Four tattoo artists on how they got their start in the body art industry.

Spring has sprung here in the Windy City, which evidently means more opportunities to show off that ink you got back in December. You might even feel inspired to add a new piece to your collection.

Whether it’s from a bubbly artist with bubblegum-pink hair working out of her apartment, or a seasoned in-shop tattooer, Chicago has no shortage of places to obtain some new body art.

Some of these artists may be unexpected, but each one has a unique story that shapes their passion for what they do. After all, the occupation of “tattoo artist” does not have to be reserved for brawny bikers who are inked from head to toe.

Milwaukee-based historian Amelia Klem Osterud, whose area of expertise is tattoo history, mainly studies tattooed women and possesses extensive knowledge on the evolution of tattoo culture from 1882-1995. 

“1882 [was] the first year that women worked as tattooed ladies in professional performance, and 1995 was when the last woman retired who worked solely as a tattooed lady,” Osterud said.

Her knowledge on this wide range of history provides some insight to the evolution of style and societal response to visible tattoos, as well as the craftsmanship of the images themselves.

“In the ‘60s and ‘70s we started seeing people who were becoming tattoo artists, who had attended art school,” Osterud said. 

Jennifer Arter (@local_p0ke)

Jennifer Arter is one such artist. Originally from a small town in Maine, she moved to Chicago when she began attending the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) for photography. She now operates out of a home studio in Bucktown.

“During the pandemic I didn’t want to take a lot of art classes online,” Arter said. “So I went home–during the pandemic–for like two years…I think I had always seen – on Instagram – things like handpoke stuff … and so I was like ‘what if I tried that.’”

Arter detailed that she bought all of the supplies she needed, and soon began tattooing other people within her hometown.

“By word of mouth, [in], like, this tight-knit community … everyone caught on,” Arter said. “It kind of became a ‘thing’ before I meant for it to.”

Tattooing in Chicago started much slower for Arter, but the ball got rolling once she started promoting her contemporary-realism-style tattoos on Instagram, getting them in front of fresh eyes.

This art style is unique and impressive by today’s standards, but when looked at from a historical standpoint, the skill and patience it takes to produce a satisfactory tattoo may become more apparent.

“The tattooing that occurred in the late 19th century, if you look at, like, close-up images of some of these people, the artwork is terrible!” Osterud said. 

She described that the crude-looking illustrations are often a result of the technology available to tattooists at the time – hand-poking or modified Edison electric pens, which are one of the first tattoo machine patents. From an alternative perspective, this could be considered the birth of the DIY tattoo scene – albeit in a much less sanitary way.

“Essentially … these people are like billboards for my art for the rest of their life,” Arter said. “And everyone loves a tattoo.”

The social aspect of this job isn’t exclusively positive, though. Arter explained that setting boundaries with clients and friends – including determining how much she would charge for her artwork – can be tricky.

“Especially with friends who wanted tattoos, when it became, like, something that I love and a job, it felt like people just want things from you, and you kind of have to, like, navigate that,” Arter said. 

Arter explained that meeting other independent tattooists, who are mainly on Instagram, has created a helpful network for her to grow as both an artist and businessperson. 

“It’s just, like, extremely validating to know other people who go through this other stuff,” Arter said. “And it’s just nice to, like, talk and kind of bounce off of what they’ve done to make decisions…[independently tattooing] can be lonely and it’s nice to have a[n] atmosphere that’s not work [or] home. Like a space specifically for this.”

Jeff “Frosty” Fraas (@electricyetti)

Elgin native Jeff Fraas, known in his workplace and among clients as “Frosty,” operates out of Tattoo Factory. Parlors like these are often referred to as “street shops,” and this one calls the Uptown neighborhood its home. Fraas said he officially started tattooing around 2015.

“It’s a rough guess, but I’ve been hanging out with all these same people since, like, y’know, 2003…four, something like that,” Fraas said. “So, I’ve known a bunch of people in the industry for a long time.”

While Fraas has been tattooing for a number of years, his artistic drive comes from starting as a classically trained oil painter. However, his heart has also harbored fondness for graphic art – the kind that is often associated with modern tattooing.

“There were lots of people who had tattoos in the 19th century,” Osterud said. “But … they were often working class people, so they were not people who ended up in history, they were not people who were recorded, they were not people who were sort of seen as part of, like, elite society.”

Such an association was unfortunately sustained within the United States through the 1990s, undermining the dedication and skill required by artists of the craft.

