By Jim Jackson
The heavy wooden door on the side of the shotgun-style shop swings open to a fluorescent glow. Privacy curtains hang from raised cables. A young woman reclines in a smooth vinyl tattoo chair, her body loose, her breathing slow and measured as she exhales through her mouth.
From a rolling stool, the artist leans in to inspect the freehand lines he added with a dark marker. He reviews the work on the client’s leg, which was tattooed two weeks earlier. Wearing black nitrile gloves, a hoodie and an expression of quiet confidence, he leans in and begins the session. The tattoo machine hums to life.
Nearly a year prior, in early 2025, a stalwart tattoo shop in downtown Frankfort became a casualty of a ravaging Kentucky River flood. Rising waters swallowed homes and businesses alike, sending shockwaves through the community. In just six hours, A’Maysing Ink Tattoos — owned by Chris Mays — was submerged, sustaining catastrophic damage. When the water finally receded, mud lines climbed the shop walls. Screen printing machines sat rusted and silent, and chairs warped beyond repair.
Years of work and sacrifice left soaking in river water. But the story did not end there. What followed was a redemption arc marked by perseverance, faith and community.
“This is our village,” Mays explained. “You get to know people well. Their pain tolerance, their kids’ names. So many people come through, it feels like a community in here.”
Frankfort rallied around Mays, helping him back onto his feet. He relocated his shop to 135 Holmes St., said a prayer and started over. Familiar faces returned with him, including Droo Muns, Alexandria Ward and Tattoo Boxx, who has worked alongside Mays since 2010. With new equipment and a loyal team in step, Mays put his head down and pressed onward. As the shop navigated the inevitable challenges of relocation, he once again set his sights on serving the very community that had lifted him up.
Tattoo Boxx described where his loyalty stems from.
“Working with Chris for the last 16 years, it’s more of a brotherhood,” Boxx said. “We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. But we push each other daily in the shop and out.”
The support thrown behind A’Maysing Ink after the flood was palpable. Ward stood back and observed the outpouring of love.
“I can attest to the impact this shop has on the community,” Ward said. “I witnessed people of all walks of life come together to support Chris amidst the tragedy of the flood. After many conversations, it became clear to me that the support and admiration is well deserved.”
Droo said A’Maysing Ink feels like home to him.
“When you walk in, you feel it immediately,” Droo said. “You’re in a shop where you’re welcome and you can approach any artist without hesitation.”
Tattoos were once taboo, symbols associated with sailors and society’s outcasts. What began as an emblematic middle finger to the privileged elite, slowly transformed into something more mainstream. Ink became cool, fashionable and far less menacing. Rough edges were smoothed, and a broader cultural acceptance ushered in an era where self-expression could appear in bold color or subtle shades of gray.
There remains a wink of irony in placing permanent art on the body, a naturally fading canvas. As generations continue to seek solace in something that won’t diminish, the art form of tattoos consistently fills this void. While the world spins out of control, people feel like they regain a handle on the madness by actively and agreeably letting a needle leave its mark on their skin.
They are in control for once. Whether it’s seeking an empowering experience, enduring a rite of passage or offering visible self-identification through artwork, the process of sitting still and receiving a permanent body modification has gained momentum.
Mays witnessed this cultural shift firsthand. His early embrace of the art form allowed him not only to hone his technical skills, but also to sharpen his business instincts. A native of South Frankfort, he understands the challenges of growing up amid hardship and temptation. He knows the shortcuts around town, the dead ends and the corners of the capital city, where boredom turns into trouble.
“Kids are misguided by society and the music industry,” Mays said. “This is part of my purpose. This is my pulpit, being able to share wisdom with the younger ones. Before they get a face tattoo, I explain to them that being a doctor or a bank president might be off the table. That all goes out the window.”
He sees opportunities for mentoring with every interaction, consistently trying to enlighten youth who frequent his shop.
Faith has become integral in everything Mays does. While serving time in prison, he had a realization — his way wasn’t working. He surrendered himself to God.
“I was trying to do right, but it never lined up,” he said. “I couldn’t hold myself accountable. I felt a tug toward my greater purpose.”
That calling extended beyond tattooing or entrepreneurship — it became a mission to remind parents, fathers and mothers alike, that they are more than the sum of their mistakes.
“Sometimes, you just have to stop and rely on God,” Mays said. “You’ve got to say, ‘Okay — take the reins. I can’t do this.’”
Letting go wasn’t an abstract exercise for Mays. It meant drawing boundaries and saying no to tattooing certain requests. These boundaries included inking demonic or satanic symbols. This decision guaranteed money would walk out his door, but Mays resolved to stand on principle, even if it impacted his profit. It’s clear his shop isn’t interested in chasing a quick dollar from impulsive teenagers with disposable income.
Both sets of grandparents took Mays to church as a boy, developing in him a deep sense of inner peace. Now, a member of Christ Culture Church in Louisville, Mays says time spent worshiping helps him recharge and regain balance in an increasingly loud world.
When asked about his role model, he paused before mentioning his late grandfather.
