Founder, alongside Jef Palumbo, of the iconic Boucherie Moderne in Brussels, Kostek has infused his graphic lines and geometric patterns into the tattooing landscape.For him, tattooing goes far beyond a mere commercial service—it’s about freedom of expression, the exchange with the client, and the spontaneity of freehand drawing.
How did you get into tattooing? What first attracted you to it?
It was kind of through the rock scene. I followed Jef (Palumbo), who had wanted to be a tattoo artist since he was a kid. We went together to England to pick up his first machines. We took the motorcycle and went to get those legendary machines. At the time, there were no conventions—he tattooed at motorcycle shows. Back then, the whole imagery of it didn’t really interest me. Then I discovered Yann Black and the rock scene, and I realized we could do things that resonated with us more. It was a real eye-opener.
How did you learn the trade?
I learned on my own with Jef. Back then, if you wanted to learn, you found test subjects—your old friends, who were always willing. It wasn’t like today; you had to solder the needles yourself. You’d spend two hours making and soldering the needles before even tattooing. The magic of it is drawing directly on the person and turning it into something unique. Everything is freehand—you don’t know exactly what you’ll create in advance. It’s all about the encounter; the final tattoo is the result of that exchange. Of course, people come in with ideas. At the time, tribal and Polynesian designs were huge. I would tell them, “I’m not going to do Polynesian; I’ll draw something for you, and if you like it, we’ll tattoo it.” That’s how it started. People were stuck in certain visual traditions, so I wanted to bring something different—to show them that anything was possible, that they didn’t have to stick to traditional American or Japanese tattoo styles.
Can you walk me through your journey since the beginning? What were the key moments?
Meeting Jef was the start. At the time, I was really into screen printing—I had a workshop in his basement. One day, he told me, “I’m tired of watching you struggle. You’re always traveling, and I stay put. What if we combined our skills? We’d be much better off together.” And that turned out to be a kind of magic for us. So I started training with him while living in Brussels. I was in the Marolles, one of the city’s older working-class neighborhoods. I couldn’t believe there were no tattoo studios there. One day, I found a shop space and called Jef, telling him, “It’s now or never.” That’s how Boucherie Moderne started in 2005. I stayed until 2011. But as the neighborhood started to gentrify, I didn’t want to turn into just another business owner. So I decided to leave. Jef did too, and we passed the shop on to Guillaume. After that, I went private—I set up a studio where I could also have a rehearsal space in the basement. I wanted to host clients at my place, making it more than just a commercial act. It’s about building connections, a kind of community.
Where are you tattooing now?
I’m still tattooing privately in Brussels, but I’m also traveling. I’m not really in the mainstream tattoo circuit, yet I’m still part of the tattoo world. I also tattoo at home in the Canary Islands.
Did you have any mentors in the industry, or artists who inspired you early on?
In tattooing, it was Yann Black. In graphic design, I was heavily influenced by Escher, the Dutch artist. In my drawings, you’ll often find impossible shapes, illogical structures, things that don’t exist. They create a space where you can invent something new. And of course, music—especially punk rock and counterculture—was a huge influence.
Does this profession give you the freedom you need?
Yes. I’ve always believed that clients don’t just pay us for a tattoo; they pay us to be who we are, to stay true to our vision. They’re buying more than just ink on skin—they’re getting everything that comes with it. I still think there’s something shamanic about it. You put a bit of your soul into it, and you transform people in the process. You have to live up to what they’re seeking in you. It’s more than just a business or a service. It’s all about relationships. You spend hours with people, and sometimes they come back five years later, and the connection is still there. I do this with passion and heart—it’s a really privileged profession.
You originally studied screen printing. How has that influenced your tattoo technique and style?
Yes, I studied screen printing at the Fine Arts Academy. I used to make T-shirts and sell them at festivals. At first, I did small series, then I started creating unique pieces. One of the best compliments I ever got was when someone told me my work felt very ethnic—very simple. And that’s true; my approach is quite primitive in a way.
How do you develop your patterns?
I’d say it all comes from drawing. Sometimes, it’s about accidents—happy mistakes. Art, in general, is often about embracing those moments when things don’t go as planned. It’s about making sure you’re not repeating yourself all the time. The challenge is to always find the place where you need to innovate.
How do you collaborate with clients?
A great tattoo is never created alone. The client’s input matters—it’s a two-person reflection. I don’t ask for anything in advance. I don’t want to know too much beforehand. I prefer to keep it spontaneous, based on intuition. I ask them what they want, but ultimately, everything is done through drawing. The body itself is a source of inspiration—it expresses something. Two people might come in with the same idea, but if they have different body types, the tattoos will turn out radically different.
Placement seems crucial in your work. How do you find the perfect balance? Is it all about artistic intuition?
It’s about respecting the body—highlighting its form rather than showing off the tattoo. The body isn’t a display case for your work.
Is that why you prefer working freehand?
With freehand, you can do whatever you want. I can’t imagine designing something in advance—it doesn’t make sense to me. When you draw directly on the skin, you have total freedom. Even mistakes can become strengths. Sometimes, an error is the beginning of something great. It’s also about confidence—both in yourself and in your client. A successful tattoo is one that the person feels great about and takes pride in. The experience itself is crucial.
How do you help clients navigate the changes to their bodies? Do you see it as a responsibility?
Absolutely, because it changes the way they see themselves. I often tell them, “If you’re not sure about it, don’t do it.” And that gives me the same freedom—if I don’t feel good about a piece, I won’t do it. It has to be a mutual agreement. When we commit, we commit together.
How has your style evolved over the years? Have you stayed true to your vision?
Yes, I think so. But you never move forward exactly as you want—you always wish you could be better, do more. As long as I still love tattooing, as long as I connect with people and they connect with me, I’ll keep going.
You’re also a painter. Your paintings are just as geometric but more colorful. Why do you use color on canvas but not on skin?
Color has always been part of my work, just not on the body. For tattoos, I stick to black and red because those are the colors that last. Sometimes a bit of blue. I think tattoos should stay quite primitive. Honestly, I don’t think anything is as beautiful as black ink. You don’t need more color—the skin itself is already a color. When you add black, red, and blue, you already have four colors. That’s enough complexity.
Do you see painting as complementary to tattooing, or would you ever want to focus solely on painting?
No, it’s complementary. One fuels the other. It’s like music—the same principle. Everything feeds into everything else. What you can’t do in tattooing, you do in drawing. In tattooing, you’re in service to someone else’s vision. In painting, you’re alone with yourself. It’s much harder—you’re only accountable to your own expectations. @kostekstekkos
