focus was on artists making art. They advertised via newspapers and radio, and when 3,500 people bought tickets the first
day, Steve and his crew were ecstatic. The room was crowded and lots of people were getting tattoos. No doubt about it, they had created a tremendous event, the first time out of the gate.
Case in point: stationed at all four corners and midway down each side were large speakers broadcasting a very cool mix of rock, country and rap, and the DJ adjusted the volume so everyone could talk without shouting. Every few feet was a hand-washing console. The best part was the artists' lounge. There was a door, places to sit, copy machines, sinks with hot running water, autoclaves and big, ice-filled tubs of soft drinks and bottled water. Plus plenty of doughnuts and muffins.
The plan was to keep things manageable. Fifty booths were plenty, plus three wide aisles and a big hotel lobby with sofas. At every entrance were friendly security lads in clearly-marked T-shirts. A tireless staff of helpers processed everyone, whether artist or ticket buyer. And waiting directly in the path at the entryway, personally welcoming each person, one-by-one, was Spike. It was his show and he wanted to see each person through the door. If a problem came up, everyone knew where Spike was. No searching around for someone in charge.
Another plus was the contests. As you may know, at tattoo-judging time, crowds jam against the stage and no one but the judges can see. At Calgary, a video cameraman focused on each entrant and the full-color image was projected on a huge ten-by-ten-foot screen. Another plus was the master of ceremonies. His commentary was simple and to the point. No demeaning comments about women and no running off at the mouth. At this event, each contest was a burst of positive energy that in no way interfered with the rest of the show. It may have blocked the aisle, but there was plenty of room to go around the other way.
UNFORGETTABLE
You couldn't beat the hotel. Situated amidst countless local restaurants, all you had to do was walk out the door for
everything from steaks to lasagna, sushi to subs. On the second day, the weather turned. It was nippy, but we had fun shuffling through the snow for a quiet, sit-down dinner.
Back at the hotel, the top floor featured a spa for guests only. Inside was an indoor swimming pool, a steamy Jacuzzi and a fully equipped workout room complete with weights, treadmills and a color TV. As for the accommodations, each bed had a giant, fluffy comforter, showers blasted plenty of hot water, we had mucho towels, the TVs worked and there was 24-hour room service.
For me, there were several highlights. The primary one, of course, was meeting so many Canadian tattoo artists for the first time. I was amazed and gratified at how many people were familiar with the magazine. Even the models we selected for the photo sessions perked up when we told them it was for Skin & Ink.
I was especially thrilled to meet Sailor Jerry Swallow for the first time, in person. Jerry and I have been writing back and forth for a few years, and we gave it a big hug when we finally met. Aside from being a legendary figure on the tattoo scene, Sailor Jerry Swallow is the real deal. It was quite moving for me to look into those eyes that have seen so much and created such an unforgettable legacy.
I also had a chance to interview Paul Jeffries. He's the man that everyone said I had to meet. Paul is such an elegant and powerful guy. What a great spokesman and classy representative for the Canadian tattoo industry. I'll be sharing our colorful and revealing interview in a near-future issue.
Before I forget, let me tell you about my experience with the indefatigable Lucky Diamond Rich. Maybe you've seen Lucky juggling pineapples, swallowing a sword or riding his ten-foot unicycle at the New York City Tattoo Convention. In any case, he's the guy with solid-black tattoos on every inch of his trim, fit body―even his eyelids. Anyway, Lucky gets this idea that I should tattoo him. In white ink, no less.
"Filip Leu did a tattoo in white on my shoulder," Lucky tells me. "A little X."
As you probably know, I have three sons who tattoo, Riley, Jesse and Noah, but I have absolutely never, ever put needle to skin. I was a would-be artist years ago, but I have never operated a tattoo machine.
"It's about time," said Lucky.
Well, friends, it was not an experience I wish to remember. For starters, putting white on black isn't a great vehicle for learning what to do, especially when the needle was a seven. Worst of all, I couldn't remember to take my toe off the foot switch. Luckily, Mr. Diamond Rich grabbed the machine before it skated off the table top.
Always in great spirits, Lucky's sideshow barker antics attracted quite a crowd. I was not amused. Since I couldn't judge if the ink was making a mark, I inadvertently plowed a deep trench into Lucky's bicep. I almost hit bone. My design was a cartoon cat face with the words mr. kool cat underneath. Lucky kept announcing how the great Filip Leu had merely inked a microscopic X and here was the Editor in Chief of Skin & Ink fearlessly tackling a full-sized portrait. In any event, Lucky can now add two more records to his title of World's Most Tattooed Man. He's now the proud owner of both my very first tattoo―and the last.
As an aside, I must add that I have a newfound respect for anyone who is able to create passable artwork while fighting the seemingly endless onslaught of oozing blood, creeping Vaseline and runny green soap.
ALL GOOD THINGS…
I usually pass on first-ever tattoo events. But I'm happy I broke the rule. All of us, Bernard and Lydia included,
were treated like royalty by Steve, Ken and Spike and each and every member of their support team. First-time aside, this was a perfectly orchestrated tattoo gathering. I would wholeheartedly recommend anyone, be they artist,
collector, vacationer or lookie-loo, to spend February in Canada. The locals are friendly, the U.S. dollar has some clout and the newspapers are intelligent and forthcoming. There is something very civilized about Canada. And,
to our delight, all its best attributes blossomed to the max during our five glorious days at the Calgary Tattoo & Arts Festival.
No question about it. We had a great time. Maybe you should sign up, eh?