Art, especially body art, speaks volumes to who you are as a person. It’s a reflection of your story.

For me, my story has had so many different chapters. The man I am now is a completely different person from who I was when I first found tattooing — and it shows, both in how I see the world around me and through the art on my skin.

Although the man I am today is so different from the man I was before, I still have a lot of respect, a lot of gratitude for my past-self.

Even though the road was rocky, even if there were times I felt lost, times where I didn’t know if I had what it takes to keep going, it led me to where I am today — a man I can be proud of when I look in the mirror.

More Than Skin Deep — My Tattoos, a Story in Progress

People think that tattoos are permanent. And to a lot of people, they are. They become a part of you, a marker in time.

A lot of tattoo artists keep their old tattoos, almost like a timeline of their work — the old, the faded, the blurry, and even the more poorly done work from the beginning of their careers.

Everyone has a different way of honoring the past, of expressing themselves through their work.

But for me, while tattoos are permanent, they can develop with the changes of your life. I want the art on my body to match the same standard of art I create for others.

In the same way that I embrace change as an entrepreneur, in how Skin Design adapts with each shift of the industry, my artwork is constantly evolving. Just like my business grows and changes, so can the way I choose to wear my art.

My art speaks to what’s most important to me. And now, as a 53 year old artist, business owner, father, husband, friend, and industry leader, the stories I wear on my skin tell a lot about who I am.

They represent my values, my love for my family, how sacred this artform is to me, and they honor my culture — something that nearly got stripped away from me as my family had to leave our home country because of the war.

Marked By My Past

Recently, I interviewed with Michelle Barone from iHeart Media. During the podcast, we talked a lot about the stages of my journey. It really got me thinking.

Back when I was in prison, I was just 16. The world I grew up in wouldn't have allowed me to be the man I am today. Back then, showing kindness or vulnerability was a liability. It was every man for himself. You had to be focused on your own survival — and even then, every day was a challenge.

Between the violence and racism of post-Vietnam War Southern California, the tensions of my homelife (with my parents navigating their own trauma and loss), and the grip of gang-life, just staying alive was a constant battle.

I was a product of my environment. I was young and angry. That's all I knew. And that was reflected in my tattoos — a visual representation of the rage I carried.

Even the process of prison tattoos felt angry, painful. During my seven year sentence, I learned how to tattoo with the resources we had available to us — a guitar string. It was brutal. When I was first learning, I didn’t know how hard you had to sink the string into your skin to make the ink stick.

New to my craft, I ended up making amateur mistakes, penetrating the skin so much deeper than I needed to.

But, like I told Michelle, it helped me to be mentally strong. I learned how to focus, to find strength within myself, and not let physical discomfort outweigh my goals.

At first, I was my own canvas. I did all my tattoos with a distorted prison mirror. I was just so thankful for the opportunity to start something I’d loved so much growing up: creating art.

Art got me through so much as a kid, and it really helped me survive prison, too.

Once my tattoos started gaining notoriety, prison life became so much easier for me. Without being able to do favors for people, without a form of currency, prison can be isolating. Dangerous. But my art helped me gain inmates’ respect. Through tattooing, God blessed me with another chance.

I was able to go through prison doing what I love — even if, at the time, I never thought that would translate into a career on the outside. I’d found a way to be an artist again. It helped me reinvent myself.

Tattooed Redemption: How Prison Gave Me a New Life

For so many people, a prison sentence is the worst thing that could ever happen to them. But for me, it’s been one of my greatest blessings. If I didn’t have tattooing, I don’t know where I’d be.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it until my last breath — none of this was supposed to happen to me.

At least one in four ex-prisoners end up arrested again within a year of release. It usually ends up with people falling into cycles of poverty, addiction, crime. I’ve lost so many friends to that life. That so easily could have been my reality, too.

The life I had waiting for me outside of prison was never easy. No degree, no formal skills, a record — and still, I had a family to support. Tattooing ended up being my lifeline. It gave me the foundation I needed for a new beginning.

Because of tattooing, I’ve been able to not only provide for my wife and children, but create a legacy for them to inherit.

And I wanted to make sure my own tattoos were a reflection of that, too.

Past, Present, and Purpose — My Transformation from Inmate to Leader

While I’ll always be thankful for the man I was before, for overcoming all the obstacles of my past, that’s not how I want to present myself now. The universe has given me the opportunity to become someone new — a leader, a teacher sent here with the purpose of guiding and uplifting others.

I owe it to my SDT family, to the industry that’s given me everything.

During the podcast, I explained how I no longer relate to the tattoos I’d given myself in prison. I’ll always hold a piece of them with me, carrying the parts of my story that helped create the man I stand as today, but it was time for me to let go, to start over.

To do that, I needed a clean slate.

In 2004, I started the removal process. Whole-body tattoo removal isn’t simple, and it isn’t fun. It's a long, excruciating process. Each laser session feels like a thousand tiny needles slamming into your skin; it’s so much worse than the actual process of getting a tattoo.

I had to harness that same mental endurance that I’d found in prison when I first started tattooing myself. It was another test of willpower, another reminder of who I am, who I’d been, and the grit it took to keep growing.

Sitting in that chair, I realized that it’s not the struggles that define you. It’s what you choose to do with the lessons you learn along the way.

My experience throughout the laser removal inspired me. It’s part of the reason SDT started offering laser removal in our Las Vegas shop, and now our newer, SoHo studio. When clients would come to me for the service, I’d send them elsewhere, to doctors and other local removal places.

But they’d come back scarred. After my own journey with removal, knowing first hand just how important it can be, I knew we had to do it ourselves — to do it better, for the clients we serve.

This is our community. Whatever it needs, we’re here to make sure it happens. That’s the Skin Design way, the reason our empire is so strong.

My story, my brand, my legacy, is forever changing. The man I am today, the art I have etched onto my skin, might look different from the man I am tomorrow.

The removal process wasn't about erasing the past; it was about making space for the artist I'd become, the leader I strive to be, and the future I'm actively creating — one tattoo at a time.

I’m so thankful for all the artists that have tattooed me since the removal. Jack Rudy, Carlos Torres, Nikko Hurtado, Bob Tyrrell, Tom Renshaw, Robert Hernandez, Kore Flatmo — just to name a few.