For more than three decades, Curt Dunlap has left pieces of his artwork on people throughout Fullerton.

Some of those people have grown older alongside him. Some have returned years later. And some have brought their children through the doors of a tattoo shop to sit in Curt’s chair, giving him the unusual privilege of putting his art on two generations of the same family.

At 54, Dunlap has spent most of his adult life with a tattoo machine in his hand.

Right now, he cannot hold one steady.

Dunlap needs a kidney.

On September 12, the community that Curt has spent much of his life serving will gather for a car show and fundraiser organized by his friends and former colleagues at Engineerink Tattoo and Body Piercing located at 2443 E Orangethorpe Ave, Fullerton.

There will be cars, artists, music, vendors, and members of communities that, to Curt, have always belonged together.

But behind the event is a much quieter story about illness, family and what happens when a person who has spent decades giving something of himself to other people suddenly has to accept something in return.

An Artist Who Almost Walked Away

Tattooing wasn’t originally Curt’s plan.

More than 30 years ago, he was doing airbrush work at a motorcycle paint shop under a mentor named Darrel Penny. Eventually, Curt had enough.

“I was over the whole painting thing,” he recalled.

Penny saw something Curt apparently didn’t yet see in himself. He recognized Curt’s artistic ability and encouraged him not to abandon it. Instead, he suggested that Curt work at his tattoo shop while attending school.

Curt agreed.

He never really left the industry.

What began as an alternative to walking away from art became his life’s work.

Over the decades, Curt became part of the fabric of Fullerton’s tattoo community. And when he talks about his career, he doesn’t start with a favorite design or the number of tattoos he has done.

He talks about people.

One of his favorite parts of tattooing has been watching his customers’ lives unfold over time. Someone he tattooed years ago might eventually return with a son or daughter, now old enough to get a tattoo of their own.

An artist gets to see his work age.

Curt got to see families grow around it.

Tamara Cisneros and Brent Boehm, artists at Engineerink, are among those who credit Curt with mentorship over the years. Now, they are among the people trying to help him through a period in which the work that has defined so much of his life has become difficult to do.

A Second Wait for an Organ

This is not Curt’s first experience waiting for a transplant.

Years ago, Curt had a heart attack without realizing how serious his condition had become. He kept working for another three days.

He began vomiting repeatedly. By the time he reached a doctor about five days later, Curt said he was told his heart was functioning at roughly 10 percent.

Doctors placed a pump to keep him alive.

About a month later, a donor heart became available. Curt said four other potential recipients had previously declined the heart.

He accepted it.

The transplant gave him another chance at the life he knew: his family, his artwork and the tattoo community.

But the medications required to protect a transplanted organ can carry complications of their own.

According to Curt, complications involving an anti-rejection medication contributed to a blood disorder called thrombotic microangiopathy and ultimately to the failure of his kidneys. He now requires dialysis as well as an infusion every eight weeks that he expects to receive for the rest of his life.

At one point, Curt said, his creatinine level reached 7. Creatinine is a waste product that healthy kidneys remove from the blood, and elevated levels can be a sign that the kidneys are not functioning properly.

Then came dialysis.

And another transplant list. Only this time, the wait is different.

Curt said he has been told that he could wait seven to nine years for a kidney. As a patient with type O blood, finding a compatible donor can be particularly difficult.

Waiting for a heart was frightening, but in some ways it happened too quickly for Curt to comprehend. His life went from working to catastrophic heart failure to a transplant in a matter of weeks.

A kidney is different.

This time, he knows he is waiting.

When Your Hands Are Your Livelihood

Kidney failure has taken something else from Curt.

His new anti-rejection medication causes tremors in his hands. For most people, a tremor would be frustrating. For a tattoo artist, it can take away the thing that has supported a family and formed an identity.

Curt cannot reliably tattoo.

The same hands that spent decades creating precise lines, images and permanent memories on other people’s bodies no longer cooperate the way they once did. And yet, when I asked Curt what he hoped would come from the fundraiser, he didn’t give me a grand answer. He didn’t talk about eliminating every medical bill. He didn’t speak as though one afternoon could solve everything he is facing.

