artist: Chiara Fersinis
She wanted to design the tat this time. Not that he’d done a bad job with the primroses blooming across her back. But that was his image, his illusion as to who she was.
With him out of her life, she needed something that truly spoke of her soul, her spirit. Not some idealized version of self. Not who she was as seen through other’s eyes.
Designing was more difficult than she thought. As an artist, she turned the still, silent world of the canvas into a cacophony of colours and voices. Her voice was always there, muted in the background.
But a personally-designed tattoo was different. She couldn’t be muted and in the shadows. She had to be the main character in an one act, one person play.
War paint. Yes, that was right.War against personal demons. Wars to survive. Wars to stay sane. Wars fought for others. Wars for justice. Wars for equality. Wars for hope.
She smiled as she flipped to a blank page in her sketch book, and fetched a blank canvas from the pile leaning against the wall. War paint. We are all warriors she thought, picking up her paint brush. We all fight wars.