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Uploaded 17/5/02
Skin Deep – A History of Tattooing
National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, from
22 March to 30 September 2002
In 1909, the US government forbade the enlistment of men with ‘indecent
or obscene tattooing’ into the navy. At the time, about 90%
of the US Navy’s sailors were already tattooed and, according
to my grandfather (a merchant seaman for 50 years) the Royal Navy
was about the same. He always refused to describe a tattoo he once
had on his right arm; it was hurriedly over-tattooed with a large,
colourful pot of flowers shortly before his wedding. During the
rapid recruitment and re-enlistment of sailors during the 1940s,
tattoo parlours did a brisk business altering existing tattoos to
make them acceptable to the straight-laced authorities.
The popularity of tattoos has experienced more than usual fluctuations
with fashion. This exhibition records that George V, Sir Winston
Churchill’s mother and other high-society figures were tattooed
in the late 19th century, but we have no pictorial evidence. During
the infamous ‘Crisis what crisis?’ Commonwealth conference
in the Caribbean in the late 1970s, it was rumoured that the reason
Prime Minister James Callaghan did not join other leaders in the
swimming pool was that he was heavily tattooed from his time in
the navy. Sadly, ‘Skin Deep’ neither confirms nor denies
the story.
The large dragon, tattooed on King George’s arm in 1882, was
done during a royal visit to Japan. When he returned home, the country
was introduced to a whole new style of tattooing. Japanese forms
– highly coloured, complex, synthesising abstract and mythological
elements – remain popular to this day, and Japanese/Chinese
characters, expressing a variety of sentiments, are among the most
commonly requested patterns in today’s tattoo parlours.
In post-war Britain, tattoos were generally associated with sailors,
prostitutes and society’s ‘dregs’ until the last
few decades – which have seen an explosion in the popularity
of the technique beyond anything previously seen. Seemingly, no
pop star or footballer feels complete without a variety of permanent
body decorations. David Beckham has (at last count) an angel, his
son’s name, and his wife’s name in Hindi. Robbie Williams
has several, including a large ‘Maoriesque’ abstract on
his shoulder, executed by Te Rangitu Netana, the leading figure
in the artistic revival of New Zealand tattooing.
We may not have pictures of aristocratic British tattoos, and the
earlier sections of the exhibition are a little sparse, but the
modern sections more than make up for it. It’s a pity that
none of the highly illustrated people who walk our streets have
not volunteered to be on permanent display, but there are several
three dimensional representations, in the form of painted mannequin
body parts attached to the walls.
Considering the ubiquity of tattooing in Britain today, it’s
surprising to discover that it was almost unknown in northern Europe
until the early 1770s, when Captain Cook returned from Polynesia
with drawings of tattoos of the islanders. Scarification skin marking
was done among some ancient European tribes (‘Utze the Iceman’,
the 2,000-year-old shepherd found on an Alpine glacier in 1991,
had simple markings on his well-preserved skin) but the practice
disappeared completely.
On many Pacific islands, however, over several millennia, tattooing
became an integral part of the culture with significance and meaning
beyond just body decoration. It was rediscovered (for the West)
by the voyages of Captain Cook, who reached Tahiti in 1769, where
the islanders were marked with ‘tatau’ to protect them
from evil spirits and Joseph Banks, the great naturalist, wrote
the first European account of tattooing. The expedition artist,
Sydney Parkinson, made drawings and watercolours of the swirling,
abstract, facial tattoos of New Zealand Maori warriors.
The fantastic designs were not only appreciated by the higher ranks;
the ordinary seamen also found them irresistible. Many sailors were
tattooed on these early voyages, including the crew of the ‘Bounty’,
several of whom were later identified as mutineers by the tattoos
they acquired in Tahiti; apparently, Fletcher Christian had some
spectacular work done on his buttocks.
The arrival of Christian missionaries in the Pacific meant the
suppression of tattooing and by the 1850s many of the traditional
designs and their meaning had disappeared. Fortunately, the existence
of Parkinson’s illustrations and other recordings has allowed
modern Polynesians to revive some of their heritage.
In addition to historical material, this exhibition also includes
the revival of Maori tattooing (Moko) that has taken place over
the last 20 years – a phenomenon that received a wide audience
via the well-received film ‘Once Were Warriors’. The exhibition
includes short films about the reclamation of their history by young
Maoris and a striking video of ‘ordinary people’ talking
about their tattoos and what they mean to them.
There is also a section that encourages people to think about their
reasons for wanting a tattoo, how to pick the most appropriate design
and best artist, and how it would influence their lives – well
worth the trip to Greenwich for anyone considering the procedure,
let alone the inspiration the rest of the exhibition provides for
subject matter.
The exhibition is arranged chronologically and is probably best
enjoyed that way, because the spectacular contemporary work of tattoo
artists including Zoe Windle, Malcolm Riches, Jane Woodgate and
Walter Kirkpatrick combine to make a rousing climax: almost, but
not quite, enough to persuade me to follow my grandfather’s
example.
Dr Robert Johnston
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