Faith & Flesh: How One Artist Transforms Pain Into Power

How a tattoo artist rejected by her church found healing in helping others reclaim their bodies—one needle at a time.

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the meticulous private room at DreamWorx Ink as Lu Pariselli works steadily on her client's hip, creating delicate florals where most people will never see them. Her client lies quietly, occasionally wincing, but mostly lost in thought. This is the magic Lu talks about—those moments of profound silence where healing happens.

"When they're quiet, that's when the magic is happening," Lu tells me, never breaking concentration from her work. "They're reflecting. It's beautiful to witness, but it's also hard because I feel what's happening. I feel it 100%."

This isn't just any tattoo session. This is therapy through ink, and Lu—with her background in painting, German history, and radio—has become an unlikely healer for people reclaiming their bodies after trauma, loss, and rejection.

The Connection That Started It All

Our story begins with baptism and rejection, with sacred spaces and the people they exclude. Lu and I found each other through social media after my twins' baptism at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in King City. While I was celebrating this milestone with my daughters, Lu was nursing a wound from her own church in Woodbridge—where she and her wife were told they couldn't baptize their son.

"When I saw your post, I had a sense of community regarding being a lesbian, but that didn't mean being a lesbian locally in Vaughan," Lu explains, her Italian accent softening with emotion. "Growing up and being gay here was not a good thing for me. When I saw you hitting that trifecta unicorn of gay, local to the area, and having kids too, I felt very connected to you."

But seeing my celebration also stirred something painful. "You were doing something that I was unsure of and very afraid of because I had received not a very welcoming invite from the church regarding baptizing my son."

The contrast was stark and heartbreaking. Two gay parents, same faith, same desire to celebrate their children—but completely different treatment from the institution they'd grown up loving.

"I'm a traditionalist at heart, and although I'm gay, I'm still extremely traditional," Lu says. "All my cousins and everybody in my life were allowed to be married in the church, and when I wasn't, it broke my heart. Something that had been celebrated in my life—just having the traditions of being Catholic and Italian—it made me sad that I had to throw all of those away."

From Radio Waves to Sacred Skin

Lu's path to tattooing wasn't linear. After completing degrees in German History at York University and painting at OCAD, she spent time at The Edge 102.1 FM, a station with deep ties to the LGBTQ+ community. Each experience shaped her understanding of art as identity and self-expression.

"The Edge had deep LGBTQ+ community ties," she reflects. "That experience shaped my understanding of art as identity and self-expression, but I was heard and not seen there. Tattooing is the opposite—it's so intimate."

The transition from painting to tattooing terrified her. "The scariest thing I ever did was change my medium because I wasn't good at it right away, and I was always good at art. I practiced with wood cutting—I bought a wood burner and was burning wood to understand that once you mark something, it's in the wood. You can't erase it."

She pauses, adjusting her position to get a better angle. "I cried all the time, guys. I used to go home like, 'I'm not going to get this.' And the worst thing was that people expected me to be really good right away, and I wasn't."

The Science of Sacred Touch

What Lu discovered in those early struggling years was that tattooing isn't just about technical skill—it's about understanding the profound biochemical and emotional process happening when needle meets skin.

"You're working with needles, pain, endorphins—there's a whole biochemical process happening," she explains. "I was told to think about the ink injecting the skin, which is injecting the cells, and you need to think about it filling up each pocket as you go. Sometimes I think of the body as a scientific system, and that helps me realize that this is not paper, this is not a canvas—this is a living, breathing person, and I'm working on the biggest organ of their body."

Research increasingly supports what Lu witnesses daily: tattooing can be genuinely therapeutic, helping with grounding, trauma processing, even PTSD. The process forces people into the present moment, creating a unique space where healing can occur.

"I witness that every day with the people that I work on," she says. "The men and the women that come to me wait a long time to see me, so usually their projects come from very intense things that have happened to them. In the service that I provide, it's therapy—art therapy for both client and artist."

When Silence Speaks Volumes

Lu has developed an acute sensitivity to what's happening beyond the surface during her sessions. She watches for the moments when conversation stops and something deeper begins.

"When they're having a moment while being tattooed, it's silent. We're actually not speaking, and it's in that silence that it's deafening. People sit with the discomfort of the pain, but maybe we had been conversing a minute or two prior, and when they're quiet, that's when the magic is happening because they're reflecting."

