Local Artist Highlight: Tattooist Sarah Sun

Sarah Sun makes her mark with Balm Tattooing, creating a place for people to "come in, get solid work and be treated well." After many years as a printmaker, photographer, and community art program organizer, Sarah explored tattooing as a way to intertwine art with something deeply meaningful. Though she’s careful to say she’s not a therapist, her artistic practice affords the opportunity to hold space for clients who need or want to talk about impactful life experiences. Tattoos can be simply fun and decorative, but they can also be a medium for celebration of milestones or therapeutic expression of grief or trauma-related recovery. Sarah does it all and meets her clients where they're at.

Are you from Grand Rapids? I was born in Grand Rapids in the ‘70s—in my aunt’s house. My mom’s side came from rural Ohio, but she followed my aunt up here. I met a lot of Quakers as a child, so that’s what I thought Grand Rapids was like! My mom had gotten pregnant at a young age, and we only lived here a few years. Then, we were all over the place, my parents and me. Then, I was all over the place. I had extended vacations, sent back to live with family in Ohio from time to time.

I went to the University of Toledo for a Bachelor of Fine Arts in photography and printing. But I felt disillusioned by the schooling that I had and life in general. So, I moved back up to Grand Rapids to live with my aunt for a few years. I wanted to be near her, because she was an amazing human. I worked and lived in Heartside neighborhood for 17 years. I started out at Dwelling Place as an Americorps for a few years, speaking to tenants about tenant rights, talking to people about what their needs were. It was shelters and food kitchens, a community garden (which is now a parking lot). They needed signage and organizing for the water supply for the garden. That sort of thing.

How did you get involved in the arts in Grand Rapids? People saw me as “the art lady” while I was at Dwelling Place. Neighbors wanted a place for self-expression, and art supplies got passed around in a box. Eventually, this evolved into an art program for Heartside Ministries. My own family was not particularly religious. I had a Lutheran mother, and a Jewish father’s side. They were Jewish, until they weren’t. My first reaction to Heartside Ministries was “Nope, not working for a ministry, not doing it, I know what you all do.” But then I was like—"look at me lumping everyone in together.” They asked me to just come down and check it out. And I found out, oh yeah, this is pretty great.

So, after Americorps, I volunteered and then worked at Heartside Ministries for quite some time. The organization grew, and basement space became available for the art program. Heartside took over a business space next door. We turned it into a gallery and an upstairs studio with windows. When the director of the art program left, she encouraged me to apply for her job. I did that for a long, long time. Then I had some burnout—mental health or otherwise.

Is that when you moved into tattooing and what do you like about it? So, I had some interest in doing tattooing and in getting tattooed. I grew up with tattoos, so it wasn’t a new thing for me. My family didn’t find it strange—they have tattoos. I have this art degree, but I wanted to focus on how I could be helpful. So, I thought I would blend art with something that could be meaningful. I started tattooing about 8 years ago. It started with a lady who came into the art studio. Everyone who came in was either unhoused or staying in apartments nearby. This woman wanted to get tattoos like I had. She is a bit of celebrity downtown. She has a motorized wheelchair, and she has speech and mobility issues. She tried to get tattooed at a shop in town but was declined. I asked if I could tattoo her when I was ready, and now she comes in every year on her birthday to get a tattoo. There was a long transition period. I gave 4 months’ notice to Heartside, during which time I apprenticed at a tattoo shop. Over time, I apprenticed more and worked less. 

I really enjoy working with people one on one now, as opposed to a bigger group setting. Sometimes, I am covering up scars, or I could be supporting someone assert more ownership over themselves. A lot of people have dealt with difficult stuff. There’s body reclamation. Sometimes, people may not have always had a great experience getting the tattoos in the past.  Some people come in to get things that are just cute to them. I do that work, but I often prioritize working with trauma survivors who are working with grief. No one has ever has to tell me anything, of course. We can talk about movies or the weather, or families and discovering ourselves, or whatever else. When I thought about opening up a tattoo shop, I had an interest in trauma and grief work. I’ve taken continuing education credits and now have an end of life care certificate to learn more about working with grief.

