I’ve been realizing, more and more each day, why I was called to Vegas. Why I’m still in the studio long after my last tattoo is done—sweeping, mopping, locking up with the team.
Showing up matters. Being present matters. People need to see that I still care—even at my age. That I’m still here, right beside them, putting in the work.
I wouldn’t expect them to give anything that I wouldn’t give myself.
You can feel the shift already. Sundays used to be the slowest day of the week. Now? Every booth’s filled. The energy is different. People are excited again. Hungry. Artists are coming in early, staying late. Asking questions—eager to learn. To challenge the limits of their craft.
The plants we thought were dying are coming back to life. The space is alive again—and so are the people in it. That kind of change doesn’t happen by accident. That’s what happens when leadership becomes a lifestyle. Not just a title.
I’ve been doing this long enough to know that tattooing is only part of it. For me, it’s also about mentorship. It’s about family. It’s helping those around me grow—not just as artists, but as people. It’s about creating a legacy that extends past the walls of the studio.
Even when I’m not physically there, I stay connected. To my daughters in their own corners of the world. To the team across the country. Hawaii, New York, California. Overseas.
I get photos sent to me every night: works in progress, designs, healed shots. I send back critiques. Notes. Encouragement. That’s how we keep evolving. That’s how we contribute to the next generation.
Take someone like McKenna. She apprenticed under me for over two years, and she’s really taken off.
She sends me her work every night. And I make time, every single time, to look, respond, and guide her. Because that’s what it takes to level up. And that’s what mentorship really is. Consistency. Commitment. Care.
Artists like Yefry—whose focus shows in every piece he creates. Quietly one-upping himself, session after session. Keebs, always dialed in and steady, always with a smile.
Amanda’s the same way. Detail-oriented. Driven. You can tell she’s chasing growth, not just praise.
Angel. He’s hungry—and it shows. There are so many artists in the Skin Design family pushing themselves daily, inspiring me to do better. To be better.
Artists like Nigel, who aren’t just thinking about their next tattoo—they’re thinking long-term. He’s back in school for business, not just for himself, but to help us grow. To grow with us. That kind of loyalty—that kind of vision—you don’t see it every day.
Not everyone stays forever. I don’t expect them to. That’s part of being a mentor, too—knowing when to guide someone through the next phase of their life, even if it means letting go.
But I can tell you this: the ones who stay? They have love and loyalty toward the people who helped them get to where they are. The ones who helped them grow—and that mindset pays off. Everyone’s made better for it, constantly elevating themselves and the ones around them.
I’ve seen what happens when people leave too fast, when they try to scale something without a foundation. Some of them are still struggling. Still hurting. Because it’s hard out there without the support, without the structure, without the family we’ve built here. This isn’t just a job; it’s a culture. A lifestyle. A community. And it takes work to maintain that.
I’m proud of the ones who’ve grown into leaders themselves.
Artists like Lynn and Christina—who I had the honor of mentoring early on, now winning Best of Day at the Dallas Sinners Tattoo Expo.
The Skin Design family reminds me, time and time again, why I push myself so hard—why I miss out on so many moments with my own family, traveling to whatever studio needs me most.
They make it all worth it.
Every Line Leads Back to Them
Last week, my family came to visit me, traveling all the way from Hawaii and New York.
Even with everything going on, I’m balancing being a father in every sense of the word. At home, in the studio, across cities and time zones.
My oldest two, Reena and Reesa, are artists of their own. I mentor them the same way I mentor anyone in the shop—only with a little more weight behind every lesson. Watching them grow into their own styles, their own voices, is one of the greatest honors of my life.
And getting to tattoo alongside them this week on a chest panel collab with one of my longtime clients?
What a blessing—both as an artist and a father.
I was in the studio with one of my repeat clients—someone who trusts me not just for my work but as a person. Someone I’m lucky enough to consider a friend.
He remembered Reena from way back when, back when she was just seven years old, running around the shop while I worked, my little shadow.
Now, years later, he’s watching her tattoos take her around the world. Watching her leave her own mark on the industry.
