My Journey As A Henna Artist
By: Rebeca Ansar
Tags: Personal Development, Artist, Culture, Self, Life Lessons

Henna is a thick green dye prepared by crushing the Lawsonia inermis plant native to South Asia, North Africa, and the Middle East. It is used to decorate the skin with designs passed down through centuries.

I have grown up associating the scent and sight of henna with times of celebration within the South Asian community. During these events, brown skin is adorned with intricate designs to mark participation in the festivities.

Henna artists point their faces closely over open palms, their sleeves rolled up, their eyes focused on expelling the thin green liquid dye from the henna tube.

My origin story as a henna artist starts with my mother’s half-hearted attempt to draw on my palm.

Though she is a shrewd businesswoman, my mother has never had much patience with creativity. I was a child visiting my grandmother in Pakistan during Eid, a major Muslim holiday, when I asked my mom to apply henna on me.

We sat on the bungalow’s rooftop as my mother squeezed the fresh henna out of its cone and began drawing lines on my hand. Once she had lifted her cone to mark completion, I saw that she had managed to construct a simple pentagon drawing of a house.

I looked at it, both bewildered and disappointed. After all, henna was supposed to beautify your palms. My skin should have been a canvas filled with intricate paisleys and flowers.

I looked up at her with my big brown eyes. “That’s it?” I asked.

She stared back at me, trying to figure out what else she could do to make me happy. She began drawing waves. Soon enough the pentagon-shaped house was swimming in what appeared to be the middle of the ocean.

A henna tattoo lasts for roughly 10 days. I succumbed to my fate of having this house sinking in the sea dyed on my skin for that duration of time.

That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I procured a henna cone from somewhere and began practicing on myself. My mom had actually done me a favor by setting the bar so low. I was sure I could at least do better than a sinking house.

I learned that there are more applications of henna than I could ever have guessed.

After I had enough experience with how to hold the cone, how hard to squeeze, and when to let go, I was able to craft my own flowery designs.

My mother must have breathed a sigh of relief. She never needed to be responsible for that task again.

For the next few Eid celebrations, I was back in my hometown of Tyler, Texas. There, the event would be held at a huge venue known as the Oil Palace.

Eid celebrations consisted of us getting dressed up in the fancy suits specifically purchased for the occasion. Upon entering the Oil Palace, women and men would separate into two sections.

I have always found small-talk to be a giant waste of time. While I enjoyed getting dressed up and attending the event at the Oil Palace, I didn’t enjoy sitting around, twiddling my thumbs. It made me feel useless.

Since then, I’ve learned that I’m a highly kinesthetic person. I often become bored if I’m not able to meaningfully interact with the experience at hand.

Once my mother had broadcast to her friends that I was good at applying henna, they began flocking to me. It was a welcome feeling. I would much rather spend the duration of the festivities working on my art than resorting to gossip to fill the time instead.

Henna was one of the first ways I tapped into my artistic side. It also saved me from being a totally frivolous person.

The next time the skill came in handy was when I was sick of being a broke college student.

I wanted to make at least some money on the side. Extra pocket change would allow me to open up my clenched fists and treat myself to the small pleasures, like a burrito now and again.

I found a website that connected artists with customers looking for services. Through that, I was able to get at least enough clients to get by.

I was a part-time henna artist for most of my twenties. Freelancing gave me the opportunity to have some very interesting experiences. I learned that there are more applications of henna than I could ever have guessed.

Notably, it can be used to recreate the color of areolas on female breasts. One breast cancer survivor (read: warrior) approached me with this idea, and we made it happen for her. The adobe stain ended up leaving a natural-looking color.

One day, I’d like to create a how-to video for breast cancer survivors to do this at home.

More often, I found that I was asked to offer my services at kid’s events or themed parties. This never sat well with me.

I felt extreme discomfort at having henna relegated to an activity akin to a bouncy house. The same feeling bubbled in my stomach at the idea of drawing designs on white women attending a “goddess” party. It struck a nerve when I was approached by potential clients throwing Bollywood or Middle Eastern themed-parties.

I began to feel like I was no longer a henna artist using my skills on my own terms. Trading my cultural knowledge for cash at events that reduced the art form to just some exotic amenity became more than I could tolerate.

Henna is more than just an ethnic temporary tattoo.

I believe we live in a rapidly globalizing world, and we will inevitably benefit from sharing our cultural capital. This exchange must be conducted with mindfulness. Otherwise, it quickly devolves into appropriation.

I don’t have the answers to my dilemma. I’ve taken a step back to both revisit my values and figure out how to most authentically live by them. I’m figuring out what my next step should be.

For now, I’ve stopped taking henna clients. I need this hiatus to figure out how to be a henna artist on my own terms.

One thing’s for sure. When I do decide to pick up the cone again, it will be in a situation where henna is more than just a party favor.