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HUMAN GRAFITTI Playing with Madness: Adelphi Tunnel’s Hitchcockian masterpiece 6 Things To think about before getting your next tattoo Top 10 Worst celebrity tattoos


Editor’s note

By Kyle Martin

I would like to personally thank you for taking the time to read this magazine, which we have crafted over the last few weeks. We faced a number of trials and tribulations -- even minor burns. In the end though, we’ve produced something that we’re very proud of. So please, read on and hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as we wanted to strangle each other whilst making it.

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QUESTIONS ...

TO ASK YOURSELF BEFORE GETTING YOUR NEXT TATTOO

The idea comes to you in a sudden wave of inspiration the idea for your next tattoo. But before you head on down to your local parlour with your new design hastily scribbled onto a crumpled napkin, it might be worth asking yourself these six questions. Tattoo-regret stories are ten a penny, so don’t become a statistic.

1. Does this tattoo mean something to me? If it doesn’t have a lasting meaning then there’s really no point. If it doesn’t remind you of a special person, time or event in your life it’ll be a gigantic waste of time. And ink.

2. Do i know what it actually means? Here’s looking at you, Chinese typeface. Check, double-check and ask someone fluent in that language if you’re even considering a tattoo in another language. The tat you thought meant ‘PRIDE’ could mean anything but.

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3. Is it Original? You run the risk of becoming a walking cliché. Referring back to point 1, make sure your tattoo means something to you and you alone.

4.Will it be too painful? Know your pain threshold. Certain places on the body like your feet and hands can cause a lot more pain than expected. There is the whole pain for gain argument, but passing out in agony is never fun no matter what way you look at it.

5. Am I drunk? “I got this when I was wasted, it looks awesome!”, said no-one ever

6. Is it what I really want? It goes without saying, but tattoos are for life. If you have any doubts about your new tattoo at all, it might be time to reconsider your design.


Tattoo Guide Tips for Ink Virgins by Tom Irvine

Everyone knows that getting your first tattoo is a big decision, one that will likely be influenced by a great deal of nagging on someone’s part. In many ways, getting a tattoo is like getting a puppy. You have to take care of it, and you have to deal with the responsibilities of owning one. Here are a few tips to make sure your tattoo will impress, not stress.

1 Keep it under WRAPS So, you’ve had your tattoo done, and

the artist starts coming towards you with a roll of cling film. Don’t worry, he’s not going to try and smother you like a back alley Sweeney Todd. What he’s about to do is cover your tattoo to protect it. You have to remember what has just happened – someone has jabbed a needle into your skin, dragged it around and injected ink underneath it. There’s a medical term for that, and it’s ‘an open wound’. By putting the cling film over your new tattoo, the artist is protecting the wound from becoming infected and gangrenous. Remember to put on some new protection on whenever necessary. Cling film is cheap, won’t cover up your cool new design, and there’s no excuse for it not being in your house.

2 Don’t be a SHOW OFF So how long do you have to wait be-

fore taking the cling film off? Well, in this case, patience is a virtue. For a couple of hours after you get your tattoo, your skin will be positively oozing with lymphatic fluid and blood – gross. Showing your tat off before it’s properly healed won’t do it any justice and will more than likely scare people away. 4 to 6 hours is a pretty safe waiting time, but DON’T leave it on longer than 8 hours.

3 Bacteria be GONE The

artist will also apply a thin coating of vaseline or anti-bacterial cream to protect the new tattoo. Don’t worry, you won’t need to put any extra on yourself later, but it might sting a little. Applying lots of vaseline will actually stop your skin from breathing properly and extend your healing time. It could even make your tattoo look less vibrant, so trust your artist to know what he’s doing.

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4 STYLIN’ and PROFILIN’ Care of your tattoo is pretty simple from here on out. Be sure to moisturise (BUT NOT SLATHER) it 2 or 3 times a day to stop the skin from drying out, and wear loose fitting clothes that won’t rub against the tattoo. Better yet, keep the tattoo exposed to the air as much as possible – this could be an ideal chance to break out your favourite tank top.

5 Wishy washy For the first few days, take care in the shower with your new tattoo. Don’t expose it to the full torrent of water. Instead, let it roll indirectly onto the tattoo. Using lukewarm water will make your tattoo sting less, and stops your skin from losing its new pigment by keeping the pores shut.

