But that practice has long been left to underground artists, a subculture unto itself with a dark, self-aware nickname: “morbid ink.” So far this has been something of a symbolic gesture, as the organic material introduced into their inks would eventually be absorbed into a subject’s body.
Others write off the practice as part of the growing bodyhacking movement — think “Neuromancer” meets “Miami Ink.” Biohackers are often looked down on by scientists for their more relaxed, or more adventurous, approach to ethical questions in medicine.
In recent years, the practice of has been reanimated, so to speak, by armchair enthusiasts. There is the D.I.Y. crowd, such as Skin46, who seek to raise money on Kickstarter for biogenic tattoo efforts based on hair samples. CGLabs, a Canadian outfit, is pioneering its own method, primarily marketed as DNA preservation (though not necessarily for the ink-stained crowd).
Everence takes a different approach. Customers are asked to mail their DNA samples to Endeavor’s laboratory in Quonset, R.I., where the material is milled, sterilized and enclosed in microscopic capsules of PMMA — you know it as plexiglass — which is often used in medical applications like dentures, bone cement and cosmetic surgery.
Thanks to its little envelope, instead of the DNA disappearing into the body, it is captured permanently in the ink of the tattoo. Mr. Duffy and his partners believe this creates an even more palpable, resonant bonding experience.
The pitch is a curious, emotionally poignant one coming from Mr. Duffy, a gruff, plain-spoken New Yorker with a background in real estate and a degree in political science. But after starting the nonprofit therapeutic scuba diving program for veterans with his father nearly a decade ago, Mr. Duffy, 40, said he was inspired to find new ways of connecting people while honoring those they may have lost.
A rube to the worlds of both tattoo artistry and biomedical engineering, Mr. Duffy spent the past four years seeking out experts in both fields, eventually finding advisers including Dr. Bruce Klitzman, an associate professor of surgery at Duke University, who endorses the practice: He says it’s as safe as traditional tattoo inks.
Mr. Duffy and Dr. Edith Mathiowitz, a professor at the Center for Biomedical Engineering at Brown University, have patented the technology. Dr. Mathiowitz’s work has focused on what applications polymers like PMMA can have in the human body, and she previously worked on removable tattoo ink projects.
Under the United States Food and Drug Administration, tattoo inks are viewed as cosmetics, a designation that Everence will also adopt. Historically, the agency has not regulated them, though it continues to warn consumers of the inherent risks of tattooing, including infection, allergic reactions or developing granulomas from foreign particles in the body.
Mr. Duffy insists that he has done his homework on safety. And, in an interview, Dr. Mathiowitz noted that the company will follow the strict regulations around how cosmetics must be created, as outlined by the F.D.A.
Mr. Duffy also found a partner in Virginia Elwood, a 37-year-old tattoo artist in Brooklyn who was taken by the idea almost immediately after Mr. Duffy pitched it to her over email. Their meeting was a stroke of fate: Mr. Duffy’s email was sent to her spam folder, and she opened it only because she thought he was the actor who played the father on the 1990s sitcom “Step by Step.”
Alas, it was a different Mr. Duffy, though Ms. Elwood took him up on his idea. She shares a matching tattoo with her partner, Stephanie Tamez, each with the other’s Everence inked in. Ms. Elwood also plans to get a tattoo with Everence containing DNA from her mother, who died years ago from cancer.
“We’re connected to so many things in this world right now, be it through social media or sticking photos in the cloud, and I find that personally to be a bit hollow sometimes,” Ms. Elwood said. “So instead of taking something precious to me and uploading a picture of it to a server, I’m actually carrying it on my body, in my skin.”
Ms. Elwood, Mr. Duffy and their partner Boyd Renner have also managed to gain the support of dozens of top tattoo artists like Scott Sylvia, Valerie Vargas and Mike Rubendall, all of whom will promote Everence to their sizable followings. Signing up such marquee names of the tattoo world was no easy feat, considering the delicate nature of the subject matter.
It won’t be as fast or cheap as picking a piece of tattoo flash from the wall on a less-than-sober Friday night. Everence will sell for $650, which includes the kit, the process of creating the powder and eventual return to the client months later. That is, for now, the price for a permanent product that will become a part of the customer for the rest of her life. (Initially, Everence will take a limited amount of pre-orders to gauge demand, and the company will offer payment plans for those who cannot afford to pay all at once.)
The possibilities could extend beyond tattoos. Mr. Duffy sees a future in which paintings, textiles or other emotionally resonant items are imbued with Everence. For him, the point is to continue carrying that idea that came to him in the shape of a tattooed leg years ago.
“It’s not meant to deliver a drug, and it’s not meant to augment the body,” said Mr. Duffy, whose half-sleeved arm contains Everence from his daughter, tattooed into a smattering of black birds in flight. “It’s about the emotion.”
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