When I told him she was in Vegas, he lit up. When I suggested we come together to collaborate on his next piece? He said he’d love to.
That’s one of the things we’ve bonded on so heavily: family. One of the things that’s brought us together—the meaning behind the ink. Family drives everything we do.
He gave me the greatest gift of all: working alongside my two oldest daughters, nothing but the steady hum of the tattoo machine, laughter, and a good friend between us. I knew I had to give back by creating something just as special for him.
The design came from a personal place. I’ve known him for over a decade now. I know what he’s been battling—mentally, emotionally. He knows me like that, too. Every session with him ends up feeling like therapy, for both of us.
He’s one of the kindest people I know, and people have taken advantage of that. I’ve been there. I know what that feels like. That was the inspiration for his design.
I created something for him rooted in strength. Renaissance meets realism. A visual story about resilience. An archangel at the top, sword raised. A devil at the bottom. Demons surrounding it. The fight between light and dark. Spirit and shadow.
It took weeks to design. Before I even knew it would be a collaboration, I knew I had to make this one special. Something that fit not just his body, but his mindset. His spirit. His journey.
It ended up being a two-day collab. The first day was just me and him, spent outlining, designing, catching each other up on our lives.
The next day, Reena got to jump in.
I don’t care how old I get or how established Reena is in her career—there is something so incredible about working alongside my daughter in the studio. It’s a pride I can’t even put into words.
Being both her father and her mentor—it’s a role I don’t take lightly. And experiences like these remind me why.
Reena didn’t have a lot of time here in Vegas. She has a studio to run in New York, her own clients to create art for and connect with.
She was here for just a few days, already fully booked, but we managed to line up this one day. I knew how much it meant to our client, how much it meant to me.
Watching her work—how focused she is, how steady—was surreal.
She’s not that little girl in the shop anymore. She’s her own artist now. Her own presence. But when we work side by side, I still catch glimpses of that seven-year-old self, just in the way she moves, the way she looks over to check in with me. I don’t say it out loud, but I feel it.
And then came the surprise.
My wife, Reesa, and Vanna were all in the studio, just visiting. We weren’t planning on having anyone else join in, but the timing worked out perfectly. Almost like it was fate.
The last few hours were spent with all three of us tattooing him—me, Reena, and Reesa. Three artists. One family. One canvas.
There’s no blueprint for moments like that. You can’t stage them, can’t force them. They just happen—if the bond is real, if the foundation is strong. It was emotional, even if none of us said it out loud. We didn’t have to. The energy in the room said everything. The kind you feel more than hear.
Vanna sat close by, soaking it all in. She’s still young—still years away from the craft—but she’s watching. And that matters. She sees the way we move. The way we support each other. The way the studio turns into a second home when the right people are in it. She may not fully understand it yet, but one day she will. One day she’ll know how rare this all is.
We tattooed into the night, the rhythmic humming of the machine, the quiet conversation between friends.
It was a full-circle experience. We all got to be part of something that mattered—something that will never be repeated in the exact same way again. That kind of trust, that kind of loyalty, doesn’t just happen. It’s built over years. Over consistency.
It was legacy in action. And it made me think:
This is what it’s all about—why God called me to Vegas. This is what fatherhood looks like. This is what mentorship feels like.
Not just in the big lessons—but in the moments you show up, without being asked. The way you pass down knowledge. The way you create space for others to grow. Whether it’s your child or your apprentice, leadership means putting your ego aside so someone else can rise.
That’s what I try to model. That’s what I hope they remember.
Because when I’m gone, it won’t be the trophies or awards people talk about. It won’t even be the ink. It’ll be moments like this. Moments where love showed up in the form of time. In presence. In patience.
And that’s the legacy I want to leave.
Not just as an artist. But as a father. A mentor. A man.
This is what I was made for. And I’m so grateful for clients like these that make it all possible.
I don’t take experiences like this for granted.
This was more than a tattoo. It was a memory we’ll carry for the rest of our lives. A chapter in all our stories.
And I hope there are more like it—more father-daughter moments like this. More art rooted in meaning, trust, and connection. Moments that remind us why we do what we do.
