Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust: How A Downtown Auburn Tattoo Shop Refuses To Go Up In Flames.

Editor’s note: The author of this story has received tattoo work from Savage Kat Tattoo.

As the mythology goes, a phoenix is immortal, ending and beginning until time is trivial. It dies in a show of force and flames and combustion and is born again. Don’t worry if the spectacle is alarming. It’s supposed to be that way.

For downtown Auburn’s Savage Kat Tattoo shop — which sits prominently along A Street, its giant windows offering a peek into creativity — being likened to a phoenix wasn’t anyone’s choice. But when you’ve burned down not once, but twice, each time rebuilding mere feet from where the last iteration fell, it’s a tough metaphor to shake.

“I lost my entire shop, my entire crew,” says Savage Kat’s owner Travis Popp. “In one fell swoop. Twice.”

It’s a sore spot, but it’s a story he’s willing to tell. He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t spare the details, and doesn’t wince when he’s asked to remember a feeling most never endure. What was it like when you got the phone call in December 2017? When someone told you your shop — your livelihood — is on fire? And how about the second time four years later?

At each break in the story, each sentence waiting for a period, he dips the tattoo machine back into the ink, wipes goop on the patch of arm in front of him and sets needle to skin. He doesn’t have time to recount in leisure — having everything you own go up in flames can be expensive. So he works. On weekends, on weeknights, in the morning and every time in-between. He’s working now and he’ll be working in a few months — if you want his work on you, better get in line.

A few yards away, the rest of the shop is bustling. Speakers overhead are blaring grunge, and an apprentice is asking where to set a new shipment of ink without contaminating the bottom of the box. Everything in a tattoo shop can be seen as a biohazard, especially the floor. A group of young women have entered, asking about walkin appointments, and a few artists are drawing on tablets, readying an illustration that in a few hours will be immortalized.

Compared to what’s happening outside — cars line up for the afternoon traffic, and residents at Merrill Gardens assisted living facility take long walks accompanied by pets — the energy inside Savage Kat feels distinct. Different. Full of youth and exuberance and expressiveness and individuality. It feels cool.

None of that is by accident. After fire went back for seconds on July 24, 2021, Travis and his small but loyal crew had an opportunity. They could try again — same name, same decor, same vibe. They could stay small, move to Tacoma or Kent or Federal Way. They could embrace “it’s always been this way.” Or they could throw caution to the wind and make something spectacular in the heart of Auburn. Something that can’t be ignored.

“If I’m doing it, I’m going hard,” Travis says. “It’s going to be a lot more like me.”

By the time Hidden Entity had burned down again, two up-and-coming apprentices Camilo Mendoza and Paige Gray were finally about to start tattooing. In the tattoo world, it’s normal to spend a year or two training before you ever touch a tattoo machine, let alone a fresh canvas of skin. You learn everything — how to properly answer the phone, the steps required to thoroughly clean a workstation, and of course, how to ensure the ink you’re packing into the epidermis matches the client’s dreams.

Camilo and Paige remember the night of the fire well — they had finished cleaning early for the day and decided to celebrate with drinks and appetizers at Applebee’s at the Outlet Collection. Upon returning later that night around 11 p.m. or midnight, Camilo remembers seeing what looked like lights from a UFO emanating from the roof of the shop. The closer they got, the more it became apparent — that’s not an unidentified object at all. That’s a fire.

“We literally were like, a month away from tattooing,” says Camilo.

“And then,” interrupts Paige. “And then it all burned down,” Camilo finishes.

Travis offered them a lifeline — stay on at the shop, help build it out to the latest and greatest, and in the meantime, learn more about tattoo theory and tradecraft. Once that’s done, it’s time for the real shot. So the work started immediately. First order of business was calling hundreds of clients and explaining that the appointment that’s been on the books for months won’t be happening anytime soon. Or at all.

Then it was finding a new spot. On the night of the fire, Mayor Nancy Backus visited the businesses owners, standing behind the lines, watching alongside them as their life turned to smoke. Over the next few days, the dialogue continued, and the attention was turned the property at A Street — a massive, two-story building owned by developer Jeff Oliphant that once housed a bank. It had been sitting vacant for many years, and Jeff was willing to rent it within budget.

“Travis and I chatted for a few days and then I was talking with Jeff and thought the building might be a good location,” said Mayor Backus. “So I called Travis to connect the two of them.”

It was a deal. The only problem? The inside looked nothing like a tattoo shop. And Travis didn’t have any money to hire contractors. He did what anyone whose life has altered between fabrication and carpentry and art would do — he did it all himself. With help, of course.

“The only way I could make it work was to get weird,” Travis says. “Get artistic with it.”

From about October 2021 to March 2022, Travis, Paige and Camilo — the latter two having exactly zero construction experience — went to work. And the results are jaw dropping. Gone were the beige and the white and boring, replaced with clashing colors, checkerboard patterns and a functioning tiki bar. Furniture was made from scratch, a welcome area forged from wood and aluminum, and an employee lounge crafted from a vault — literally.

On a recent Friday afternoon, Paige and Camilo took a tour through the space, at each nook and cranny stopping to reminisce. Remember when I painted this skylight? Remember when I messed up the flooring and we had to redo the entire thing? Remember when we ate meals off the unfinished counter, and cried together at night when things felt so overwhelming?

The words they use to describe the ordeal — distressing, upsetting, scarring — aren’t what you’d typically ascribe to something that looks and feels this realized. As if the space had always been this way. The artists forever a part of the lore. And yet, if you ask the three of them, they’ll be the first to admit their shop is bound together by a sense of family. And a bond melting with trauma.

Because like the phoenix, new sometimes requires spectacle and noise and abrasion. What’s there when the ash settles, and the dust dissipates, is inevitability. A love for art and a passion for creativity. An entity no more. A savage cat, no longer hidden.

“This is our home,” says Camilo while standing in the upstairs tiki lounge molded from pieces lifted wholesale from Travis’ home. “There’s no way we’re ever leaving this place. We care too much.”