Today I took a leisurely stroll downtown to meet my friend Leslie for lunch. While heading north on 105 street I noticed a woman walking toward me. I glanced at her as passers-by do, and noted that her top was revealing enough to show the upper portion of what appeared to be a full-torso tattoo.
My eyebrows moved upward imperceptibly as I realized what the tattoo portrayed: a cutaway view of the woman's internal organs. There were her ribs and sinew, her lungs, a network of veins and arteries. In the brief glimpse that politeness allowed, I had enough time to assess the tattoo's merit: somewhat macabre, but, from what I know of anatomy, remarkably accurate and realistic, with a very convincing three-dimensional quality.
As I said to Leslie a few minutes later, I can't decide whether I admire the tattooed woman's gumption or if I'm appalled by the gory garishness of the art. Either way, it's certainly her right to express herself, and I can't help but think of the tattoo as an interesting way to combat the male gaze.
My eyebrows moved upward imperceptibly as I realized what the tattoo portrayed: a cutaway view of the woman's internal organs. There were her ribs and sinew, her lungs, a network of veins and arteries. In the brief glimpse that politeness allowed, I had enough time to assess the tattoo's merit: somewhat macabre, but, from what I know of anatomy, remarkably accurate and realistic, with a very convincing three-dimensional quality.
As I said to Leslie a few minutes later, I can't decide whether I admire the tattooed woman's gumption or if I'm appalled by the gory garishness of the art. Either way, it's certainly her right to express herself, and I can't help but think of the tattoo as an interesting way to combat the male gaze.
