- May 2, 2024
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Asian Armor Tattoo Co. LLC opened as Palm Coast’s first ink shop in January. Grand opening is March 9.
Even the wall outlets are painted red with dark blue splatter. Inside Palm Coast’s first tattoo parlor, Asian Armor Tattoo Company LLC, in St. Joe Plaza, the atmosphere is clean and cool and welcoming, like a coffee shop or hair salon — except, you know, with burning flesh.
There are mirrors, massage tables and paintings, lamps with decorative chains, golden dragon statues and black cushioned benches. The floor is wood. The ceiling is black. Empty frames hang on the walls.
With a pillow clutched to her chest, leaning forward against the leather tattoo chair, KaTie Sandy, a 25-year-old with a blond pony tail and sparkly sandals, gets emotional and has to leave the room.
She stands outside, fighting back tears as she flicks on a lighter and holds it to a cigarette.
Gabriel “Gage” Pou, her tattoo artist, says that Sandy has been through a lot and that this will be her first tattoo. Her father died last month, at 50, he said. She was recently in a car accident.
It’s not uncommon for people to get tattoos after a death or trauma, he added. It’s something by which to remember that moment. The event wasn’t happy, he suggested, but it’s now a part of that person — inside and out.
“I have a feeling, after I get this tattoo I’m going to want like a million more,” Sandy said, wiping her eyes and snuggling back up to her pillow.
Pou owns Asian Armor Tattoo Co. with his girlfriend of seven years, Giselle Carreno, who works in the emergency room at Florida Hospital Flagler and is currently training to be a tattooist. The two have dated long-distance their entire relationship, until Pou moved to Flagler from New York two weeks ago.
A needle gun begins to buzz as Pou gently holds back Sandy’s ear and steadies his hand.
“It doesn’t hurt all that bad,” she said, as he touches down, her voice muffled in the pillow. “Like a six.”
Sandy’s father got his first tattoo — a Steelers logo — when he was 46, she says. And after her car wreck, one of the only things left intact was a pink Steelers emblem he once gave her. Seeing it, she knew what she wanted it stained into her skin forever.
“I have to make it a Steelers tribute,” she said, sniffling. “We went to a lot of playoff games together. I was daddy’s little girl, and I loved him.”
Before Pou was a tattooist, he owned a custom car- and bike-painting studio. After apprenticing for free for two years, he found ink work at major studios in Manhattan. Today, at 41, he houses photos of his best work in a portfolio near the entrance — pictures of full-length arm sleeves and colorful faces, from Jesus Christ to Edward Scissorhands.
Depending on the complexity of the design, a tattoo can take anywhere from 20 minutes to six hours to complete, he said. And throughout the 10 years he’s been in the industry, he has tried to learn all styles, constantly forcing himself out of his creative comfort zone by visiting conventions and working in shops all over the world.
In the past, he’d spend six-month chunks working in only one style at a time, until he felt he had it. Some styles — like bio-mechanical — he spent a full year on, doing nothing else.
“The pain’s like a three now,” Sandy said, once the Steelers diamonds were done and almost fully colored. She “tatted up” behind the ear, she added, because it’s a place that can be concealed to still look professional.
“I was supposed to take over (my dad’s) accounting firm, but unfortunately I slacked off and didn’t go to school,” she said. She and Pou moved to a nearby mirror so she could examine the work.
“Perfect,” she purred. “You’re a life-changer. You’re a lifesaver. You’re a pure talent. You are awesome.”
He instructed her how to clean the ink and which ointment to use, and then she left. “Mama’s not going to like this,” she said. “(But) you just made my day, honey.”
Alone in the store, Pou spoke more seriously about his craft. He talked about how all tattooists, even if they don’t get along, are connected through their art. He spoke of tattoos as a lifestyle, not a hobby. He said that he plans to bring on an apprentice, “to give them the chance nobody really gave me.”
“I’m not the best (tattooist) in the world — not even close — but I want to be there someday,” he said. “So I put in the work.”
Although Pou is Puerto Rican and Carreno is from Peru, they named the shop Asian Armor because Pou wants to specialize in “Japanese body suits,” which are basically full-body tattoos. The tattoos Pou currently has himself, he says, are pointless to count individually. He has collected them from friends and colleagues and plans to connect them all into a body-length collage, a sort of abstract map of his entire life, each piece made tangible by someone else he has met along the way.
The whole process, he says, will take about four years.
He then spoke of his personal and professional partnership with Correno, and how she understands him and supports him. Like his parents, who have been together since they were 13 years old, Pou says he’s in it for the long haul.
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it together. If we’re going to suffer and lose sleep, we’re going do it together,” he said. “(Your reputation) is like your family name — you want to make it proud.”
Asian Armor will hold a grand opening March 9. For more, call 597-2887.
