Judging.

Bloody odd thing to do. Something I avoid generally.

Yet, for the second time I will be judging at the New York City Tattoo Convention this weekend. Contests are an odd portion of the tattoo convention circuit. At once a celebration and a also inadvertently (or perhaps the opposite) creating a hierarchy in what has, by some sociologist, been referred to as a community gathering.

Sure, some tattoos are better than others. Some are, in fact, fucking glorious, while others are absolute shit. I have what I consider both of those extremes on my own body. I don’t think I’d have the balls to put any of them under the scrutiny of the convention contest judge – even if for two brief days every few years I am one of  those folks.

I enjoy the opportunity to clock some 1,500 or so tattoos in 3 hours in close quarters. The volume is incredibly important in developing my own eye. In understanding different conceptions of line and different shading technique. From that point of view there is nothing to loose.

But, it remains strange for me to be part of a team that bestows honor over one person, bearing the work of another, above all other attendees. Is it a required element of the tattoo community? Must there be stars in all sub-groupings?

I despise sneaker contests… which are more often than not predicated on who can spend the most or has the best connections. The love of these collectors might be the same as the kid that can only afford a single pair of Sambas, but the fracture in the community that results shifts perception of interest.

You are best if you can spend.

Good tattoos cost good money. So does good trim in your kitchen. Good meat on your plate. Good anything really.

I’m willing to except that.

I’m willing to except too, that people enjoy competition.

I just wish that competition and commerce weren’t so conflated. And, that competition and commerce didn’t work so well to fracture community.

This Friday’s rant brought to you by exhaustion.