When James Jirat started doing tattoos, he kept it a secret. He was a successful illustrator with a powerful solo show at LA’s Superchief Gallery under his belt, but he was drawn to the needle like a dirty habit. A friend had already taught him some basics and he was casually practicing on fake skin and on himself, but he didn’t truly go for it until the pandemic. “It was a bit of a body horror nightmare because trying to concentrate while causing yourself pain sucks,” he laughs. “But I had all this extra time during COVID to commit to learning, which I didn’t have before.” So he started tattooing any friends who would let him, getting as much experience as possible before going public with his new passion last year.
The pandemic wasn’t the only thing to change Jirat’s life over that period. He’d spent a year in Bangkok reconnecting with his roots and himself. This was also when Instagram’s algorithm changed dramatically, which limited his reach. “The past couple years were my ‘black ops years,’ because I was just toiling away in secret on a bunch of different projects,” he says. And that included learning to tattoo. With all these things combined, he largely stopped posting online. He did, however, post under the Noirdealer pseudonym, partly to avoid the criticism he was receiving about going into tattooing.
Tattooing has worked out better financially than illustration—which Jirat had been living off for 20 years—but it’s also more satisfying creatively: “I’ve always been looking for a sustainable home for my work where I can really push imagery and ideas I want to explore without having to compromise or hold back.” He now has a private studio with Wassim Bazzi in Sydney.
The ability to say “no” to illustration jobs that he doesn’t enjoy because he can rely on tattooing has made Jirat a happier person. “I was involved in some projects that were a massive waste of my time, but they were a vital lesson about where to devote my energy. I was burnt out. My therapist told me to divert the energy I spend on other people’s shit, and now my life is completely different.” (His work is still pretty dark, don’t worry.)
Tattooing is also a more rewarding relationship with his clients, Jirat says: “They trust me a lot more. With illustration, you’re solving a problem for someone else and completing their vision. That comes with a lot of changes and feedback for an imaginary audience they’re afraid might get offended by something. The process felt very claustrophobic over time.” Tattooing, on the other hand, is one-on-one, and clients tend to treat it like they’re collecting a piece of art from him. “The only person you have to appease is right there in front of you, and they’re doing it for themselves.”
Moving into tattooing has changed Jirat’s style. Although he still works in the same themes like angry dobermans, latex dominatrixes, chains, and skulls, he’s moved into blackwork and left behind the neon color pallet he was known for. He’s also stripped back his work and deals in small pieces rather than maximalist compositions (a complex back piece is definitely a goal, though). Things like shading styles and use of negative space have even fed back into his illustration. He’s also going harder on abstract metal lettering, which is actively embraced in tattoos but was problematic in illustration.
Carving permanent ink into someone’s skin is also much different than painting on a canvas, and Jirat makes sure that the composition of his pieces fits well with the curves of his client’s bodies and matches their personalities. “I’m not the biggest fan of just slapping something on someone and disregarding how it will actually look on them,” he says. “When the focus is the tattoo rather than the person, it seems so impersonal. At the end of the day, that person has to rock it and be comfortable with it, and that’s really important to me.” The body, the tattoo, and the individual are all connected.