I was also moved by my own tattooing experiences. I remember getting a tattoo at age 17, and this creep asked me out right after he finished tattooing me. There were other experiences where the work was good, but no one was holding space. I’m not asking tattooers to be therapists. I’m not a therapist, nothing like that. But I do want to try and be helpful to people. I realized that in my own mind, and from what I had heard from other folks. It’s nice to be able to unwind. People are here for a long period of time. Hair stylists, estheticians, massage therapists—we all hear stuff. It feels important to receive that and be supportive, to think about what courses can I take to make this experience more comfortable. We have a QR code in the restrooms that people can scan to give anonymous feedback, just to make sure we’re treating everyone the way they want to be treated.

Not all tattooers want to interact around trauma issues. I don’t want to put that on the rest of folks that they would have to prioritize trauma and grief work. Not all tattooers put themselves out there for that. 

I found that the grief training was helpful to me in my current line of work – a woman came in for a tattoo whose young son had died from fentanyl poisoning. That’s a significant amount of space to hold for someone. It’s not magical, but hopefully people feel supported being here. Some people are getting a memorial tattoo or some way for them to honor grief. And it’s not always about death and dying. Sometimes it’s about family.

How did Balm Tattooing come to be? When I was looking to learn tattooing, I wanted to find people who did this work and felt more compassionate. I approached a woman-owned, queer-owned shop—that was important to me. After a while, Tiff, Emily and I—who all worked at that shop—decided to open up our own place. I took business classes through SpringGR, which was unbelievably helpful. They talk about all the issues around going into business with other people, opening a business with friends. That’s potentially dangerous for the friendship. They were great, they helped us navigate. They asked us all the questions that lawyers would ask. Their focus is to help lower income business owners. Miller Johnson helped us write the LLC documents. They sat with us and helped us go over everything that could possibly go wrong. We didn’t even have to pay for the legal work. This is something they do for SpringGR graduates.

Who is responsible for the design of the shop, the look and feel? We work collaboratively on that. We’re very intentional and careful about how the shop looks. How can this space feel welcoming, but with boundaries? How can we be compassionate tattooers? Finding a space for the shop was tricky. Thankfully, Tiff happened to drive by this building, and it was clearly an owner-advertised building. The landlord lived upstairs, and the building used to be her art gallery. She is a spunky lady, and it feels like a pretty good fit.

I do get tired of people saying we’re lucky. We worked really hard to get to where we are. It helps that the rent is not outrageous. We knew what it is like to grind and grind to try to fund a super high rent. None of us wanted that. I have kids—I’m not getting younger, and neither are my children. During that time, transitioning from Heartside. I was determined to not take on something unmanageable.

Balm is an entity—it doesn’t make money. It’s an idea, it’s a space for people to be able come in and get solid work and be treated well. I’m always learning. That’s the thing, you know.

How did apprenticing work? How apprenticing works is really arbitrary. There’s not a lot of rhyme or reason. Some places ask you to pay to be there, observe for a long time, and then you might start tattooing. Some places would never ask you to pay, but you might work the front desk for them, and you’re learning a lot about the different parts of the trade that way. For me, it was a ton of observing. I had to do it that way. I was transitioning out of Heartside and into tattooing.  

What was the regulatory environment like to start a shop? Were there barriers to entry? Did the rules feel too heavy, too light, just about right? Thankfully, the State of Michigan and the Kent County Health Department are very specific when it comes to body art. They really lay it out, so you just follow that to a “T.” We worked with a friend of ours who is a piecer—she worked at the tattoo shop with us. She opened her own piercing shop, and the regulations for piercing are very similar to regulations for tattooing. So, we were able to ask her for help in making sure we were checking all the boxes. I’m grateful that we are at a space where those rules are very spelled out. It is hella-regulated. That never surprised me. It’s as it should be. Financially, it was helpful that the three of us could split things in order to get the shop started.

