A childhood spent sketching in small-town Texas often blurs into memory, but for Cooper Watts, founder of Vagabond Saints Tattoo Lounge, those early years have defined the entirety of his career.
When a friend floated the notion of getting into tattooing, curiosity became a spark, and by 16, he was building a makeshift machine out of the most precious thing he owned: a portable audio player. "It was the early 90s, long before tattoos were mainstream, and certainly before a teenager could research techniques online," Watts says.
So, he learned through improvisation, tattooing friends in his mother's apartment and pursuing a form of expression that to him felt electric even then. "I realized this wasn't what I had been seeing in public, old, faded tattoos," he recalls. "It was a genuine art form."
The years that followed became a long apprenticeship shaped by movement and discipline. Watts studied Indigenous tattoo customs, Japanese hand-poke traditions, and whatever he could find in libraries or worn-out magazines. After joining college, he came in contact with tattoo artists who refined his eye and sharpened his technique.
Later in his life, he was swayed in different directions, from the military to switching between states. Yet, regardless of the pivots in his journey, he didn't allow circumstances to interrupt the rhythm of learning.
He picked up work where he could, set up shops, and co-founded new studios when collaborations aligned. These shifts, he notes, were his way of protecting the creative thread that had anchored him since 16. "I just kept at it, never letting my dream die," he says.
That persistence eventually shaped what would become Vagabond Saints Tattoo Lounge. The studio's origin traces back to 2016, when an art consignment store became the unlikely doorway back into tattooing after a period of what he calls a "short retirement." As demand grew, the shop expanded, moved, endured less-than-ideal locations, and ultimately settled into a space where art was paired with refuge, community, and a sense of belonging.
Aside from its artistry, Vagabond Saints moves away from the conventional notions people may have of a tattoo studio by incorporating intentional care into its operations. Watts notes that the studio is recognized as a certified mental health SafeSpace, a designation that came through training with a hospital in Hamilton, Ontario. "We were given the tools to protect people if they were having a mental health episode," he shares.
The studio's staff members are equipped to de-escalate complex mental health situations, safeguard both clients and themselves, and provide comfort without judgment. Everything is rooted in the belief that support should feel natural, not transactional.
His attention to sensory well-being extends into the tattoo process itself. Once attached to the buzzing hum of coil machines, Watts later shifted to quieter rotary devices to accommodate clients who may startle easily or find the sound overwhelming. It was a thoughtful adaptation, one that mirrors his approach to every element of the environment. In his view, comfort and art hold equal weight. "A tattoo is not simply something someone wears but something they experience," he adds.
Language, too, is a medium he shapes with care. Watts avoids phrases that could diminish or alienate, especially for certain client groups who may have felt dismissed elsewhere. He treats conversation as an essential part of the service, one that is attuned to the emotional bandwidth of the person sitting in the chair. "We meaningfully engage with every customer, every person who walks in, especially if they are emotionally dysregulated," he explains. "Whether someone is having an emotional breakdown, or clearly isn't in control, we know how to diffuse, how to bring calm, how to take care of someone. Every dialogue is tailored to the person."
That philosophy expands into the way he views tattooing itself. He sees body art as a medium that lets people heal through choosing how their stories are worn. He notes that clients often come to mark survival, cover scars, or reshape memories through beauty. "Tattoos offer a little ink therapy, a blend of creativity and recovery etched into skin," he says.
Looking ahead, Cooper Watts hopes to take the model he's shaped in Hamilton and extend it across Canada, with more studios rooted in mental health care, partnerships with organizations aligned with community well-being, and one day, an in-house therapist to provide support on site. He seeks to normalize care and creativity side by side, proving that a tattoo studio can be both a professional craft space and a compassionate sanctuary.
