Drea Red
Raised in a punk-rock house, controversial tattoo artist Christian Kenney has been expressing himself to the extreme since the age of 9
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System of a Down’s “Toxicity” blasts from the radio. A portable fan whirls, pouring a steady stream of icy air into the room. A man with fiery red dreadlocks bends over in fierce concentration, apparently not bothered by the dentist office-like buzzing emitted from the machine he’s holding. As he works, his short-sleeve button-down shirt falls open revealing four shiny, silver balls protruding from each nipple. It is almost enough to make you miss the teeth and bones tattooed across his entire chest in black ink.
He finally looks up.
“Come sit down,” says Christian Kenney, a Gainesville icon known for standing out in a sea of faceless students and causing a stir wherever he goes. “We just do this when we’re bored.”
By “this,” he means the art of tattooing. He and his former roommate/co-worker, Mike Yankey, 29, like to practice on each other when business runs slow. It’s like therapy to them, Christian says.
Christian, 29, works at Kaoz tattoo shop in Gainesville.
He grew up in a punk-rock house and began tattooing at age 9. He has tattoos almost covering his entire body and more than 25 piercings.
He was inspired to tattoo after watching a Grizzly Adams movie about blood brothers, and he carved a primitive “Fuck You” onto the bottom of his foot using a razor blade and cigarette ashes. It only took 10 minutes, the tattoo faded away quickly, and his parents still don’t know about it.
He had been living in Detroit with his father, but they didn’t get along very well. His mother lived in California and did not have much contact with the family, so at age 13, Christian decided he’d be better off on his own. He moved into a 12-bedroom house with 15 other people, ages 13 to 20.
Christian says the house was in a “ghetto, black, crack” area, but the residents were culturally diverse. “We had an Arab guy, an Indian guy, a Mexican man, a Philippine guy, two blacks and a Mexican girl. Everyone had tattoos,” he says.
Although Christian’s dad still paid his rent, the teenagers in the house worked at restaurants, played punk-rock music and partied all the time.
“Hell, I’d never allow my kids to leave home for a house like that,” says his former roommate, Mike, who has 10 tattoos but grew up in a “normal” household in Montana. “A bunch of 13-year-olds drinking alcohol and tattooing each other¬that's just asking for trouble.”
Christian’s brother, now a 30-year-old mechanic, made their first tattoo machine when he moved into the house one year after Christian. They learned how to tattoo by trial-and-error. Christian’s first real tattoo was a sun on his wrist that he drew himself. The trend stuck.
“The pain makes the little problems in life not matter,” Christian says. “It hurts like hell, but when you’re done, it looks so fantastic. You love a body part that you didn't love before.”
As much as Christian loves tattoo art, he wants to go to aviation school and train to become a pilot. He says it seems “fun and adventurous,” and he enjoys looking at the clouds.
“The idea of landing a plane scares the crap out of me, but it’s gotta be easier than tattooing, with people always freaking out and all,” he explains.
Christian knows that if he becomes a pilot, he’ll have to remove his piercings and cover his tattoos. Right now, he is deciding whether or not he should tattoo his neck. If he decides to and then becomes a pilot, he’ll have to wear turtlenecks, even in 90-degree weather.
He doesn’t see why the “cover all body art” policy is necessary, but he is willing to accept it in order to pursue his dream. The piercings will not close up, so he will still be able to express himself when he is off duty.
Christian says he is content with the way he was brought up because it helped him find his passion for tattoo art. He likes his unconventional lifestyle and adamantly opposes having children himself. He’s even getting a vasectomy.
“I don't want the responsibility,” he says. “I have a dog. That’s enough.”
Sure enough, walk around downtown Gainesville any night of the week, and you’re bound to spot Christian’s pierced cheeks, nose and chin and Tattoo, his black Rottweiler, standing out in the crowd.
University of Florida senior Ilisa Lebowitz remembers standing in Sidebar, a partially outdoor bar with live music, when a huge dog jumped over the brick wall and into the bar area.
“There was a loud crash, and I turned around to see all these broken beer bottles on the floor where the dog knocked them over,” she says. “It was really scary. People were backing out of the way, and the guy didn’t even do anything about it. He just stood there.
“He said the dog doesn’t bite, but he kind of looked homeless with all the tattoos and everything, so I didn’t really trust him. He seemed strange to be walking his dog at two in the morning, in the middle of the clubs downtown.”
“It’s not about the way you look,” Christian says. “After all, I was raised in Detroit. I got friends in low places. I say hello to street bums.”
But, as Christian also says, “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“That’s my motto. I’m always helping people out and getting screwed over.”
Trying to be friendly, Christian welcomed a new co-worker into his home one evening. The man repeatedly stabbed him and hit him with a baseball bat after Christian refused to support his cocaine addiction.
“Some people look like total vagrants and are so cool and nice,” he says. “That guy that stabbed me was really clean-cut and preppy.”
Christian doesn't seem to mind the extra attention though. He acknowledges the drama and the rumors that seem to gravitate toward him and uses it to his advantage.
“I asked God, ‘Man, what the hell’s the deal? I don’t do any drugs. I don’t even smoke weed, but the drama’s just there anyway,’” he says.
He usually takes it as an opportunity to network and show off his tattooing skills.
“Expect to be treated differently,” he says matter-of-factly. “Many times, I get served last, but if you don’t go, you’re giving in and giving up.”
Christian says that bouncers and bartenders sometimes ignore him, presumably because of his unusual appearance. He patiently waits until finally they give in, let him in and sell him drinks.
He refuses to name names because he doesn’t want to give any one place a bad reputation, but he says that when bar and club owners find out that he has tattoos, most of the police officers’ doors begin to open for him… literally.
“It's more fun to be there when they really don’t like you,” he says. “It's not counter to the culture. It’s just living life the way you want.”