6 Things to AVOID * Scratching and picking at your tattoo. Just don’t. * Using tanning beds. Exposure to lots of UV light for the first few days of your tattoo messes up that all-important pigment. * Swimming in pools. Pools are loaded with bacteria that can infect your skin until it properly heals. If its a jacuzzi, it’ll open your pores and your skin will lose pigment. And if its a public jacuzzi outdoors, then you have the triple threat of that pesky sunlight messing up your pigment. * Pets. Your pets will go wild over the smell of your new tattoo and make it their mission to lick it. Don’t let them do it, their mouths are filled with bacteria.

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PAIN GRAPH

Meh Moderate Holy Fuck Ow Pass Out

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jakeraynorphotography.com


My Tattoo Diary Features Editor Jo-Anna Bean on her journey to getting inked

I got my first tattoo when I was 18. In fact, on my 18th birthday, my mum and I got the same flower tattoo on our arms. While this might sound unusual to some people, both of my parents have tattoos , so there was never any stigma attached to them growing up. As long as I wasn’t going to get anything offensive or stupid, they were cool with it. So, when I decided to get another tattoo, I started scouring the Internet for inspiration.

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I showed them the design at the parlour, and they said it would need to be modified in order to work as a tattoo. A few minutes later, they came back. The feathers were bigger, and the arrows darker, but it was largely the same. I just changed the angle of the arrows slightly, and booked it for the 15th.

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in cling film and told me to keep it on for at least three hours, to wash tonight with warm soapy water, and to use bepanthen on it until it was completely healed. For the rest of the afternoon, my arm felt as if it was on fire. People forget that tattoos are basically just pretty scratches. After around four hours I took the cling film off, and the tattoo was all gooey. Totally gross, yet totally normal. I washed it as the artist had instructed, and gently dabbed it try. It was still red and tender to touch, but I could see it looked exactly as I wanted it. I put bepanthen on it, and went to bed.

I arrived at the tattoo parlour nervous, but excited. There’s just something exciting about changing your body forever. I waited until the tattoo artist was ready. He took me to the tattoo room, where he rearranged the furniture and set up his equip6 / 0 4 / 1 4 ment. He wiped my arm with spirit 1 and placed the template on my arm, then told me to look in the mirror and Tattoo was still tender today but a lot make sure it was exactly were I want- less red. In a few weeks, it should be completely healed. I hope. ed it. I said it was. The familiar buzzing sound of the tattoo gun filled the room. As the needle scratched my skin I gritted my teeth. While I watched him do the outlines and then fill them in, I thought about how my arm was literally changed forever. While I understand that this isn’t for everyone, I think there’s something exciting about changing something about you.

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I was looking on Pinterest today, and I came across a Native American symbol for friendship: two crossed arrows. This resonated doubly with me because I used to be pretty good at archery. I ran the idea by my parents, and they said: “Cool, when you getting it?”

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drew a for me

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first today.

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Valentin Thirty minutes with an Aberdeen tattoo artist A buzzing sound filled the air as the tattoo gun was turned on. The artist slowly pushed it through the nervous girl’s skin and into the flesh of her forearm. The one large wrinkle on his head was deeper and more pronounced than his subtle frown, and his bushy eyebrows almost completely hid his small brown eyes. A name tag sat over his left breast, with Valentin written artistically across it. On his left arm, a serpent was printed so graphically around the limb that its scales may as well have been his skin. On the right, video game protagonist Mario fought a Flying Goomba in a scene that could have been imported from any Super Mario Bros. It matched an incomplete set of the same franchise’s McDonald’s toys,

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displayed behind him on a small shelf above the sink. The client winced as the artist pulled the gun from her skin. Her washedout red hair twitched occasionally, her face contorting in pain from the procedure. Valentin paid her no heed, holding her arm firmly pinned against the leather-padded table. His movements with the gun were efficient and professional, neither too fast as to cause Red Hair pain, nor too slow for him to be late for his next appointment at 12:30. As he ignored her infrequent gasps of pain, his fingers tightened slightly around her arm, preventing her knee-jerk reaction from ruining the complicated design.

The pair were sitting in a small underground room with black walls, black floors, black furnishings and a stainless steel sink. Flush against the wall opposite the door was a trolley of tattooing equipment, complete with pots of ink that looked like they had been stolen from a children’s Paint-By-Numbers set. The tattoo gun itself was a beautiful piece of equipment. A long stainless steel canister fitted with black metal grips gave it a futuristic appearance, probably due to its similarities to the flame-thrower from the Alien films. “So, have you been busy?” Red Hair conversationally asked the stonefaced artist.


