Mother and daughter Robin and Megan Griffith are always on the brink of more ink. So far, the tattooed twosome has only scratched the surface of potential. Mom has four tattoos, and Megan has six.

When it comes to their art, each conversation-starting color burst is like an engraved invitation for expansion.

"Every tattoo tells a story," said the younger Griffith, 28, a local child care worker who, at 18, began her visual story line on skin — which includes an image of a flower from her wedding invitation. "It's just hard to explain, but once you get one, you just want to keep going."

For ink "junkies," one is not enough. But can more become too much?

Whether the desire to decorate for whatever reason is inexplicable fascination or addictive fixation seems up for some debate, but not necessarily among the converted, who gush about the rush and rewards.

"There's a thrill to getting a tattoo, and it's intensely personal," said "Lindsay," who didn't want her last name used, a 28-year-old area nurse who has 11 tattoos, including a red cross on her shoulder and "Read my lips" in Latin on the inside of her lower lip. "You're making your body a canvas, and you're emboldened to get more and go bigger."

Singular or plural, tattoos — which can range from moving to magical, crude to comical — are no longer taboo, nor relegated to bar-brawling soldiers, hard-edged motorcycle gangs, biker babes and street-walkers. Fueled by reality shows like "L.A. Ink" and body art-flouting celebs, tattoos have become mainstream.

A multitude of people request a multiplicity of images for a multitude of reasons, said Colin Nolt, a 30-year-old tattoo artist and owner of Epicdermis Custom Tattoos for Cool People, East Petersburg, who in his 12-year career nationwide, has marked ministers as well as dominatrixes, doctors, lawyers, teachers, drug dealers and even DEA agents.

Based on statistics, these art collectors are growing exponentially. In 2006, the Journal of the American Academy of Dermatology found that nearly a quarter of Americans between the ages of 18 and 50 (most ages 18 to 29) were tattooed compared to Life magazine's estimate of 6 percent in 1936.

A recent poll by a Texas nursing professor studying tattoo social patterns revealed that 40 percent of the inked respondents had two or more tattoos.

As a canvas, skin is in.

Those with tatt-elation even contribute to the thrill of ink for those behind the needle, Nolt said.

Members of the tattoo community on either end of the needle describe a craving for the unique cocktail of endorphin-pumping pain, artistic freedom, expression, body worship and rebellion, at any expense, literally. And as body art proliferates, at whatever cost, the mental health community has varied schools of thought about the reality of "tattoo addiction" and possible overdo to the point of being self-destructive. Although it seems to be a rarely treated or recognized phenomenon, per se, by the same token, self-mutilation and infliction of pain have been considered hallmarks of mental illnesses.

To the twice or more tattooed, the pain — Lindsay describes it as "rewarding" — isn't denied, but proudly endured for the sake of art at its most primal. The hurt-so-good mentality may even be part of the allure, and, in fact, while consistently under the needle, the body reacts by releasing endorphins that can create a sense of well-being and even act as natural painkillers — a sensation equated with a runner's high.

"People think (tattooing) is going to be this horrific experience, and then find out it's not that bad, and they just keep coming up with ideas to fill the blank spots," said Jen Shaak, the 30-year-old owner of the aptly named Addictive Expressions, Kinzers, who has lost track of the number of her own tattoos. "Getting a new tattoo is like having your firstborn... and you know, more men than women are actually the 'passer-outers and pukers.'"

But can the fine lines between pleasure and pain be too blurred or ill-defined?

One local counselor who preferred not to use her name believes that, in extreme forms, continuous tattooing can be a way to externalize and manage internal pain and disassociate from it. She recalls asking one client to make a contract not to get any more tattoos because of a concern about her need to cover not just her body, but difficult emotions.

An area addictions expert who helps run an intensive outpatient rehab and asked to remain anonymous believes that among the increasingly tatted-up, visually-oriented Millennial Generation, it may be more about fashion than fanaticism — simple self-expression rather than complex compulsion.

Whether re-tattooing is pathological, cathartic or current fashion logic, it would be unlikely for the process to be viewed in the same destructive realm as drug or alcohol dependence. However, "tattoo addiction" is in fact listed on the 12-step Recoveries Anonymous program website.

You'll probably find fewer tatted in recovery than in tattoo shops, which, according to a U.S. News & World Report article, were already the sixth biggest retail business nationwide only a decade ago. Based on the demand, artists like Shaak and Nolt seem to be benefiting, even in a relatively conservative community, they said.

"I work on all kinds of people, and some people want some pretty crazy stuff inked into their skin," said Nolt, awhose own body decor includes a Ben Franklin calf tattoo and a neck-based recycling symbol, which, although he refuses to create racist imagery, has been mistaken for a swastika.

 They come in search of permanent reminders of everything from a lost loved one, to an affiliation, passion or belief, and sometimes even an avenue for closure or healing, Nolt said.

Shaak once tattooed a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup image on a woman in memory of her candy-loving dad.

Tattoos may have a significance beyond earthly rewards.

The Rev. Rachel Hackenberg, pastor at Grace United Church of Christ, said her four tattoos with religious significance help her feel closer to God. Similarly, 20-year-old HACC student Johnny Santos has an image of Jesus Christ tattooed on his upper arm as part of his growing art gallery.

Two tattoos turned to tapestry for local social worker Mike Marano, 55, whose torso is covered with rainforest images in an effort to keep nature without boundaries and with him at all times.

Body art has indeed gained respectability and popularity without losing all defiant individuality. Even in a regimented 9-to-5 world that may demand or imply the need for a cover-up, those tantalized by tattoos will most likely still go under the needle.

As a nurse, Lindsay always covers her tattoos at work, and Hackenberg is careful to conceal her tattoos in a professional setting, although they are not totally hidden from her congregation.

But whether the gallery is open or closed, most tatted just love art, Nolt said, the idea of being walking, talking coloring books, free spirits who want to express their creative side, and fill in the blanks.

"You could call it wearing your 'art' on (or under) your sleeve."

sjurgelski@lnpnews.com