I’ve been staring at this particular picture for the last few weeks.
It’s the favorite table of Strindberg, Munch and a variety of other characters from 1890s Berlin. It also happens to be the only table… Notice the pools of spilled red wine and folded cloth napkins, plus a Strindberg original on the wall. It doesn’t get better than that.
Berlin 1894, The Black Piglet Wine Bar
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Friday I’ve booked a three-hour session with a set of tattoo needles. Sort of surprising considering my aversion to pain. My last and, until now, only tattoo, was a flash-art selection made at midnight on a Saturday after too many beers. Providence, Rhode Island and the intern at my then-job both also played a prominent role. Good times.
So after all these years, I thought I might touch it up a little. A gryphen is nice and all, especially with the advent of Harry Potter. But perhaps, I thought, it was time to personalize that body art.
I should have … Read more Read more
So after two hours and far too much discomfort, I’m halfway through with the inking of my new tattoo. Of course, it’s taking longer than I expected and of course this first session involved a lot more pain than I envisioned before I lay down on that damn massage table.
The status right now? The outline is complete, but it’s going to take another two hours to get all those colors under my skin. Still, even partway done, the results are a little unexpected. In some ways the change is great and in other ways it’s disconcertingly different from what … Read more Read more