Body Art in Ballet: 3 Dancers on Their Tattoos
When Alec Knight got his first tattoo at 18 to honor his grandfather who had passed away, he was still an apprentice with New York City Ballet. Now a soloist with the company, and with 26 tattoos added to his collection, he remembers how major it felt to get that first one, especially in a profession where your body is on display. “I laugh now when I think about it,” Knight says. “But as much as this job is my passion and I absolutely love it, it’s so important for me to be showing up for the things that make me feel [like] myself.”
Tattoos have a history of being taboo in the ballet world, but that perception has been slowly evolving. And even though tattoos are becoming more common, some dancers may still feel uncertain about how their body art will be perceived. Here, three artists share why they’ve gotten them, how they’ve navigated introducing their tattoos to artistic staff, and how they cover them (if necessary) for performances.
In the Studio
It’s understandable why getting a tattoo might seem daunting, especially when working in a profession where your body is your instrument and highly visible. Schuyler Wijsen, an artist with Boston Ballet, felt nervous before getting his first one. “I noticed principal dancers and longtime soloists in the company who had a bunch of tattoos, but they had also worked up a sense of seniority.” After Wijsen got his first one, a triangle on the inside of his wrist, he found that there was a community in the company that was very accepting, so much so that he decided to add to his collection. “I saw a really great group of people who are really accomplished, all throughout the ranks, who had tattoos all over their bodies. It inspired me.”
Madeline Woo, a principal with the Royal Swedish Ballet, has also felt some hesitation in the studio regarding her tattoos. She got her first one at 22, a poppy flower to represent her home state of California and her mom, but she has since gotten more on her chest, stomach, and down one arm. “When I first got this kind of sleeve tattoo, I hid it for the first couple months because I was so terrified of people finding out about it,” she says. But when she finally uncovered it, she found that while people showed interest in it, they didn’t react negatively. “Even my director was just a bit curious about why I wanted to get it,” Woo recalls. “People get used to it, then people forget about it, and then it’s not a big deal at all.”
Like Wijsen and Woo, Knight has continued adding to his tattoo collection, mostly on his arms. Given how prominent they are, Knight tends to wear long-sleeved shirts when a choreographer comes in to work on a piece. “I think that’s sort of just my approach and my mutual respect, because it might catch someone off guard if they don’t know that I will be covering them up,” he says. Knight sees it as his responsibility to not let his tattoos detract from the choreographer’s vision. “I would never put myself above the work.”
Under the Stage Lights
All three dancers cover their tattoos for performances, a process which can range from meditative to annoying. Regarding her arm tattoos, Woo jokes, “I should have chosen a place that I don’t have to expose every single show.” On her social media, Woo has posted a video demonstrating how she goes about covering her ink, which takes about 15 to 20 minutes and involves applying layers of Skin Illustrator–brand makeup. At Boston Ballet, most of the dancers use Kett Cosmetics. “We all have our own little bottle of this one random brand that really works for us,” Wijsen says.
Knight will use different cover-up techniques depending on what rep he’s doing. For a piece with a lot of partnering, he’ll use a concealing method that won’t smudge. “It’s almost like a temporary tattoo that’s matched to your skin tone. It effectively becomes like a second layer of skin and will stay on for three or four days.” A less intense process Knight uses involves color correcting the tattoos with an orange base, painting on concealer, and then muting it with a powder.

While the standard is to cover their tattoos for shows, each dancer has had the opportunity to leave them exposed. “There are a lot of new choreographic pieces that I’ve done where the choreographer has said it’s okay to keep our tattoos uncovered,” says Wijsen. “It’s really refreshing to get to go out there with them, or get to decide how you want to cover them.” Woo recently left hers showing for the world premiere of Alexander Ekman’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. “I loved it because I don’t have to spend the extra time to cover it up.”
More Than Skin-Deep
Wijsen, Woo, and Knight all have a special relationship with the art that they’ve chosen to put on their bodies. Wijsen’s tattoos act as a physical, permanent representation of an idea, time, or part of his identity he wants to remember. For instance, his childhood nickname was Poodle, given to him because of his curly hair. His most recent tattoo, a poodle on his left forearm, reminds him of his family and their support. “It’s almost become like a scrapbook for different phases of my life.”
Woo likes “tattoos that decorate the body, rather than singular pictures.” She found a tattoo artist whose work was about creating human patterns on the body, similar to the way an animal has stripes. “He didn’t just start right away. He wanted to get to know me before he decided what to draw.” The artist thought Woo would want something that would make her feel powerful. “I really love it because that is definitely something that I treasure and is very important to me.”

Knight has been surprised by how uncovering his tattoos after a show affects him. “It’s like coming back down to who I am as a person. It’s revealing, that sense of shedding this persona and coming back to myself.” In an art form where many hours are spent looking in a mirror, Knight’s tattoos remain a source of identity and autonomy. “I see myself. I don’t just see a dancer. I don’t just see an instrument. I see a human being.”