You said you have a new thing you’re getting into—what is that? This relates to my grief training. I made friends with a lot of folks in the Heartside, and a friend of mine, Anthony, was murdered maybe 12 years ago. I thought, “Where did he go, where is he now?” We don’t know. There are people who die who are estranged from family, who don’t have supports.

I started looking at what happens when people die and go unclaimed. After about 8 months of bugging the city, I was able to attend my first burial for people who are unclaimed. And it changed me. There’s no service. And that surprised me in a town so full of churches. The cemetery groundskeeper said no one has ever done this. Of course, we can’t claim to know what someone would want, after they have passed. So, I did a lot of research about what other bigger cities do, and there’s some really beautiful means out there. I started bothering the city about signage, because there’s nothing on Oak Grove. The groundskeepers there do an incredible job. But you would never know that people are buried there. I guess I can understand if they can’t do a headstone for every person due to cost, but I’ve been communicating with Friends of GR Parks to see what we can do here. I am working on putting together some kind of memorial or service—my nonreligious self. But if someone doesn’t like my ideas, take it on! If I miss the mark, anybody and everybody can do it. Right now, nobody comes to the burials, probably because they don’t know this is happening. To me, this is all hand in hand.

Everyone is identified, and there is a public record of where they are buried. Many of the people are unhoused. Some of the people are estranged from family. They are coming maybe from the hospital, and there’s no one. Over time, I think it would be nice to be multi-faith, secular and nonsecular, meeting people where they’re at. Los Angeles does a really good job of it. It could be really beautiful. Could we find some jazz musicians downtown – some of who were unhoused themselves at one point—could we gather some money to have them come out and play? Maybe we could plant some bulbs in good places—something that works for the groundskeepers, of course.

Is Balm Tattooing exactly how you want it to be or do you have ideas for developments? We used to have more community events in the front area. After a while, we didn’t have capacity to continue to host. We do have a free library out front. I like to think about what type of things we can do with the store to be good for the community. And not just what we think is a good idea—we want to listen to what neighbors want. And give somewhat to the community we are in.

Are you still engaged in other forms of art beyond tattooing, and are your kids artistically inclined? My kids are very artistically inclined. I have been a printmaker for 30 years. But I have to pick and choose what I do. I can’t carve blocks anymore, because I have arthritis. I’ve been making things out of clay recently, because I can be a little bit looser with my hands. That’s been really fun. I have a client who has a pottery studio, and we trade. They come in for tattoo stuff, and I learn pottery. Will I sell what I make? Who knows? Who cares? Maybe—but it has just been really fun to make. And it gets my mind out of that space that my creations have to look a certain way. These aren’t commissions. I’ve been making things that are inspired in part by Catholic traditions—they have these little pockets they hang on the wall to hold holy water. They’re called fonts. People can sprinkle holy water on themselves when they go into the church or into a house. Jews have a lot of superstitions. I started making these little fonts to hold salt—you can put whatever you want in there to cleanse the room or offer protection. So, that’s what I am doing for art outside of here. And I made my children, of course.

While I’ve been interviewing Sarah, I’ve been watching her tattoo the arm of a young dancer with delicate vines and leaves—a nice collaborative project. Some clients draw their own work. This young woman’s design was inspired by the movement of her hands as she dances. Sarah works closely with her on the image as it develops to help her realize her vision for the tattoo. The client stands in front of a mirror and gestures to see how the work will look. In the exchange, I witness so much of what Sarah has talked about. They touch on everything from the meaning of the tattoo to the young woman’s family experience as the daughter of a pastor. I’ve enjoyed inhabiting this space with Sarah and her client. They’ve been so gracious to share their time with me.