Leif Baradoy

Over a year ago, after much thought, I arranged my first tattoo. In case the photos included with this post are unclear, the tattoo is located on my left forearm.

I am frequently asked what the design is and what it means. Usually, I respond to inquirers by asking what they interpret from the design, then I offer a fairly short answer. If they express further interest, then the conversation continues. Most people are happy with a short explanation.

Similar to queries about a thesis, most people don’t want to know the finer details about the various interpretive levels of this tattoo. Fair enough. That said, if you are interested in how deep the rabbit hole goes, despite your hatred for The Matrix trilogy, the read on!

First though, the quick answer I give people is that the tattoo signifies the word (world?) if. This mark reminds me of all the actualized choices and possibilities which have served to bring about the current moment, in which I choose the next “if.” This clean explanation emphasizes my ability to act (or not) as a responsible, ethical being-in-the-world.

I am quick to add that the design signifies many other concepts—likely because I am a quintessential student of the humanities.

I find many people are simply pleased to know that

• I’ve (seemingly) thought long and hard about the tattoo
• it has a meaning, which on-the-face-of-it does not seem too juvenile or dated

However, in this blog post, I attempt to offer a more honest parseing of the design. Forgive me, but my own thoughts on this matter have yet to complete so I can’t promise an all-encompassing and consistent explication of the square design inked onto my arm. An aphorism is all I offer.

I wanted my tattoo to have strong, hard modenist lines and to work like of Rorschach ink test for others. I didn’t want something immediately recognizable or simple. Under-determined meaning allows me to learn a little about other people through their explanations. More, a somewhat abstracted design permits the tattoo to grow with me, since I can find new meanings and interpretations to focus on as I go forward on the wave-tossed journey of life.

I designed the tattoo to be a perfect square with equal space between each block of ink. Clean, strong lines, symmetry, perfect. But the design was imprinted on my flesh. The result: only a memory symmetry. Skin contorts, contours, blemishes, and stretches the design—it breaks parallel and perpendicular angles. Plans and implementation frequently differ (defer). The tattoo reminds me of something my friend Jay calls the perfectly imperfect—imperfection not as failure but as an unavoidable element of life. The interplay between the design, medium, and canvas admits a vivacious play more compelling than the abstract perfection concieved in the design.

(“How typical,” one might counter. le petite bourgeois. Yes yes. Keep reading to further nuance your accusation.)

The location of the tattoo means that viewers may see it from a variety of different angles—deciding for themselves which way is up before imagining meaning(s). The arm is frequently in motion, so the tattoo itself invites a hermenuetic leap of faith and, insodoing, makes some people aware that they have indeed followed one of many potential interpretive trajectories. Like so many pieces of art, this tattoo raises as least as many questions as answers. Yet, I have read that the task of philosophy is not to answer questions, but to make sure the proper sort of questions are being formulated and asked.

So . . . Shall I enumerate meanings? Equal sign, crossroads, broken letters, my own name hidden within, exclaimation marks, if, the period, a Norwegian flag, if i anagram, x and y axis, the seen and unseen (or charted/uncharted), the arrow, an x, greater than sign, less than sign, moving towards a centre, moving away from an origin, even a cross (that divisive sign of chaos and suffering).

No. You would tire and disbelieve—curse dialectics. Frustrated, you might return to apt accusations or, more cynically, cease to read altogether.

So, I return to this notion of choice and responsibility—if and if i, a crossroad. Why does the summary of that ethical being-in-the-world get trotted out as an explanation? Am I fashioning myself as some sort of hero (“we don’t need another hero”)? I am likely guilty on all charges, but this tattoo has another strong overture. It confronts me with the horror that the notion choice itself is not certain. Not only do arguments ranging from pure biological or material determinism to ideas of teleology or divine foreknowledge trouble the notion of choice, but a great deal of thought has further complicated any presumptions about coming to ethical decisions. We cannot know all ends, and good intentions often inaugurate (rather than cover) a multitude of sins.

Part of the if of my tattoo is that I opt to live my life as if I do have choice, as if I am capable of authentic ethical and responsible acts. To say it more clearly, the if allows me to escape paralysis (cynicism) and go to work, knowing that the result of my action won’t be made clear until later and that right work doesn’t guarantee right outcome. Good work allows for the possibility of good outcomes. I opt to be judged then by the actions of my life, rather than my inactions.

In this way, I am authentic even as I pretend my way through life. So, while striving towards ideals that might not even exist, I balance the particularity of my choices with the potential of a universal good.

Towards the end of First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, Žižek relays the Hopi saying “We are the ones we are waiting for.” While Žižek turns this phrase into a call for Marxist revolutionary action, I internalize the wisdom otherly.

To finish on a lighter note, the tattoo has a functional purpose. Laura can attest to my too frequent failure to distinguish left from right. Many times while driving, Laura directs me to turn left and I confidently take the next right. Now, I have a tattoo on my left arm with all sorts of Ls designed into it. Left now means turning the direction of my tattoo arm. No more wrong turns! Yet, I still make them, now without excuse.