He nodded expressionlessly in reply. “Are you always busy? That’s good,” she smiled hesitatively. “No it isn’t.” Valentin snorted. At the reception upstairs, a man with double tunnel and cartilage piercings and a brown beard hiding his entire neck sat behind a glass cabinet filled with pastel hair dye advertisements. To his left was a glass cabinet showcasing the different piercings offered by Rebel Ink. Foam models of ears, navels, penises and everything in-between displayed increasingly painful and pricey piercings. At the bottom of the price list, with no model to show it off, was the ominously named Magic Cross. It was also the most expensive. On the opposite wall sat a mounted leather flip-book containing over one hundred examples of in-house tattoo designs. A gothic fairy vixen with butterfly wings sat seductively on one page, a cobra uncurled itself from a skull’s eye-socket on another. Further

into the book, the designs became more grotesque and unique. The final page displayed a woman being molested by an octopus - a street art style tribute to Hokusai’s controversial The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.

understand? Take from here.”

Back down the stairs, past the light-boxes and two girls giggling sex dungeon jokes between them, Valentin had nearly finished his commission. He gently wiped the blood trickling down Red Hair’s arm away from the design, but ignored that which didn’t interfere with his work.

Valentin wrapped cling film briskly around Red Hair’s forearm, speaking disinteresedly. Apply baby rash cream, do not put it in the shower at full heat, do not take cling film off until tonight, wash gently for the first week, come back if it starts to look infected and enjoy your tattoo, thank you for coming, goodbye. He shut the door behind them, barely missing the last member of the group on the way out.

The buzzing stopped and he pulled back. “Right I’m done. You want pictures? You take them before I wrap up.” His voice had an South-Eastern European lilt to it, his tanned face suggesting Italian descent. Red Hair’s two friends immediately crowded her, quickly snapping pictures of the design on her arm. When one of them framed the shot to include the artist, Valentin’s face creased in irritation.

He gestured bluntly to his side of the table. “I hate pictures taken of me.”

“No pictures of me on Facebook, you

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Top 10

Worst

Celebrity Tattoos For years tattoos have slowly been becoming a fashion accessory for people all over the world. No longer just for sailors and gang-members, tattoos are now as common as a pair of shoes or a handbag for one third of people today. And that trend has been led in force by the celebrity world. But what happens when celebrity tattoos go wrong?

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Miley Cyrus

Justin Bieber

The former Disney princess has made it very clear that

Despite getting this tattoo of an eye last year to represent his mother’s watchful gaze, it hasn’t stopped the 20 yearold pop star from going off the rails. But since his life has quickly been spiralling out of control, we guess it hasn’t worked!

her good-girl days are behind her. Her crazy outfits, twerking obsession and girl-kissing have only been surpassed by her ever-growing collection of body art. Miley’s latest tat was of a sad cat emoji on her inner lip. Crazy or creepy? You decide!

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Harry Styles The ‘One Direction’ star obviously went the wrong direction after he decided to get a medically-accurate heart tattooed on his left bicep. With Harry’s long list of weird and wonderful inks, it seems he’s desperate to tell the story of his life. But what does a giant, ugly heart has to do with that?

7 Rihanna The Bajan beauty has never hidden her love of tattoos. But, everyone was still in shock after she appeared with a henna-inspired tattoo back in October last year. The design offended a lot of people, as the tribal design was being used as a fashion statement rather than being spiritually meaningful.

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Dappy Not content with his ‘15 minutes of fame’, the N-Dubz star decided he wanted to be “trending forever” and so did what any normal person would do and got a hashtag tattooed on his face. Located under his right eye, it looks like a weird mole or a small spider from a distance.

Lil Wayne Not one part of Lil Wayne’s body that has escaped from the tattoo needle. A number of his tattoos have raised eyebrows, including his two tear tattoos, which in gang culture symbolizes the number of people you have killed. His ‘baked’ tattoo on his head shows his love of weed.

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Ke$ha This eccentric pop star has always shown her love for tattoos, but back in 2012 controversy arose when Ke$ha got the words “suck it” tattooed on the inside of her lips. And was there a deep, spiritual meaning behind this beautiful creation. No! She just got it because she felt like it and as bad as it may be, no one can fault her for her spontinaeity. With a phrase like that being on that particular body part

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though, you can draw your own conclusions. At least it’s not visible!


