Rebel Yell

Chris walked in and said he wanted Emmeline Pankhurst on his skin. The suffragette. The firebrand who chained herself to railings, got force-fed in prison, and never, ever bowed to a world that told her she had no right to speak. Being a rebel at heart, I said yes.

I could feel it before the needle even touched his skin—the same stubborn pulse that drove those women forward still beats in all of us who refuse to stay quiet. Their fight wasn’t just for a vote; it was a battle to be seen, to be heard, to be taken seriously in a world that would rather erase you. I know that feeling all too well.

In tattooing, I’ve fought for the same thing. For respect, for space to do my work without compromise, for people to understand that my art isn’t just decoration—it’s a statement, a challenge, a defiance. Like the suffragettes, my canvases aren’t polite. They’re meant to provoke. To demand attention. To make the world uncomfortable if that’s what it takes to be recognized.

So we sat, talked about her grit, her fury, her courage. And then I let the needle tell the story. Every line, every shadow, every detail carried that roar—the unflinching refusal to settle, the refusal to whisper when you were meant to shout. Chris felt it too, I think. And when it was done, the portrait didn’t just look like Emmeline Pankhurst—it felt like her. The same fire that burned in the streets of London at the turn of the century now burned across Chris’s skin.