Body of art reflects state of mind

Kat Thornton milled about the Boston Center for the Arts yesterday, proudly sporting her most recent tattoos: two nearly life-size pistols etched on her hips. The 22-year-old Salem native said she got the gunslinger tattoos after a bad breakup with a guy who was "no good."

"Every tattoo means something," she said. "These mean I've got control now."

Don't even ask about the one on her backside.

Welcome to the seventh annual Boston Tattoo Convention, where participants' bodies serve as billboards for painful breakups, memorials to lost loved ones, and calls to revolution. The convention is sponsored by Natan Alexander, who owns tattoo parlors in Boston, Salem, and Saugus. About 40 tattoo shops set up booths for the weekend, offering consultations or on-the-spot tattoos. About 5,000 people are expected to attend - and they're not your usual conventioneers.

The increasing social acceptance of tattoos means that doctors, lawyers, and even middle-class moms are getting them these days, the tattooists said yesterday. But most of the people in attendance yesterday appeared to be devoted fans of the scene, with little skin left for new ink.

Vendors set up booths and worked on their tattoo designs while music from bands with names like the Casualties, Leftover Crack, and Refuse Resist blared over the loudspeaker. The festivities included burlesque acts and contests for best "cover up" for a bad tattoo.

A performance artist from Texas, who gave the name Lizard Man, showed off his forked tongue, pointed teeth, and body covered entirely in a green web tattoo.

"I think it's a good look," he said. "I won't get a job at McDonald's looking this way, but I don't want a job at McDonald's."

Yesterday's convention crowd represents quite a transformation in a state where tattooing was outlawed between 1962 and 2000 due to concerns that unsanitary needles would transmit hepatitis B. The ban was lifted when a state Superior Court judge ruled it unconstitutional in 2000. Since then, tattoo parlors have cropped up by the dozens across the state and convention attendance has grown each year.

Teddy Safarian came to Boston from Asheville, N.C., because he thought the conference was a good opportunity to network. He wore a baseball hat and his body was covered with dozens of tattoos, including a large diamond under one of his earlobes and the airborne face of a woman on his neck. Across his knuckles, in rolling script, a series of letters spelled out, "Fade away."

The significance?

"I only had eight letters and it sounded cool," Safarian said. "I wanted to look tough."

His first tattoo? A heart on his chest when he was 16.

When the conference doors opened to the public at 2 p.m., a line of people, mostly in their 20s and 30s, formed. At a nearby table several city health inspectors sat in the wings. The group planned to patrol the hall all weekend for health violations. And maybe actually participate.

Damon Chaplin and Tom Plant, two Boston health inspectors, said they were considering getting their first tattoos this weekend. Plant thought he might opt for his astrological sign on his back. Chaplin said he's considering his father's nickname, "Bear," on his shoulder.

"I don't know yet," Chaplin said. "My wife is coming down. She likes the butterfly."