She's learned that silence is a powerful tool. "I don't do the majority of the talking, and in that silence, if you leave silence, people will fill it if they can. They're craving the desire to be heard, and I listen. I'm really working on the strategy of listening attentively, not interrupting. When that happens, people will give you everything."

This creates enormous responsibility. "A lot happens at the consult when I first sit with someone and they open up to me. It's hard at -

first for them, but once they release that, or when they open that lid of being vulnerable and I remind them that they're in a safe space, they're just craving to be heard."

"Just because you weren't welcome at certain events or felt like a complete outcast at others, you're gonna fit right into the life you have right now."

Reclaiming Bodies, Rebuilding Lives

Some of Lu's most meaningful work involves helping people reclaim their bodies after medical procedures, trauma, or loss. She's tattooed over mastectomy scars, self-harm scars, stretch marks—transforming sites of pain into something beautiful.

"We can all relate to having really odd relationships with our bodies," she says. "There's parts of us that we can't stand that others will tell us are beautiful. But giving a woman her body back when they've looked in the mirror and despised looking at themselves—it makes me feel like a magician."

The response from clients validates this transformative power. "I've had people say to me, 'You've given me my self-worth, my confidence back. I can wear those shirts, I can wear that outfit, I feel like me again.' As someone who also struggles with body stuff, I feel like that's my gift—giving them their confidence back."

Creating Sacred Space

The rejection from her church fundamentally shaped how Lu approaches her work. She's determined to create the welcoming space she was denied.

"What I missed the most about the church was that sense of belonging because my entire family is welcome except for me," she says, her voice breaking slightly. "With tattooing, I feel like I create a space that is nothing but welcoming for that reason. Because of my hurt, I don't want people to feel small or unworthy or like they don't belong."

She's incredibly intentional about power dynamics in her space. "I'm very aware of how I level people. I'll often put them higher than me, especially when we're speaking. I always sit lower because there's power in our exchange—I often hold the needle. I’m in charge. That’s scary for some people. So I always try and level it off, whether it's by physical height or physical positioning."

The Healing Artist

Behind Lu's booth hangs a painting she created in university—a beach scene from 1920s France showing families enjoying Sunday together instead of being inside church walls praying. The red throughout represents the guilt and inadequacy she felt despite being deeply religious.

"This whole painting is about that pressure to be inside the walls praying to be a good Catholic, and the whole red is like, 'I'm not good enough, I'm never enough,'" she explains. "I was very religious—I read the Bible, I was fucking on it. That's what this whole thing is about."

Now, she's created her own sacred space where people are always enough, always welcome, always heard.

"The rejection from the church was the same feeling you get when you're in grade school and you're not picked for gym class," she says. "That 'you are not welcome, you are not a part of us.' But that's what I find the world is really good at doing—creating the other. That's what I want to personify in this work—the opposite of that."

Beyond the Needle

For Lu, tattooing has become about much more than creating beautiful art. It's about witnessing people's stories, holding space for their pain, and helping them transform trauma into something permanent and powerful.

"You're only here for a little bit of time," she tells people considering their first therapeutic tattoo. "I would use tattoos to express exactly what you need to say because they can do that. Tattoos will attract like-minded people—it's a language that without saying anything, someone can connect with you from across a room. You're creating community with silence, which is really cool."

As our interview wraps up, Lu's client sits up to admire the delicate florals now adorning her hip. There's something different in her posture, her breathing. She looks more present, more grounded—exactly what the research says should happen.

"What do I want people to take away from being tattooed by me?" Lu reflects. "That I hear them. I'm listening to everything you say to me. I hear you." She touches the gold cross she still wears around her neck—a reminder that faith and identity can coexist, even when institutions fail us. "I would tell my younger self that you're really gonna like the older version of yourself. Just because you weren't welcome at certain events or felt like a complete outcast at others, you're gonna fit right into the life you have right now."

In her hands, ink becomes more than pigment under skin. It becomes proof of survival, markers of transformation, and ultimately, sacred reminders that we are all worthy of love, acceptance, and belonging—needle marks and all.

Lu Pariselli is a tattoo artist at DreamWorx Ink in Vaughan, Ontario. Her work focuses on large-scale trash polka, high contrast black and grey, and avant-garde pieces that help clients transform their stories into art. Follow her on instagram.

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