Bree Stallworth Built a Place for Her “Spooky People”

I GREW UP in the music scene, going to metal shows, where everyone rocked tattoos. The more shows I went to, the more I found my attention drawn away from the stage, onto the tattoos on the people around me. I dreamed that maybe one day I could become a tattoo artist myself.

My parents are pretty traditional and conservative. They expected me to go straight from high school to college, but we found a compromise with art school, where I focused on drawing and oil painting. After college, I started working at an art supply store in Atlanta, and one day serendipity struck. A tattoo artist came in who wanted to learn oil painting. I seized the moment, spontaneously. “Hey dude,” I told him. “I’ll teach you to paint if you give me an apprenticeship at your shop!” He said yes, and I was on my way.

Other friends opened spooky businesses: one opened a spooky hair salon; another started a spooky clothing line. We feed off of each other.

I’ve always been enthralled with horror movies, Halloween and all its trappings — anything spooky. My tattoo style juxtaposes the dark and supernatural with elements of nature and beauty. A moth; a black rose; a creepy doll; Cerberus, the three-headed dog: these are the kinds of tattoos I’m known for.

The Atlanta suburbs, where I started my career, can be dull and plain, perhaps the least spooky place in the country. But I discovered that the suburbs still had a little community of spooky people, and over time, I was able to reel them into the shop for tattoos. Soon our spookiness began to reflect and refract in interesting ways. Other friends opened spooky businesses: one opened a spooky hair salon; another started a spooky clothing line. We feed off of each other.

After several years working a chair at big tattoo shops and becoming increasingly responsible for the business side of things, I was like, “Dang, I can do this myself.” And I decided to open my own little shop, a place called Soothsayer, where I could go all-in on building a cool, dark and cozy space for my weirdos. I filled the walls with Gothic art, and soon my spooky people were streaming in.

A lot of my clients are women — including young women — and I’ve heard so many stories from them about uncomfortable encounters they’ve had in traditional tattoo shops. Not so much from the artists, but from other random people coming through the shop. It’s an extremely vulnerable feeling to be on a table having work done on you — especially on an intimate area of your body —and feel defenseless to the eyes and thoughtless words of whoever happens to be passing through.

So I’m particularly happy I’ve been able to create such a safe space for women to get tattoos. Customers talk about the “blanket of protectiveness” they feel when they enter my shop. And since I work solo, and it’s just me in there with them, there are no distractions. All of my attention is focused on the client. Being able to control every aspect of a client’s experience, from the music to the lighting to the spooky décor, ensures their safety and comfort won’t be compromised, and helps my creative juices flow.

So in some ways the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that I’m allowed to say no.

That said, there are challenges to working on my own. Right after my opening inspection, I broke my tattooing arm, and couldn’t work for four months. With no one else operating out of my shop, it meant we were pretty much shuttered the whole time, which was awful.

I also constantly risk burnout. Though I have a wonderful office assistant, I’m still juggling all the less enjoyable aspects of running my own business — administrative tasks, sanitation. I always want my bookings to be full, but the busier you are, the more stressful it can get. It’s easy to overwork yourself. Somebody will share a great idea for a tattoo — something larger that I can’t fit into my regular schedule. So I’ll find myself coming in on my day off to tackle it. And then two months go by and I realize I haven’t had a single day off.

So in some ways the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that I’m allowed to say no. If it’s a client I’m not excited to work with or a piece I’m not excited to take on, I can turn it down and not feel bad. That’s been a huge and vital step for me.

Part of thriving in life is to shake your shit up once in a while, even for no reason. On a whim, I decided recently to move to Tampa, Florida for a while to open a studio with my old boss, who’s like a second dad to me. We have a similar approach to running a shop, but completely opposite artistic styles. He uses bold, bright colors, while my palette is more subdued. I think we’ll make a great team.

Sometimes I think back to my younger days drawing and painting, and all the time I spent in art school. I loved oil painting, but there’s something uniquely special about the idea of someone actually wearing my artwork on their skin. What could be more flattering than that? To have my painting on someone’s wall, that’s meaningful. But to have my work on their body? That’s spooky.