Mentorship

Start by building a strong drawing portfolio — not tattoo designs, but evidence that you can actually draw. Shops want to see that you understand line, composition, and detail before they put a machine in your hand. Then research shops whose aesthetic matches yours, visit in person, and ask genuinely — not just by leaving a voicemail or sending a DM. The relationship matters as much as the work.

Be careful about paid apprenticeships. Some are legitimate, many are not. Before you commit any money, ask exactly what you'll be taught, by whom, and over what timeline. If the answers are vague, walk away. I cover this in depth in Workshop 01.

It varies widely — and that variance is part of the problem. Some apprenticeships are free in exchange for shop work. Some charge a few thousand dollars. I paid $10,000, which is on the high end and, in my case, was partly a scam. There are no regulations governing this in most states, including Utah, so there's no standard.

A higher price doesn't mean better training. Before paying anything, make sure you know exactly what you're getting — structured instruction, time with your mentor, a clear path to tattooing on skin. If you can't get straight answers to those questions, the price doesn't matter.

Red flags: vague answers about what you'll actually learn, pressure to commit quickly, a mentor who isn't around, being asked to do unpaid shop work with no clear endpoint, and anyone who discourages you from asking questions.

Green flags: a mentor whose work you genuinely respect, a shop culture that feels healthy, clear expectations about timeline and structure, and artists in the shop who seem happy to be there. Talk to other artists in the shop before you sign anything.

Expect to draw constantly, observe before you touch anyone, and feel like a beginner for longer than feels comfortable. A good apprenticeship should include sanitation and bloodborne pathogen training, time watching your mentor work, structured feedback on your drawing, and a gradual path to practicing on skin — first fake, then real.

Tattooing is technically a medical procedure. The learning curve is real and the stakes are permanent. Anyone rushing you through that process is not looking out for you or your future clients.

Style comes from doing the work, not from deciding what your style is. Tattoo everything in your first few years — different subjects, different techniques, different scales. Pay attention to what you gravitate toward and what you dread. Your style is in the gap between those two things.

Being around other artists accelerates this. So does drawing outside of tattooing — sketchbooks, paintings, collage, anything that lets you experiment without a client in the chair. I cover this in Workshop 02.

It can be — but it requires intention. The physical demands are real: your back, your hands, your eyes take a toll. The emotional labor of being with people at their most vulnerable, day after day, is real too. Burnout in this industry is common and rarely talked about.

Sustainability comes from protecting your body from day one, building a clientele that energizes you rather than drains you, and being in a shop environment that supports your growth rather than extracting from it. These aren't luxuries — they're what keeps you in the work long term.

I'm Valerie Jane Thompson — I make art as Jane the Stranger. I tattooed from 2018 to 2025 at The Collective in Salt Lake City, Utah, where I built a practice around surrealist, detail-driven work. I came into tattooing through my art, not the other way around, which shaped how I think about the craft and the industry.

I now work as a surrealist mixed media artist and share what I learned through workshops, writing on Substack (University of Here), and one-on-one mentorship sessions. My goal is to help artists enter and navigate the tattoo industry with more information and fewer expensive surprises than I had.