“He showed me what a man is supposed to be — unconditional love, no matter what.”
Mays strives to extend that same grace to everyone who crosses his path.
Failure has never frightened Mays, nor has hard work. Growing up, he and his brother did whatever they could to earn money, shoveling snow, raking leaves, cutting grass, hauling trash.
Laughing, he recalled, “We’d pick up acorns if you were going to pay us.”
Watching his mother struggle to make ends meet gave him clarity early on — he didn’t want to work under someone else’s thumb, trapped as a cog in someone else’s wheel.
That approach is paying dividends. As A’Maysing Ink grows, so does the talent within its walls.
“Some artists come for a season, others for a reason,” Mays said. “We have artists who can do realism, anime, cover-ups, gray shade — such a wide range of ability, you really can’t go wrong.”
He pushes back against the myth that quality tattoo work requires a drive to a bigger city, confident his Frankfort shop offers elite talent across multiple styles.
“For Chris, it’s about fixing mistakes and helping people create new memories,” Droo explained. “For me, it’s the therapy that comes with the work, for my clients and myself. Tattoo Boxx brings that same care through his professionalism in piercing.”
The four artists in the shop all have their own style. They all tattoo different, hold their machine different, use a variety of depths for their needle. This is what makes Mays’ shop unique — the fact that they bring different techniques and talents. The strength of their artwork grows together as they each pour into one another.
Ward, the newest addition to A’Maysing Ink, brings with her a mixed background of artistry, spanning mediums from painting, textile and mixed-media art. She endeavored into tattoos after hearing Mays’ testimony at Engine House, a local coffee shop.
“His optimistic character, despite his tattoo shop flooding, mixed with his passion for serving his community as a trusted artist inspired me to start a conversation with him, leading to an apprenticeship and Chris being my tattoo mentor.”
As the shop’s artists excel, the tattoo art form itself continues to rapidly evolve, driven by trends and technology. Styles popular 20 years ago have given way to fine line and minimalist tattoos — precise, delicate designs with minimal shading. Other styles include neo-traditional pieces, offering bold outlines and vibrant colors with dimensional depth, while watercolor tattoos mimic brushstrokes with little to no black outline.
Even the classic “hardy” style tattoo, once synonymous with traditional sailor imagery, has evolved. Don Ed Hardy elevated the genre by introducing limited but bold color palettes, balancing durability with clarity. By most accounts, he succeeded.
Mays’ own specialties include gray shade and color work.
He excels at calligraphy lettering, but takes particular pride in his cover-ups — transforming existing tattoos into entirely new works of art.
“A friend of mine went through a brutal divorce and had his ex-wife’s portrait tattooed on himself.” Mays recalled with a grin. “I managed to fit a gorilla head perfectly over the portrait. Literally a perfect fit.”
Long before cell phones and endless scrolling dulled creativity, Mays doodled.
“Everyone was drawing something back then — block ‘s’ letters and stuff,” he said.
Art always pulled at him, as did tattoos. The first in his family to graduate college, Mays believes he broke a generational curse. Studying graphic design at Kentucky State University allowed him to deepen his artistic foundation. Under the mentorship of Johnny Ethington, a local tattoo hero, he apprenticed in tattooing and learned the craft. Early on, Mays even tattooed Ethington himself, placing a hardy-style dog and sharpening his skills in the process.
Receiving a tattoo carries a duality of pain and pleasure, along with the desire to break life’s proclivity for desensitization. This phenomenon, known as sensation seeking, is well documented. According to Stories & Ink, “While tattoos are undeniably painful, many people describe the experience as oddly pleasurable … The body releases endorphins, creating a euphoric sensation that can become addictive.”
Mays agrees with this assessment based on his experience from those who’ve graced his chair.
“People sit down after being numb to life’s rules and pressures. They just want to feel something, something real.”
As for the interaction with customers, being a tattoo artist also requires one to be a part-time therapist, encourager and sage. Customers sit down having blind trust in an artist, hoping that he or she can bring a concept to life on their skin without the agony of poor technique or imagination. This is high stakes pressure, but something artists naturally overcome.
“I learned patience,” Mays shared. “You have to slow down and see the art for what it is. In the beginning, you get into the hustle and bustle, trying to make money, losing track of the art. But then, you slow down, learn to be patient, with the art and with people in the chair.”
Back in the shop, the tattoo machine slows, then goes quiet. Mays wipes the leg clean, revealing fresh lines beneath reddened skin. The young woman studies the work, nodding, a small smile forming as she recognizes something of herself in the image.
Mays loves his work. He takes pride in a job well done and a beautiful, finished product. He knows his purpose goes beyond the ink he applies. He sees an opportunity to teach, coach, encourage and accept those who step into his shop.
Even through the mire he endured growing up in Frankfort, Mays heart never hardened toward his community. He’s resolved to press on and impact lives from his pulpit on Holmes Street, one shaded line at a time.
Jim Jackson lives in Frankfort where he documents the lives, places and small details that make up a community. He can be reached at jackson.m.jim@gmail.com.
