The twin Japanese demon faces on Blu-Bak’s buttocks stare. With a twitch of his ass muscles, one stare turns into a menacing grimace. Kapra Fleming caught this narcissistic gesture in her documentary portrait of Blu-Bak, Full Suit, shown two weeks ago at Chicago Filmmakers to a standing-room-only crowd. The gesture is at once fascinating and unsettling. Tattoos may be in vogue, but only an intrepid few have made it the obsession Blu-Bak has. Over almost half a century, this illustrated man from Cicero has collected more than 250 tattoos from artists in more than 40 countries. Though already covered from neck to foot, he’s still on the lookout for additions.
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In Fleming’s video Blu-Bak is seen in a parlor on the southwest side getting his latest tattoo–a tiny sunburst on the back of his calf. His amusing reminiscences and one-liners about his peculiar hobby are intercut with lingering sensuous shots of his nude body. Fleming, a graduate of the School of the Art Institute, first met her subject in 1977 at a show on tattoo art she and a friend organized. “Blu-Bak invited himself to the opening party, claiming to be heavily tattooed,” she says. “I gradually became interested in his story because he was highly educated and didn’t fit the stereotype. He’s sort of a Janus-faced person, a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde–conservative yet very exhibitionistic. That’s why he uses a pseudonym.” Having followed and filmed him on and off for four years, she now sings the praises of his unconventional passion. “People in this society collect things they can get rid of later. Blu-Bak is committed to permanence. He’s the ultimate collector.”
During his World War II stint in the Merchant Marine, Blu-Bak started collecting tattoos in earnest. “I sailed from New York City, so I got some flag and anchor tattoos there. Back then a lot of sailors were from the farm–they went for roosters. Elephants, Neptune, and mermaids were popular too. Some fellows preferred colorful wild-west motifs. We docked at many ports of call–Hong Kong, Singapore–and I’d try to visit all the local tattoo shops. In Chicago I used to make many return trips to the shops on State Street. What I ended up was an old-time hodgepodge. In those days–the 40s, and up to the 60s–the needling technique was rather primitive. Poor colors, poor hygiene. Tattoos were associated with the lower classes.” He chuckles. “Today everybody wants a tattoo. The price has gone up–way up.”
Comfortably retired, Blu-Bak still reads tattoo magazines, including The Tattoo Times, and tries to keep up with tattoo conventions. He’d like to visit Japan again, where tattooing is a hallowed underworld fetish and tattoos on gangsters and gamblers are legendary for their colors and elaborate designs. The last time he was in Tokyo he tried to obtain permission from the University of Tokyo to see its notorious collection of full-suit skins, which were removed by a physician, Dr. Fukushi, after their owners died; the Japanese euphemistically call them “poor man’s garbs.” Being a foreigner, he was turned away. “I’d be glad if someone would take my hide,” he sighs wistfully.
