Flying Fish Wings: The Thriving Artist’s Tattoo (That I’ll Never Get)

If I ever get a tattoo, it’s going to be a flying fish. But not just any flying fish—my flying fish, the one I illustrated for Uncommon Animals of the Alphabet. And it’s going right between my shoulder blades. Not just as a decoration, but as a declaration. A pair of uncommon fish wings, pushing me forward, lifting me higher—just like every thriving artist who dares to leap out of their comfort zone and soar.

But here’s the catch: I’ll never actually get this tattoo.

Why? Because I’m a frugal artist on one hand, and an indecisive artist on the other.

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

The Flying Fish: A Perfect Artist Metaphor

Fish aren’t supposed to fly. Not really. They’re fish, after all—creatures of the deep, built for swimming. And yet, when pursued, when challenged, they propel themselves out of the water, spreading their fins like wings, gliding across the surface of the world above. It’s an act of defiance, of survival, of adaptation. They don’t have feathers, but that doesn’t stop them from taking to the sky

Thriving artists—real thriving artists—are just like flying fish. We aren’t handed wings. We aren’t given an easy path. The world expects us to stay in our lane, swim in predictable currents, play it safe. But instead, we launch ourselves into the unknown, using creativity as momentum, carving out a space where there wasn’t one before.

Art as Flight

For me, the flying fish represents that exact struggle. I started out sketching in my car between lawn-mowing jobs, illustrating a kids’ book on my phone, documenting the whole chaotic journey through a blog and podcast. It wasn’t a straight shot to success—there were crash landings, hard waves, moments of sinking self-doubt. But like the flying fish, I had to keep leaping, adjusting, finding new ways to glide.

Every thriving artist I admire has a bit of the flying fish in them. They make the impossible possible. They turn limitations into launchpads. They defy expectations and create something unique. And they don’t wait around for someone to hand them wings—they build their own, one leap at a time.

Why the Shoulder Blades?

If I were to tattoo my flying fish anywhere, it would have to be between my shoulder blades—right where wings belong. Because that’s what they are. Not delicate, angelic wings, but something rarer. Something unexpected. A symbol of resilience, risk-taking, and the sheer guts it takes to thrive as an artist.

Whenever I feel stuck, whenever self-doubt starts creeping in, I’d have a permanent reminder on my back: Keep leaping. Keep flying. The water isn’t the limit—it’s just the starting point.

So Why Won’t I Get the Tattoo?

There are two reasons.

First, I’m a frugal artist. Every time I think about the price of a tattoo, my mind immediately converts it into something else: prints, stickers, website hosting, a new set of art supplies. It’s not that I wouldn’t love the tattoo—I just can’t justify spending money on something that doesn’t directly contribute to my art business.

Second, I could never settle on just one piece. As an artist, my work is constantly evolving. What I love today, I might tweak tomorrow. If I inked one version of my flying fish onto my skin, I know I’d wake up months later wanting to redraw it. The idea of being stuck with one design forever? It’s the artistic equivalent of creative claustrophobia.

So, no tattoo for me. But the flying fish? That idea stays. It’s in my art, my work, my philosophy. And maybe that’s the best place for it—free to shift, adapt, and take flight in whatever form it needs to.