So, I was browsing online the other day, and pictures of Odell Beckham Jr.’s leg tattoos popped up. Man, that’s a serious amount of artwork he’s got going on there. Covers pretty much the whole leg, from what I can see. Intricate stuff, too. It really got me thinking.
My Initial Thoughts and a Bit of Digging
First off, you gotta admire the commitment. Not just the hours under the needle, which I figure must be insane, but also the planning. You don’t just walk in and say “do my whole leg” without some serious thought behind it. I found myself wondering about the artists, the process, how many sessions something like that takes. It’s like a walking mural, really.
I didn’t go as far as booking a consultation or anything, let’s be clear. But I did spend a good hour or two just looking at examples of large-scale leg pieces, trying to get a feel for the styles, the shading, how they flow with the body. It’s a whole different ball game than just getting a small symbol on your ankle, you know?
This whole thing actually sent me down a bit of a memory lane.
It reminded me of this one time, years ago, completely unrelated to tattoos, but it had that same vibe of biting off more than you can chew, or at least, more than you initially thought you were biting off. I decided I was going to restore this old wooden chest. Found it at a flea market, looked like it had character, you know? Thought, “Yeah, a bit of sanding, some new varnish, piece of cake.”
Boy, was I wrong.
The Great Chest Restoration Saga
That “bit of sanding” turned into stripping off like, five layers of ancient paint. Each layer was a different color, like a sad, peeling rainbow. One was this awful pea green, then a chipped white, then a weird brown. Took me ages. My garage was a disaster zone for weeks. Dust everywhere. My wife, bless her heart, was starting to give me the look every time she walked past the garage door.
- First, there was the stripping. Chemical stuff, smelled awful. Had to wear gloves and a mask.
- Then the sanding. Oh, the sanding. Started with a power sander, but then there were all these little carved bits, nooks and crannies. Had to do those by hand with tiny bits of sandpaper wrapped around a stick. My fingers were raw.
- Then I found some wood rot. Had to dig that out, fill it with wood filler, wait for it to dry, then sand that smooth. It was like the chest was actively fighting me.
I remember thinking, “This is just like one of those massive back pieces you see people getting.” You go in for one session, it looks kinda cool but unfinished. Then another, and another. And in between, it’s just this ongoing project that’s taken over a part of your life. That chest sat in my garage, half-finished, taunting me for what felt like an eternity. There were days I just wanted to drag it to the curb and be done with it.
It wasn’t even about the money, really. It was the time, the frustration, the feeling of being stuck in the middle of something that was way more complex than I’d bargained for. Just like I imagine someone feels after their fifth ten-hour session on a leg sleeve, and it’s still not done.
Bringing it Back to OBJ
So, when I see something like Odell’s leg, yeah, I see the cool art. But I also see the sheer bloody-mindedness it must have taken. The patience. The sitting still. The healing. It’s a commitment on a whole other level.
I did eventually finish that chest, by the way. Took me the better part of a summer. It actually turned out pretty good, in the end. Sits in our hallway now. Every time I walk past it, I get a little flashback to the dust and the smell of varnish and the sore fingers. But also, a little bit of pride, I guess. Like, “Yeah, I did that.”
Would I get a leg sleeve like OBJ? Nah, probably not for me. I think my pain tolerance and patience for that kind of thing were pretty much used up by that old wooden chest. But I definitely have a new appreciation for what goes into it. It’s more than just decoration; it’s a serious journey. And good on him for seeing it through. It’s impressive, no doubt about it.
