Renowned collector William Robinson has found the perfect setting for his collection in Finland: a former school in Leppävirta, transformed into a museum with the help of Pena, a local tattoo artist and the building’s owner. Together, they have brought to life the World’s Biggest Tattoo Museum — a true cabinet of curiosities.
The name of your museum, The World’s Biggest Tattoo Museum, sounds like an ironic statement. Is it a joke meant to tease the more “serious” collectors?
— Well, I’ve grown up and learned that you can dream. If you dream too small, that’s all you’ll ever achieve. So you should dream big. But if you dream big, you can’t dream too big — otherwise, you’ll never achieve your dreams. I’ve achieved mine, so why can’t I call it the World’s Biggest Tattoo Museum?
“If you dream too small, that’s all you’ll ever achieve.”
Do you enjoy provoking or challenging the conventions of the collectors’ world?
— Yes. I believe in moving the goalposts and crossing the line. It’s also a challenge to other collectors: do something with your collections instead of keeping them stuck in cardboard boxes. Come on, get them out and show us what you’ve got.
Let’s go back a little. How did you first enter the world of tattooing?
— Oh, my goodness — how much time do you have? Mr. Dixon and I were living in the same town. I was working for a company installing and repairing one-arm bandits, while Alan Dixon was already a tattoo artist.
We became close friends and even opened a discotheque together. After a couple of weeks, I told him, “I need a job.” He was confused because I was making good money, but we were only working from Thursday to Saturday, and my wife was spending it faster than I could earn it.
So I said, “I’m going to open a tattoo studio.” He went absolutely mad. Back then, everything in tattooing was kept secret.
Can you tell us about your career as a tattoo machine supplier?
— After his initial anger about me opening a tattoo studio, Mr. Dixon decided that we would do it together, and from there, everything just snowballed.
I believe we were the first tattoo studio in the world to purchase a laser and start removing tattoos with it, back in 1994. Then we became suppliers and manufacturers. We were doing just about everything, really. It was madness — a long, long time ago.
Do you see yourself primarily as a collector, an archivist, an artist — or a bit of all three?
— When people ask me what I actually do, I love telling them, “I’m a modern-day Indiana Jones.”
I’ve travelled more than a million kilometres and visited thousands and thousands of tattoo studios, collecting for many years. So I suppose I’m a little bit of all three.
“I’m a modern-day Indiana Jones.”
What sparked your desire to preserve, archive, and display things that others might have left forgotten in boxes?
— As a young guy, I liked collecting stamps and coins. Then, when I became involved in the tattoo world, I started collecting tattoo-related objects as well.
I realised how important it was because only a few people were actually collecting these things. Everything was ignored. It wasn’t considered valuable.
What was the very first piece in your collection? Do you remember that moment?
— That goes back a long time. What I do remember is that everything was very secretive in the beginning. Whenever someone came into the shop with tattoo-related objects, we would buy them to take them off the street.
This was obviously before eBay, when everything went out of control. I can’t remember exactly what my first piece was, but it was probably a handmade tattoo machine.
How did you build your collection? Did you hunt for objects, recover them, or trade with other enthusiasts?
— There’s that saying: beg, steal, and borrow. I like to say that I’ve sold my soul to the devil twice, so he’s obviously not very happy with me. I don’t know how many souls I have left, but I believe I’m something like a cat.
I’ve traded, bought, searched, and hunted. Travelling a million kilometres around Europe and visiting all those tattoo shops really helped. People would often have something old sitting in the corner. They understood that it needed to go into the right hands and be looked after, rather than remain stuck in a drawer somewhere in the studio.
In your opinion, what sets yesterday’s tattooing apart from today’s?
— It’s simple. In the old days, tattooing was magic. It was secretive. Nobody told you anything.
Today, there are no more secrets, and some of the magic has gone. But on the other side of the coin, we’ve never had so many incredible artists involved in this wonderful art. Some of the things people are capable of doing today are unbelievable. The quality has skyrocketed.
At the same time, because there are no secrets left and everything is readily available, equipment can end up in the hands of people who shouldn’t be tattooing because they have no art in their blood whatsoever.
“In the old days, tattooing was magic.”
Do you intentionally blur the lines between the real and the fake, between historical documents and fiction? I’m thinking about some of the reproductions in your collection.
— The way I look at it, I want to create my own history. There are objects that belong to museums that you will never own or even be able to get your hands on.
So if you can find an artist who can create a copy or reproduction, why not? You should be able to show people everything. If something is interesting and makes people smile, then we should create reproductions or even tributes.
“I want to create my own history.”
Take the recent tribute to Charlie Wagner’s Rock of Ages. I don’t know where the original is, so why shouldn’t I look at it and think, “Right, we’ll make a copy or a reproduction”?
One day, that reproduction will also be 100 years old. It will have its own value. It’s important to preserve the documents and recreate those missing objects.
What is your favourite reaction from a visitor who sees one of the objects in the museum?
— A lot of visitors to the museum simply say, “Wow.”
But there was one Finnish visitor who really stood out to me. His English was obviously very good, and instead of writing “wow,” he simply wrote: “Breathtaking.”
We would like to thank the author of this material, Alexandra Bay — photographer, writer, and researcher of tattoo culture, who has been documenting and telling the stories of people devoted to this art since 1995.