What he wants is help staying on top of the regular medical care that now defines his life. The bills, appointments, dialysis, medication and continued monitoring add up quickly.

Curt understands the reality of his situation.

“You can’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” he told me.

It’s an unusual phrase to hear from someone waiting for an organ. But after speaking with him, it made sense. Curt isn’t asking the community to fix his life. He is asking for a little help living it.

“The Only Place I’d Rather Be“

To understand Curt, you have to understand that tattooing is only one part of his identity. The other is family.

Curt has five children and two grandchildren, and when he isn’t working—or, before his illness, when he wasn’t working—there was rarely much question about where he wanted to be.

“I’m very family focused,” Curt said. “When I’m not at work, I’m with my family; that’s just what it is. That’s the only place I’d rather be: with my family and my girlfriend and her family.“

Even as his older children have moved out, started careers, married and had children of their own, the family has protected its rituals.

They still get together. They still have Sunday dinners. And with his two younger children still in school, Curt says he is still doing “the dad routine.“

“Family’s the main thing that preoccupies my time,” he said.

One of his most meaningful memories as an artist brought those two worlds—tattooing and family—together. Curt and his three oldest children, Dorian, Ridlee, and Callan, share tattoos based on Curt’s father’s naval insignia.

Of all the artwork he has created in more than 30 years, the opportunity to share that piece with his children remains among the most meaningful.

A Fundraiser He Never Asked For

The September 12 fundraiser wasn’t Curt’s idea.

In fact, he didn’t know it was coming. Cisneros first reached out to Curt’s girlfriend to make sure he would be comfortable with the idea. Once she approved, plans began moving.

When I asked Curt what it felt like to learn that people were organizing a car show and fundraiser for him, his voice changed. For someone who had been remarkably matter-of-fact while describing heart failure, dialysis, medication and the possibility of waiting years for another organ, this was harder to talk about.

He became emotional.

The fundraiser, he said, was a complete surprise. It was something he never expected anyone to do for him. Serious illness has also taught Curt something about relationships.

“You find out who’s in your corner and who’s not,” he said.

On September 12, he will get to see many of the people who are. Curt hopes the event brings together tattoo artists, car enthusiasts, musicians, vendors, former clients, friends and people who have never met him at all. To him, those communities aren’t as different as they may appear.

Art, tattooing, cars and music overlap. People move between them. Friendships form between them. Everyone, Curt believes, can get along. His goal for the fundraiser is remarkably simple: a good turnout, no complications and people enjoying themselves.

When I asked what it would feel like to look around that day and see former clients, artists, friends and people he may not have seen in years, Curt didn’t hesitate.

“I can’t wait.“

The Mark an Artist Leaves

Toward the end of our conversation, I asked Curt what he would say if someone he had tattooed years ago happened to pick up this newspaper and read his story. His answer wasn’t a request for money. It wasn’t a request for sympathy. It was a thank-you.

“Thank you for the opportunity to be able to share my artwork and passion with you.“

Then I asked him what the tattoo community’s support has meant during his illness. This time, Curt couldn’t immediately finish his answer.

“It means the world,” he said, choking up. “It makes me… I’m at a loss of words when it comes to the support from them.“

Maybe that is because an artist rarely gets to see the full effect of his work. A tattoo artist creates something permanent and then watches it walk out the door. The person gets married. Has children. Changes jobs. Moves away. Comes back. Twenty years pass. The tattoo remains, carrying a small piece of the artist with it.

Curt Dunlap has been sending those pieces of himself into Fullerton for more than 30 years. On September 12, some of them may come walking back through the door. Not because Curt asked them to. Because this time, the artist needs something from the people who carry his work. And because sometimes a community gets the chance to show a person what he has meant to it while he is still here to see it.

Curt doesn’t know when a kidney will come. He doesn’t know when—or whether—the tremors will subside enough for him to return to the work he loves. What he does know is where he wants to be on September 12. Surrounded by family, friends, artists, cars, music, and the community that has grown around him.

“I can’t wait,” he said.

Neither, I suspect, can the people who have been waiting for a chance to give something back.

Save the Date

September 12 at Engineerink Tattoo and Body Piercing, located at 2443 E Orangethorpe Ave, Fullerton