Behind the Needle: A look into the closed-door world of the tattoo industry

Today, the tattoo industry is a far cry from what it once was.

In it's former life, tattoo parlours were operated behind closed doors by bikies and criminal associates.

At the age of 16, Ben and his mate threw caution to the wind that night, as they entered through the clubhouse main gates.

"They walked us through the main shed, where some blokes were working on bikes, and then down a hallway with nothing on the wall," he said.

"We came out into a concrete room with a drain in the middle of the floor and a bloke hosing down the room."

Both knew not to ask questions or even raise an eyebrow.

"We went through a few other doors and came out into a huge waiting area with a bloke fully tatted up and with a shaved head," he said.

Once they had chosen their tattoo from a limited selection, they were ushered to a chair.

Right as the apprentice artist started to stencil Ben's tattoo, the owner walked by and eyeballed him.

"He asked me, 'What's your name, boy?' And I answered him with, 'Ben.' He then proceeds to ask, 'Your Wombat's son, aren't ya?'" Ben said.

Ben nodded, but did not know how he knew his dad.

"It was super uncomfortable, and he walks over, looks at what the artist was doing and all he says is, 'Don't f*** it up'" Ben said.

When it came time to pay, Ben was standing at the counter with cash in hand when the owner walked by again to say, 'He doesn't pay!'

He would go on to explain how the majority of members had served with Ben's dad, 'Wombat', in the army.

"I got tattooed by them a bunch of times after that and it turned out my dad made their fence around the clubhouse, and they came to my dad's funeral when I was a kid," Ben said.

"But, out of respect for my mum, they didn't want to interfere.

"After everyone left, they did a military funeral and laid the coins out on his headstone."

Anytime he goes back to visit, the headstone is immaculate, with fresh cut flowers and coins on top.

Every artist, like their tattoos, has a story to tell about how they ended up in the profession.

Ben explored a range of careers in his early life, including the army, fixing boats, art, and pro-skateboarding.

And he almost became a war correspondent for the army, but did not end up going.

But, out of all the experiences, his tattoo apprenticeship was the one that stood out most.

"One day, my tattoo master walked in one day and throws down a box of parts on the table," Ben said.

"He tells me to, 'Build a tattoo gun'."

Through some extensive googling and trial and error, Ben successfully built his first tattoo gun.

"He came back later and asked, 'Do you know how to sew a needle?'" he said.

From there, he was taught the whole process, including how to set the jig, sterilise the needles, and everything in between.

After they wrapped up a busy day, his tattoo master flipped an old Aussie penny and it landed on tails.

"I was told I got to tattoo myself with the needle I had made," Ben said.

"I do the tattoo and I start to clean up for the day."

In the tattooist tradition, Ben holds onto that penny to this day.

"It means you have been paid for the first time, and in tradition, it means you don't work for free; you get paid," he said.

"It becomes the thing when you are in a rough spot and you look back and say, 'You can do this; you just have to figure out how'."

Ben formed a close relationship with his tattoo master from that point on, and when he retired, Ben turned his penny into part of a tattoo gun.

The days of tattoos being considered taboo are long gone, thanks to the rise of the internet and the clean-up of the industry.

"In the late 60s' and 70s' it was pretty rough for a minute there, and it was normal to firebomb someone's shop if you messed with their business," Ben said.

In the early 2000s, the options on the wall were not considered the entire universe; and more artists entered the profession, which enabled parlours to go mainstream.

"You start to see the artistic motivation," Ben said.

"We have Google, Pinterest, and every imaginable flash sheet ever made, and you can do way more.

"Previously, if you wanted a tattoo of the statue of Athena, your tattooist had to go to the library and find it in an encyclopaedia, photocopy it if they had the money or free-draw it."

The culture also shifted due to the government's crackdown on the industry.

Ben said one in ten shops in the 80s' would have a female tattoo artist.

"A lot of people wouldn't trust her. One of the common things people would say is, 'She wouldn't push the needle hard enough'" he said.

"What an irrational thought."

Since the industry has opened up, it has also opened up the trade for women.

At High Ground, Ben has staffed one full-time female artist and has taken on mostly female apprentices.

"Most new apprentices are women; most newly qualified artists are female," he said.

Women in their twenties have become a large percentage of their clientele.

"A lot of women are taking up the mantel because they have mothers, aunts, and grandmothers who did not have the opportunities back in the day, and now they do."

Over the years, he has witnessed many female artists continue to be hazed well past their apprenticeships.

Ben prides himself on providing an equal and supportive workplace, especially for women.