Tinta De Oro

My name is Josue Reyes, and I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. From painting pictures for my mom in preschool and having my artwork displayed in a high school art show, to stepping away from art to pursue criminal justice and serve more than four years in the United States Army, my path back to creativity wasn’t exactly a straight line. Along the way, I found myself drawn to the human form, faces, eyes, and especially the skeletal system—things that have fascinated me since childhood. Eventually, after experimenting with painting and murals, I discovered tattooing and began teaching myself one tattoo at a time. Three years later, I’m a licensed tattoo artist specializing in realism while continuing to explore traditional, Japanese, neo-traditional, illustrative, and other styles. More importantly, I’ve discovered that tattooing gives me something beyond the opportunity to create art: it gives me the opportunity to listen to people, understand their stories, and turn something meaningful in their lives into something they can carry with them forever. My goal is to continue growing as an artist, build a studio that reflects that philosophy, and leave behind artwork that means something long after I’m gone.

Some of my earliest memories are sitting in preschool making paintings for my mom. That love for art followed me throughout my childhood and into high school, where one of my paintings was eventually displayed in an art show.

Even then, I was always drawn to the same things: faces, eyes, skulls, and the human form.

I’ve always been fascinated by the skeletal system. To me, there’s something incredibly honest about it. The skeleton is the most raw version of every person. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, or what you look like on the outside. Underneath it all, we’re all built the same.

I grew up in South St. Louis and attended St. Mary’s High School—Go Dragons. Outside of art, I practiced mixed martial arts and eventually joined the United States Army, where I served for more than four years as an intelligence analyst.

For a while, I actually tried to move away from art.

Like a lot of people, I grew up hearing that art wasn’t necessarily a reliable career. I was encouraged to find something safer, something more practical. So I pursued criminal justice with the goal of eventually working in a three-letter federal agency and specializing in human trafficking.

Life had other plans.

After leaving the Army, I found myself with an opportunity to reconsider what I actually wanted to do with my life. I went back to the thing that had always been there: art.

I experimented with painting and wall murals, and while I still love the idea of creating large-scale artwork, I eventually found my way into tattooing.

My first tattoos were actually on myself.

And, to be completely honest, they were pretty damn bad.

But those first tattoos taught me something. Tattooing yourself is a completely different experience from drawing on paper. You’re trying to control a machine you’ve never used before while working on a surface that moves, stretches, and reacts to you—and then there’s the small issue of the person you’re tattooing actually being able to feel everything you’re doing.

In my case, that person was me.

Those early tattoos were rough, but they represented something much bigger: the beginning of a new path.

I was fortunate enough to have a close friend who believed in me before I really had the skill to prove myself. Once I started learning, he became one of the first people willing to sit in my chair and let me practice on him.

A lot.

There were plenty of days spent in a basement with a tattoo machine in my hand, trying to figure things out one tattoo at a time. He sacrificed his own skin while I learned, improved, made mistakes, and figured out what worked.

Looking back, I realize how much trust that took.

He didn’t have to let me practice on him. He didn’t have to sit there while I learned how to control the machine, how to build lines, how to shade, or how to work with skin. He did it because he believed I could become good at this before I could see it myself.

I’ll always be grateful for that.

From there, I became largely self-taught. I spent countless hours studying other artists, watching techniques, paying attention to how people worked, experimenting, practicing, making mistakes, and learning from them.

I’m still doing that today.

I don’t think an artist ever really stops learning.

Three years later, I’m a licensed tattoo artist, and when I look back at where I started, I’m honestly proud of how far I’ve come.

I went from small beginner flash pieces and basic line work to creating realistic portraits, detailed illustrative pieces, and fine-line tattoos that I never would have imagined myself capable of creating when I started.

Realism is where my heart is.

It’s the style I constantly push myself to improve, particularly when it comes to smooth shading, detail, depth, and creating something that feels alive. But I don’t believe an artist should limit themselves to one style. I love exploring different forms of tattooing, and I’m continuing to study everything from traditional Japanese tattooing to neo-traditional work and everything in between.

For me, tattooing isn’t simply about putting a picture on someone’s skin.

It’s about listening.

Every client walks in with an idea, a memory, a person, a dream, or sometimes just a feeling that they can’t quite put into words. One of the things I believe I’m good at is taking that idea, listening to what someone actually wants, and translating it into something tangible.

Something they can carry with them.

Some of the tattoos I’m most proud of are the ones that have a story behind them.

I’ve worked on a memorial piece for a client who had lost his dog, incorporating the dog’s image into a mountain landscape with a river, valley, and rocks. That tattoo challenged me technically and pushed me into experimenting with freehand work. Seeing that idea become a finished piece was incredibly rewarding.

Another piece that means a lot to me is a scene of a wolf pup and a larger wolf standing together in a forest beneath the moon. The client described himself as a lone wolf—someone who often feels like he is navigating the world alone.

I understood that feeling.

I think a lot of people do.

Sometimes it’s difficult to look around and feel like everyone else has found their people while you’re still searching for yours. We’re all different, we see the world differently, and finding people who truly share your values and understand you can be difficult.

That’s one of the things I love about tattooing.

For a few hours, two people can sit across from each other and share a story that might otherwise never be told.

And then I get to turn part of that story into art.

That’s the footprint I want to leave behind.

I’ve always believed that art gives us a way to leave something of ourselves in the world. Long after we’re gone, something we created can still exist. It can still make someone feel something. It can remind someone of a person they loved, a place they came from, something they survived, or something they dreamed about.

If my artwork can make someone feel good, help someone remember, help someone heal, or simply make them look down at their tattoo years later and smile, then I feel like I’ve accomplished something meaningful.

My goal is to create tattoos that aren’t just beautiful, but personal.

I want every person who sits in my chair to feel heard, comfortable, and excited about what we’re creating together. I want the environment around my work to be just as important as the work itself.

And I’m nowhere near finished.

My long-term goal is to build a studio in downtown St. Louis overlooking the Gateway Arch—a place known for exceptional work, smooth realism, beautiful artwork, and an environment where people genuinely enjoy being.

I’m also taking tattooing outside of the traditional shop environment with my mobile tattoo studio, bringing the art directly to clients and building something that I hope will become a recognizable part of the St. Louis tattoo community.

I spent a large part of my life trying to find a safer path away from art.

Eventually, I realized I wasn’t really leaving art behind.

I was just taking the long way back to it.

And now, I’m exactly where I think I was supposed to be all along.