“I actually resisted [tattooing] for quite a long time,” Fraas said. “It was just one of those things that I didn’t know if I wanted to be the person to do that, you know what I mean? Like it’s a lot.”

Fraas explained how he worked manual labor jobs prior to tattooing, and one day became so fed up with the line of work he was in that he decided to give tattooing a try. 

“We do a lot of walk-in business,” said Fraas. “Which is, uh, it keeps you on your toes, for sure.”

As well as walk-ins, clients can book appointments with Fraas. While he is fairly open style-wise, he tends to gravitate towards illustrative, American traditional, and fine line tattoos.

Logan Kruidenier (@happy_tatz)

Originally from Goleta, California, Logan Kruidenier has created a name for himself in the world of alternative tattoos by inking people with character-heavy designs of his own creation.

“I’ve actually only been tattooing for, like, under two years,” Kruidenier said. 

The practice of tattooing may be relatively new to Kruidenier, but his passion for the arts has weaved in between different mediums for the majority of his life.

“I have … both my degrees are in printmaking,” Kruidenier said. “I used to do a lot of copperplate etchings … I ended up going to grad school so I could become, like a teacher, an art teacher, and so I went to SAIC.”

During his time there, Kruidenier dabbled in an array of different art forms, including but not limited to sculpting and mask-making.

“I’ve always been really big into zines and books, so I’d make a lot of those.” Kruidenier said. “I actually moved [to Chicago] to be part of the zine and alternative comics scene.”

Kruidenier also taught virtual painting and drawing classes during the pandemic. It was after this time that he began tattooing, as he felt he had exhausted all his other work options as an artist. 

“I’m 29, and, like, when I was, like, 21 there was no alternative tattoo scene really at all,” said Kruidenier. “It’s really only come about like the past six years.”

In a way, he is carrying on a tradition that emerged in the mid-20th century–establishing a distinct tattooing style using his previous experience as an artist through multiple different mediums.

“In the ‘60s and ‘70s tattooing itself was really coming into its own,” said Osterud. “This wave of art school graduates were getting into tattooing, and so the artistic nature of tattooing was really improving.”

Kruidenier is going on his seventh year in Chicago. His fresh start left behind a hometown without much of an art scene in general. 

“All my friends in Chicago are DIY, and because there’s no real, like, alternative studio here, like there is in LA or New York,” Kruidenier said. “We just ended up in the same job, and like, doing the same thing, and naturally bond, and that’s great.”

JD Reno (@jdelicious1)

Native to the South Side, JD Reno is another former art teacher who found his niche in the world of tattooing.

“I left [teaching] pretty quickly, after a full school year,” Reno said. “So, while I was apprenticing I was earning my living as a substitute teacher.”

Reno began apprenticing – learning the skill of tattooing from more seasoned professionals – just over 10 years ago. He detailed receiving mixed opinions from the people in his life about his shift in careers.

“I think my mom was one of the only people who encouraged me to go and do it,” said Reno. 

One concern that was raised by many of the people in Reno’s life was the potential for blood-borne pathogens to be spread on the job.

These pathogens were a potential reason that tattooing was illegal in Milwaukee until 1998, three years after Osterud, our historian, was tattooed for the first time.

“There was this wave of [tattoo] bans that went across many municipalities in the ‘50s and the ‘60s,” said Osterud. “It was really couched in the language of disease control.”

Osterud went on to explain that the bans had a lot to do with public opinion considering tattoos unprofessional or unacceptable. Rather than come up with licensing and health guidelines, some cities attempted to eradicate the art form altogether.

“As a tattooer you get trained in how to deal with [sanitation], almost like a medical practitioner,” Reno said. “You have to really learn what you’re doing to protect your clients and protect yourself.”

Reno also revealed he builds his own tattoo machines from scratch, truly rendering him a jack-of-all-trades.

“The [coil] machine, for me, was how, what I learned as the tool of the craft,” said Reno. “I’ve clung to that technology tightly because, like I said, I make machines and I’m also very familiar with their operation.”

Reno described that his extensive knowledge of his tools has fostered a unique relationship between himself and his work, strengthening his connection with others in this field.

“It gave you this extra sense of value that, you know, that A: you’re a tattooer, you’re able to take care of your customers and … nurture long-standing relationships with clients,” Reno said. “But there was a time when I felt very valued by other tattooers.”

Header Illustration by Yù Yù Zander