4 Jermaine Dupris American singer Jermaine Dupris surprised everyone in 2009 when he got a tattoo of his then-girlfriend Janet Jackson. But not content with just a normal tattoo declaring his love, he had her tattooed as the Virgin Mary. What could possibly inspire this monstrosity of a tattoo? Love makes people do stupid things! But the pair split not long after. Remember - when the romance fades the ink

doesn’t. Perhaps he had been listening to “What Have You Done For Me Lately” a little too much.

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Steve O After his career in Jackass, it comes as no surprise that Steve-O would have some pretty outrageous tattoos. But even we were shocked back in 2004 when he got a picture of himself tattooed on his back. He has always admitted that he only gets tattoos that are fun and will make people laugh. When asked about this one he said: “At least I don’t have to look at it!” His wild tattoos definitely match his

wild attitude. Narcissistic or crazy? Either way, it makes our list!

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Cheryl Cole When this one was announced it was a shocker for many. Cheryl Cole - considered by many to be Britain’s sweetheart - was suddenly covered in a not-so-sweet, obnoxious rose tattoo. To top it off, the location of this over-the-top ink work was none other than her behind. We don’t know what Chezza was thinking with this one: It’s awful! The collective cry of shattered hearts was felt around the

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world.

Tat ass though!


A look at the art from the famous Aberdeen tunnel and a chat with some of the artists responsible.

We approached the design like we approach our tattoos and started with a bit of research. In this case we looked into Aberdeen’s history and the history of the area surrounding the Adelphi.

At the end of the tunnel there was a social club which housed all of the union workers that worked ship-building, so we took inspiration from that.

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We also took inspiration from the Maritime Museum, which had an exhibition on David Gill, who was a famous astronomer from Aberdeen.

He was massively important in navigation and his work saved a lot of lives for the men at sea and we believe it goes to show that, although we live in a grey city and people are miserable, some good came out of it.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t brought much business. It has brought some attention to our aerosol paints, but it’s mostly a niche market, and it hasn’t brought much publicity for our tattoo. Saying that, we had a great time doing it.

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A Street Art Named Fyvie A small Scottish village woke up to find it’s buildings and signposts bathed in street art. Jo-Anna Bean investigates what led to the explosion in expression in such an unlikely location.


I drive into Fyvie. And before I know it I’ve driven out again – it’s smaller than I expect. Turning around and returning to the tiny village, I take in the sights: fields and rolling hills, quaint little flowerbeds. Across from the hotel, a restaurant, pub and the village shops. Old outbuildings linger, left unchanged from years of abandonment. The centrepiece is the church, enclosed in a cemetery by a high wall and grand wrought-iron gates. So far, I can see no evidence of the graffiti attacks that struck the town in mid-February. There’s a gift shop on the main street - brightly coloured scarves and batik dyed silk lay regally in the window. A boutique shop, filled with dubious quality handbags, unusual jewellery and other trinkets - crystals and rings with amber stones twinkling in the light. Through the window on the other side of the shop, I see a woman

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standing outside smoking, her back to the window. As I go inside, the bell rings and she comes through. “Hello, today’s a good day, getting customers! Can I help you with anything?” She was Canadian, and the perfect stereotype – all smiles and maple syrup. “Fine thanks… just looking around.” She seems a little disappointed. “Okay, well if you see a handbag

you like, let me know because I’ll probably have it in a different colour through the back, and any questions just give me a bell!” She bounces behind her desk and starts to inspect a watch. Wandering around I see some leaflets – standard tourist attractions like Fyvie Castle, forest and lakes. Nestled amongst them is a leaflet about Pictish Graffiti, so named because of the Pictish culture of painting


religious designs on stones and then carving the patterns into the stones themselves. They also painted on themselves to mark their position as a warrior in society, an act that is similar to many tribes and football fans still found today. In particular it mentions three Pictish stones now embedded in the wall of Fyvie Kirk. I make a note to inspect it later. I make my way through shelves of gifts of all shapes and sizes - anything

and everything you could possibly give to anyone. Providing they’re a woman, that is. The items on sale range from coasters with the usual saccharine designs “There is nothing more precious than a mother who is also a friend” - to gaudy picture frames, crystal necklaces, brooches, bracelets and rings. Through a small corridor, there’s another room, filled with craft materials, paintbrushes, girls hair accesso-

ries and little dolls. Pulling myself away from the garish displays I ask the Canadian, still inspecting the watch, if she has any idea who was behind the graffiti. “Oh it was pretty bad. Well, some of it was, rude messages and things, but I think it might have been a female that did it. There were lots of flowers and hearts and things and I just can’t imagine a boy being responsible for that. Although, takes all sorts. What

