Material Meaning- The Story Behind the Receipts & Flourishes

Hi! I’m Tat.

Meet Tat

Tat is the newest member of the intentionalARTifact team. Her skin is collaged with receipts—evidence of transactions—and flourishes cut from a century-old copy of Maupassant’s Collected Stories. Every receipt makes a values statement. Maupassant was chosen for sentimental reasons.

Marked by Memory

A receipt is usually handed to us at the end of a purchase, if we want it. I collect mine. Tat’s face is covered with receipts from a trip to Montreal—documenting firsts, lasts, and moments exchanged for currency. Meal receipts shared with loved ones are placed over her brain. Grocery lists run down her limbs—you know the saying: we are what we eat.  Across her surface: fuel costs, household items, dentist visits, books, dog food, medicines. We often say, “Put your money where your mouth is.” Our receipts reflect our beliefs.

But the flourishes—those curving, calligraphic marks—are different. They’re not records. They’re expressions of individuality. They’re Tat’s tattoos.

The Cost of Connection

Some exchanges don’t come with a receipt. The emotional cost of being estranged from family—because of politics, religion, identity, unforgiveness, or silence—can’t be tallied. That kind of loss affects generations.

What would you trade to keep a relationship strong?

Would you spend one of your three personal days off work to be with a struggling friend? What’s the value of your presence to them?  

Would you help a sibling move at 6am on a weekend, even if you're not a morning person? What calculation do you make before saying yes or no?

Would you help coordinate a family reunion at the request of kin you barely know? 

If a homeless teen you passed daily were suddenly in tears, hands cupped in silent need—what would you do?

If your family no longer accepts who you are or who you’re becoming, how much would you pay for their sincere embrace?

Proximity, Belonging and Pain

As social creatures, we need belonging, and the pain of exclusion- on a team, at a lunch table, in a family—costs more than money.

I once paid to have my son’s eyebrows threaded. He’d never done it before. Afterward, he told me it hurt more than getting a tattoo. His reddened skin and spots of blood told the same story. He paid for handsomeness that day.

Later, on a family trip to New Zealand, I gave him money for a tattoo—about $50 USD. He and his sister were both in college. I helped him change the first bandage that night.

Whenever I discover a new tattoo on one of my children,  I want to get close—within 12 inches, ideally even 6—to see it clearly and ask questions:

When did you get this?
What does it mean to you?
Why this design, this location, this artist?
Did it hurt?
May I get closer?

But I don’t.

I remember what their skin looked like the day they were born.

Skin as Currency

In the US, tattoos today might cost $100 to $300 an hour, plus tip. Cost depends on size, detail, and placement.  It may also vary dependent upon the tattoo artist’s level of fame.

Tim Steiner, for example, sold his back tattoo to German art collector Rick Reinking for 150,000 euros. His cut was 50,000 euros. The contract required Tim to exhibit his back during his lifetime. Upon death, his tattooed skin would be removed, preserved, and framed.

I believe this crosses ethical lines.

The collector purchased a human being’s body—post-mortem, yes, but the ownership began while he was still alive. It’s commodification taken to an extreme.

Imagine being told, “You’re looking at Tim Steiner’s back. We removed it after he died.” How do you feel?

Her Tattoos

Tat’s flourishes were taken from the start of each chapter in Maupassant’s stories: looping letters, ornamental marks, a visual language once meant to usher in narrative. Now, taken out of context and rearranged, they suggest new meanings.

One word is tattooed on the region of her heart: solitude.

Was that choice random or deliberate?

Do I owe you an explanation just because you can read it?

Tattoo Etiquette and Proxemics

Do visible tattoos invite conversation? Does the wearer owe anyone a story?

And what about proximity? How close can we get to someone’s tattoo?

Strangers don’t have intimate access, even to family. If I want to read the fine lines of ink on a cashier’s forearm, am I supposed to stay 4–12 feet away? Is that too far to see? Is it rude to lean in?

What are the rules? Are there any? Or have we defaulted to individual judgment—“act as you feel”—disregarding social and cultural context?

The Sneetches and the Us/Them Machine

We sort ourselves into camps—by income, skin color, neighborhood, education, gender identification; affiliations—and form judgments about who deserves access to us and who does not.

Technology is widening this divide, too. Humans are now pitted against the machines we’ve made, in a strange game of chicken. I’m reminded of The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss.

Those with stars on their bellies excluded those without. Then came Sylvester McMonkey McBean, who sold access to the star-making machine. Stars meant belonging- until they didn’t.  Until no one knew who was who, and no one had any money left.

But in the end, the Sneetches learned: “Sneetches are Sneetches.” No kind is the best.

A Simple Hello

I’m a quiet advocate for humanity. Let’s stop building walls. Let’s talk more about what we share.

Let’s check in, acknowledge one another, feed each other, show compassion and practice listening.  Let’s start with hello.

Symbols Speak

I once walked into a pharmacy in Cairo. I don't speak Arabic. The woman behind the counter greeted me with warmth- her eyes smiling. As I stumbled through my practiced request, she reached for my hand with both of hers. She gestured to a tattoo on her forearm, then to my necklace, holding my gaze. I wore a delicate rosary purchased from a souk in Alexandria. She wore a Coptic cross . 

We held on to each other as strangers, and the moment of silent connection lingers still.

Behavior Is Truth

If I were to get a tattoo, it might say: Behavior is truth.

It reminds me that how others treat us matters—and that I’m responsible for how I treat others. It’s a call to do better, not just personally, but collectively. To remember that those with power must also be held accountable.

Or maybe it would say: Forgive.  And I don’t have to explain the decision.