Idol → Ideal

An interview with Mark Nara, by Alexander Illiad

This post is part of an ongoing Q&A series. Thirty questions in total exploring themes of initiation, identity, meaning, and transformation.

Each one stands alone, but together they map a deeper conversation I’ve been guiding for years through Tattoo Pathway.

Rather than polished essays or formal teachings, these responses reflect the way things actually unfold in dialogue.

The first question started with a dream. You can go back to it here if you want to see where this began.

Question 11 (AI):

You’ve mentioned that modern tattooing often reflects a culture of self-idolization. People marking who they think they are, rather than opening to who they might become. What’s the danger in that? And what does it mean to approach tattooing as a process of transformation rather than self-confirmation?

Answer (MN):

The danger is actually pretty simple: you cut yourself off from being introduced to a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet.

It’s not that people getting tattoos to reflect who they think they are is inherently bad or wrong. It’s understandable. Most of us are stumbling around in the dark, feeling along the walls to find our way. We don’t have a cultural prescription anymore. There’s no widely available model of who we’re meant to become. So when something stirs in us. . . when it’s time to grow, to bloom. . . we tend to grab whatever’s close. Whatever seems meaningful at the time.

But in this porous reality we live in now, where influence pours in from all angles and contexts are often stripped away, what we reach for often doesn’t fit. Or it doesn’t last. We outgrow it.

Outgrowing tattoos is not a problem in itself, but it becomes one when we don’t pause. When we don’t reflect. When we don’t refine.

This is why, in contemporary tattoo culture, we see so much self-idolization. . . people using tattoos to reinforce a version of themselves that’s rooted in performance, not potential. Because they’ve inherited a perception of tattooing that lacks initiation, lacks guidance. They cross the threshold on their own, without support, and mark themselves at a moment in time that they’re destined to leave behind.

It becomes a kind of touristic timestamp. Often, they just keep collecting more timestamps, more arrows shot into the dark. It’s not until they become aware of the target that the arrows begin to matter. And aiming, that takes awareness. That takes intention. That takes refinement.

The Japanese understood this well. Their traditional tattoo culture, though modernized over time, maintained a reverence for the process. It was guided. Rooted in story, mythology, and a deep respect for elders.

Traditionally, someone seeking a tattoo would go to the master. They wouldn’t choose the design themselves. They’d be questioned: Why do you want this? What are you seeking? What are you becoming?

Only then would the artist, steeped in narrative and symbolism, choose a motif to match the journey. They’d begin with the back, close to the centre, also the largest section to be accomplished. Then move outward. Arms, legs. The whole body had to make sense. Everything had to be in season. It all had to cohere. That was the art, and the discipline.

We’ve lost that. I know, because I was part of that loss. My own early tattoos. . . two Japanese sleeves reflect the technical pursuit of the craft. They’re executed by one of the most skilled Japanese-style tattooers in Australia. But now, with time and reflection, I can see them for what they are: the uniform of the contemporary tattoo industry. A mark of participation, unaware of transformation.

And I don’t regret them. But the value came later. Through contemplation. Through humility. Through accepting how naive I was at the time.

So the real danger, I suppose, is in missing the transformation. Or worse, hindering it. It’s when we get marked, but never reflect. Never map. Never extract the meaning. Never engage with the story. We drift.

Tattooing is always transformative. Even when it’s self-confirming. Even when it’s selfish rather than selfless. The question is then what kind of transformation is it? how much awareness can you bring into the process?

One path is generative. It builds. It grows. It refines. The other is degenerative. It weighs down. It freezes. It deteriorates.

One path is fire. . . purifying, only the essence remains. The other is ice. . . preserving what is non essentials.

So this isn’t about perfection. It’s about awareness. About choosing to engage with tattooing as a process of becoming, not just of stating. Of opening, not closing. Of stepping toward the mystery, not reinforcing a mask.

In the end, every tattoo lives somewhere between the idol we show the world and the ideal we quietly carry within. One grows from the outside-in. . . A seeking, a reflection for the eyes of others. The other moves inside-out . . .our essence, shaping our form, moving toward who we are becoming. Tattoos can both reveal and conceal, depending on how we choose them, either way when guided and conducted with purity the fire will burn away all that is non essential.

If you feel called to explore this in your own life, know that the door is open, into the Tattoo Pathway, and into the unfolding of your own initiatory story.

Respectfully,

MN.