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I thought was quite funny was they drew a skull and then under it wrote ‘sorry’. I mean, if you’re sorry why did you do it in the first place?” My mind reeling, I thank her and head out towards the church. On the way I pass the public toilets, next to an immaculate playground. The sun is shining directly on the wall facing me, and I see the very faint outline of a heart and a sunflower, scrawled childishly on the brick wall. It will be the only evidence I find of the ‘unsightly blemishes’ on Fyvie’s formerly immaculate reputation. I arrive at the gate of St Peter’s Parish Church, locally known as Fyvie Kirk. Through the gate, the path to the door of the church is lined with statues of white angels standing vigil over the graves of presumably-prominent Fyvie citizens. Fyvie Kirk was originally built on an early Christian site, which was itself built on top of a pagan site. Looking for the Pictish stones, I walk around the church, scanning the walls, until eventually I find them hidden at the very back of the nave. They are arranged in the shape of a cross, a poignant reminder of the Pagans’ artistic culture. These days, such acts would probably be considered vandalism. Imagine Fyvie if the anonymous culprit had carved their graffiti patterns into the rock. The church bell chimes twelve o’clock. Time for a trip to the pub. Trying to find my way, I accidentally drive out of Fyvie again. Turning around, I see a pheasant prowling the side of the road. I had heard stories of ‘Fred Walker the Pheasant Stalker’ terrorising residents. Surely it isn’t the pheasant. It can’t be. Still, just in case... Grabbing my camera, I get out of the car and approach slowly – partly to avoid scaring it off, and partly to get a running start if things go sideways. But he just looks at me levelly. Watching me. Click. As soon as I snap a photo, he explodes in a rush of squawking and feathers, and starts to run at me. I back up. He advances, like a tiger stalking its prey. He flaps his wings. It’s a ridiculous sight, but I decide to get back in the car. I shut the door and breathe a

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sigh of relief. But, like in any good horror film, I hear a noise. Tap. Tap Tap. Fred is pecking at the car door. The Vale pub looks like it hasn’t changed since the 80s. Outside the door is a bucket filled with hundreds of cigars and cigarette tabbies, the traditional pub welcome mat. Step inside and there’s an assortment of tattered sofas, one of which looks as if it used to be turquoise in colour, but is now more of a pale green. An

deeply wrinkled man sits on it, fingering a packet of cigarillos. A working fireplace sits in a corner, filled with assorted rubbish. The walls are stained with nicotine, memories of a time gone by. At one end of the room, a darts scoreboard shows that “Doug” beat “S” at the last game. Beside that is a pool table, precariously supported by books under one leg. On the ceiling is an assortment of different kinds of lights housing spi-


der webs, and above the bar, in some rafters, a lawn sprinkler sits, upside down, ready in case of a fire. Beside it, a Flymo, spare pool cues, a Chinese lantern and some paper plates. A door lies ajar next to the fireplace, a sign revealing it to be the entrance to the ladies toilets. All that can be seen through the gap is what looks like a broom handle and a mop bucket. The barman stands wiping down the counter with a blackened cloth. He looks up as I enter, and stares at me. The look in his eyes is clear. “Outsider.” Trying to be as casual as possible, I order a glass of Coke. He looks sur-

prised: “Just Coke, aye?” Coke was a mistake. I try to salvage the conversation before he fetches a pitchfork. “Yeah, thanks.” He moves into the back, and is away for about ten minutes. Just as I think he’s forgotten, he comes back and pours my glass. He shuffles awkwardly behind the bar, stubbornly wiping one glass with a grubby cloth. I decide I’m not thirsty after all. Hoping he won’t notice my refusal to drink, I ask about the graffiti. He responds with a snort of derision. “Yeah, it was annoying. Just woke up

one morning and the whole village was covered. Annoying.” “I saw some of it up by the toilets.” “Yeah, some of it just wouldn’t come off, even after the Council deployed a team to remove it. Like a military operation, it was. Annoying.” “Did they ever find out who did it?” “No, no-one was ever caught. The whole thing was just an annoyance.” Another dead end. Annoying. He walks through to the back again.

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