It seems that an almost everyday conversation that I have with others is the prospect of getting a tattoo. People have polarized opinions regarding the permanent statement that you are making by putting something publically on your body to be judged by anyone. People often get a tattoo for the sole reason of saying they have one, but hide it so that it is always concealed and can only be displayed in intimate situations. This is not something that I feel necessary in the personal statement making act out of defiance or hidden authority. I feel that tattoos can be something to preserve the special moments in life, and say a great deal about a person. Having something so eternally bled onto your skin is a very vulnerable and brave act.
I am not one opposed to tattooing; I think that it is a beautiful art, and though I want one someday, I will never be a person to get an arm sleeve or anything flamboyantly calling the attention of others. 
The tattoo I want is of the schematic drawing of a horse. There are various reasons for this image, personally and some that symbolically resound in my life.
One of my father’s hobbies was to draw, or sketch rather. I have one of his pencil drawings of a series of horse images that he drew for me throughout my life, and this image will always be something that reminds me of him. The act of drawing and creating is one that I have always been greatly found of, and I owe that to my father who always encouraged this development.
A schematic drawing is the first iteration of lines constructed before laying down the hard lines in order to complete the picture. As an individual I am continually changing, and constructing myself to become my own being, and do not see completion of self anytime in the near future, and do not necessarily think that I will even be able to say I am complete at any point in my life. For this reason, the form-finding construction lines represent my endless search of identity.
Horses, on the other hand, have held a great meaning in my life. The one thing that reminds me of my father (besides James Taylor) is the image of the horse. Most of the memories that I have with him are the times that we shared going out and taking care of horses. For the last 5 years of his life, my dad was the caretaker of his friend’s two horses, for the simple pleasure of experience. He drove out 30 miles everyday in order to feed and ride the horses, brush their manes, and eventually oversee one of their pregnancies. My father was never a cowboy type, but was a pharmacist during the day that enjoyed spending time with horses, and he always conveyed the message of “the beauty of the spirited”[1].
Since my father’s passing, I have found a sincere appreciation for horses, and cannot wait until the day that I can have one of my own. In J. Frank Dobie’s The Mustangs, the author gives the historical context of how the wild mustangs have emerged to become a staple symbol of America. Prior to being brought to the West, many cultures had deeply rooted beliefs regarding the symbol of the horse.
Greek tradition associated the horse to the spoils of war: Hindus to the Cosmos: Native Americans to the wild nature: Celts to war. However within each culture the horse is emblematic of the following[2]:
Power
Grace
Beauty
Nobility
Strength
Freedom
The mustang, or stallion, have also significant symbolic references in various cultures, but overall encompass the ideas of the free-spirited, wild, unharnessed beauty found within nature. The image of a free running horse is hard to even image in today’s society where they can only be found behind the white fences of polo clubs and ranches. One of the most interesting aspects that Dobie presents in his article is the portrayal of the querencia. The word itself “denotes not only the stomping grounds of animals, but their place-preference for certain functions”[3]. A wild horse has been found to only birth its children by going back to the same place.
I feel that we are all, at this point of our lives stallions at heart. We have been relinquished for the reins of our parents, and are free to roam and find the meanings of life, and explore the workings of the world, yet we can still find the querencia of place back in the homes where we were brought. For me, going home feels much more comfortable than ever before, and I know it is because it is the place that represents the uninhibited trials of youth, and I have made my imprint in that place. Our wildness and naiveté to the rational world has only begun to be tamed, but mostly has opened the door for more to come. Here, at the University of Texas[4] we are “like the mustang… beautiful and free” making marks “for centuries to come”[5].
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