young badass Horiyoshi III poses with a tosa, a Japanese fighting dog that’s banned in many countries.
The Yokohama Tattoo Museum houses numerous important artifacts, such as these Hori Sada spring-themed sleeve designs. On the right arm, there are peonies; cherry blossoms are depicted on the other.
“In the art world, you are allowed to fudge things,” he continues, adding that artists can call “anything” art—even dog poop. “You cannot do that in the world of the shokunin.” Irezumi is a language, with its own grammar and rules. “If you don’t know the meaning of the symbols and the stories, you can’t tattoo as well. Tattooing becomes superficial. Meaningless.”
Or—just as bad—it can lead to mistakes. “Even if you see a tattoo that looks beautiful, if there’s something that’s not quite right, well, that’s a mistake,” he says. “It’s like a Bentley with the steering wheel in the back seat,” he adds, chuckling.
Horiyoshi III’s invention, a modern tebori tool that can be sterilized, rests atop the antlers. Below are traditional tattooing tools.
Horiyoshi III pauses. “This is just my opinion, but there isn’t traditional tattooing in Japan anymore,” he says. “In the old days, the needles and inks that tattooists used were closely guarded secrets. There was none of this—” he gestures toward the fluorescent lights overhead and the carpeting on the floor. “Tattoos were done on tatami mats by sunlight or candlelight, using old tools.”
“Even if I were doing this tattoo by tebori, it wouldn’t be traditional,” he adds. The heater keeping the room warm on this chilly day would need to be shut off. Inks and colors that might fade easily or cause harm would have to be used, and there wouldn’t be latex gloves and sterilization. That, explains Horiyoshi III, is how tattoos were traditionally done in Japan.
Pointing to the back covered with ink before him, he says, “Rather, I’d call this tattoo ‘traditionalist.’ That’s the word I would use. Calling it ‘traditional’ is disrespectful to the tattooist of the past who worked under the threat of being arrested.”
Horiyoshi III’s work honors the past. Yet it moves the form forward and transforms it, too, whether through his use of different techniques or his creation of brand-new designs that exist in, as he would say, a traditionalist style. All of this is the result of decades of learning—from books, from people, and from life. “I’m still studying,” Horiyoshi III says. “And I’ve been doing this for over forty years.”
The second floor of the Yokohama Tattoo Museum is filled with rare prints, old texts, and countless historical artifacts.
A statue of Horiyoshi III tattooing a phoenix on a woman’s back. In his right hand, he holds the tattooing tool; his left holds a paintbrush in place, which he can use to dab ink on the tool.
CHAPTER 1
KANJI TATTOOS
WORDS AND PHRASES, PUNISHMENT AND PLEDGES
Japanese script has found its way into tattoos in various forms over the centuries. It’s easy to see the appeal: Japanese writing is beautiful, with flowing characters and pictograms. It’s also easy to see why so many tattooists outside the country often make mistakes when working with Japanese script: the language is complex, and incorporates several different writing systems.
In recent years, bad kanji tattoos have become a cliché. Just look online: There’s the man who thought he got the word “courage” tattooed on his back, but found out the characters 大過 (taika) actually meant “big mistake.” There’s the woman who ended up with 醜 (shuu), thinking it meant “friendship,” only to find out it means “ugly,” or the individual sporting a tragic バカ外人 (baka gaijin, meaning “stupid foreigner”) tattoo. Then there are the folks who end up with ink that either doesn’t make sense, or worse, is complete gibberish. This is enough to put anyone off the idea of getting a kanji tattoo! It shouldn’t, though, as long as you make an informed decision. In Japan, irezumi aren’t done on a whim; there is traditionally more thought given. Japan has a long history of script tattoos—some of it good, some of it bad, and all of it fascinating.
Old Chinese and Japanese manuscripts, a mix of fact and folklore, do mention tattooing. One Chinese account dating from the late third century states that in Japan, decorative markings denoted rank or social status, and that Japanese shell divers had tattoos to protect themselves from harmful sea creatures. But by the fifth century, tattooing had an entirely different meaning: punishment and shame. Punitive tattoos were likely imported to Japan via China and were used to ostracize. In ancient China, which influenced early Japanese culture, tattoos were used to mark criminals and slaves, so it’s certainly possible that this is how disciplinary tattoos came to Japan. The Nihon Shoki (Chronicles of Japan), which dates from 720 AD and is the country’s second-oldest history text, recounts how in 400 AD Emperor Richu had a rebel tattooed on the face for attempting to plot a coup, showing just how damning tattoos were. The same text recounts a story of an old codger with a tattooed face who commits theft, with the obvious implication that tattoos marked crooks. Yet another story tells how in 467 AD Emperor Yuryaku had a man permanently inked on the face after his dog killed an imperial bird. Irezumi weren’t exactly winning in the ancient history PR department.
Common locations for kanji irezumi include the chest and the spine. The tattoo 不惜身命 (fushakushinmyou) is sometimes translated as “not sparing one’s life for a worthy cause,” but actually, it’s a religious expression that refers to self-sacrificing dedication to Buddha or Buddhist law. The tattoo 我武者 羅 (gamushara) means “daredevil,” “hothead,” or even “lunatic.” Yikes!
This motif depicts Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the legendary Japanese sword used to slay the Japanese dragon Yamata no Orochi. Traditionally, this dragon is said to have eight heads, but here it has one. A bonji character alluding to the Buddhist deity Fudo Myoo (see page 98) is emblazoned on the blade.
During the seventh century, irezumi began to fade as punishment, and save for one surviving mention of punitive tattoos in a 13th-century legal code, it wasn’t until the 17th century that penal tattoos were back with a vengeance. In the early 1600s, the Tokugawa shogunate took over Japan, creating a highly stratified society and secluding the vast majority of the country from the outside world. By the later part of that century, irezumi penalties returned, along with the slicing off of noses and ears—the latter a gruesome punishment that was no longer inflicted by 1720. Punitive tattoos, however, stuck around.
The act of applying punishment tattoos is called irezumi-kei (入墨 刑), with kei referring to penalty, sentence,
