The Things I Came Here With: A Memoir

by Chris MacDonald

Overview

“Does it hurt?” When you’re a tattoo artist, that’s the most universal question. For Chris MacDonald, the answer is simple: hurts less than a broken heart. Those words are painted above the entrance to his shop, Under My Thumb Tattoos, as a reminder.

Chris and his brothers were as wild as the wind, in their house among the fields of Alliston, Ontario, when their parents divorced. Shell-shocked, they were uprooted and brought to Toronto by their dad. Their mother’s mental illness worsened in the aftermath, and she disappeared. As a teenager, Chris left home and found himself immersed in the city’s underbelly, a world where drugs, skateboarding, and punk rock reigned. Between the youth shelters, suicidal thoughts, and haunted apartments, a light shined: and it was art.

He eventually found himself following the path of his brother, Rob, and pursuing life as a tattooist. Then, at the height of a destructive summer, everything changed: he met Megan, the girl who would become his rock of ages.

This remarkable memoir examines what tattooing means to MacDonald and traces the connection his artistic motives have to both his family and childhood. The Things I Came Here With is about how crucial our past is to understanding our future, but it’s also a love letter to his daughter about the importance of expression, life’s uncertainty, and beauty.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781770416413
Publisher:	ECW Press
Publication date:	10/18/2022
Edition description:	No Edition
Pages:	264
Product dimensions:	5.70(w) x 8.60(h) x 0.70(d)

About the Author

Chris MacDonald is a tattoo artist and the owner of Under My Thumb Tattoos, a respected tattoo studio in Toronto, Ontario. He is a songwriter and a guitarist with LeBarons. Chris lives with his wife and daughter by the lake. The Things I Came Here With is his first book.

Read an Excerpt

I lower my tattoo machine and carefully dip the needle in ink. At this moment, the sum of all moving parts — my past mistakes, victories, knowledge, insecurities, faith, ego and ego death — congregates around me. They’ve come to witness this flash in time, to catch a glimpse of themselves in the mirror I’ve held up, to see what I can do with what’s been given to me. But levity is needed for viability, for everyone involved. “Ready, Freddy?” I ask rhetorically, smiling, before dropping my eyes. I press my foot down, activating that old, familiar sound. That’s when everything vanishes, and the only ones left in the arena are myself and this thing.

Bound by an unseen tie, we watch as the grains of sand fall at a pace so unnerving that to stay here without wavering would see me dead in a week. Every action from this point is calculated to maintain the balance. I set out with harmony at its peak, arcing, and try and hold it until the end. But it will likely begin to falter from this point, so to bask in this minute is essential. If I can hold it, both of us are free, and the tightness in my gut will dissolve. I’ll relearn every time how nice it feels to be calm. If it gets away, inevitably I’ll live that death over and over.

My hands used to tremble like the windows of a Dundas apartment when the streetcar blew by, but they don’t anymore. So I lower the needle with precision and make contact. Below my machine and under my thumb, I can feel its vibrations in the fingertips of my opposite hand stretching the skin. The steady buzz is a powerful comfort to me, and lulls me into an alpha state. Ink pools as I push the needle along, and a fluid river follows. The pigment reflects the lights above like infinitesimal stars, and the musty scent of carbon drifts up. What with everything I’ve learned, I wonder if it will work. Or was it just some bizarre dream? Some days, I’m certain I’ve lost my bravado, for in all my carelessness came an easy way to the finish line. These days there’s a higher state. I’ve become a telescope, and my own worst, tyrannical critic. All I want is to complete my job with competence, to see this person elated, and create a cycle of positive energy. To have our exchange be genuine is all I want. So I ask someone, something, like a quick breath out into the atmosphere, to please guide me through the process. As I lift the needle up and wipe the smudge away with a damp paper towel, it all comes down to this. It’s all on the line, and happens in seconds. But the line is good, so for now, the day is as well.

Editorial Reviews

A heartfelt memoir that addresses the importance of artistic expression and never taking life for granted. This work will have wide appeal, not just for those who love tattooing and the arts.” — Library Journal

“At its core, The Things I Came Here With is a story about family; it’s a story of art, of loss, of grief, and of passion. It is raw and heartbreaking and funny at times—often within the same paragraph. And it is especially a story about love and finding your way home.” — Urban Info Girl blog

“The way Chris tattoos is awe-inspiring — a truly beautiful expression of the craft. The work he does elegantly dances the line of art and technique, gentle and strong, just like him.” — India Amara, indiaamara.com

“I look at Chris as a real deal songwriter and lyricist. Am I surprised he’s now an author? Hell no, a talent like his would never go unnoticed. I’m proud to call Chris a friend, and I’m sure you’ll be as amazed by his writing as I’ve been over the years.” — Cone McCaslin, Sum 41

“This gorgeous picaresque story of home, loss, art, love, city, music, skateboards, and ink came to me via a friend’s goodwill PDF — ‘Do you think you can check this out? Tell me what you think of my buddy’s writing?’ — and, from the first few pages, I could sense the gift of Chris MacDonald’s voice, vision, and poetry. A beautiful debut.” — Dave Bidini

“It might seem unusual to be publishing a memoir in your mid-forties but when you’re an old soul with miles of experiential wisdom to impart, it works beautifully. This is a genuinely inspirational story of perseverance and resilience ... I can only applaud Chris for his perseverance, and for using the talents he came here with.” — Ottawa Review of Books

“The book provides one beautifully crafted story after another ... MacDonald has enough talent — both with skin and with words — that you don’t much care if there’s a cohesive thread between stories. You’re just interested in the next metaphor. The next simile.” — The Half-Assed Housewife blog

From the Publisher

As revealed in this memoir, Chris MacDonald experienced a difficult childhood in southern Ontario before channeling his energy and passions into a successful career as a tattoo artist, studio owner, musician in Toronto, and now writer. The gritty baritone of Max Lloyd-Jones is a comfortable fit with the author's style, which is honest and compassionate without being mawkish. Lloyd-Jones even manages to pronounce all the place names correctly, adding a stamp of authenticity. The editors made the unusual decision to verbally describe photos and illustrations that appear in the printed book, and it works. The descriptions are infrequent enough not to be a distraction, and they add appropriate texture to a vivid memoir that is deeply tied to visual art. D.B. © AudioFile 2023, Portland, Maine

APRIL 2023 - AudioFile

As revealed in this memoir, Chris MacDonald experienced a difficult childhood in southern Ontario before channeling his energy and passions into a successful career as a tattoo artist, studio owner, musician in Toronto, and now writer. The gritty baritone of Max Lloyd-Jones is a comfortable fit with the author's style, which is honest and compassionate without being mawkish. Lloyd-Jones even manages to pronounce all the place names correctly, adding a stamp of authenticity. The editors made the unusual decision to verbally describe photos and illustrations that appear in the printed book, and it works. The descriptions are infrequent enough not to be a distraction, and they add appropriate texture to a vivid memoir that is deeply tied to visual art. D.B. © AudioFile 2023, Portland, Maine

APRIL 2023 - AudioFile