The Last Airbender

Written By jorge cruz

A Young Hero Learning How to Fly

Glider

For anyone who hasn’t heard of it, Avatar: The Last Airbender is an animated series about a young hero named Aang, who must learn to master all four elements — water, earth, fire, and air — in order to restore balance to the world. On the surface, it looks like an adventure story. But underneath, it moves much more slowly and deliberately. It’s about harmony, responsibility, loss, patience, and the long, uneven process of becoming who you’re meant to be.

Over the years, the series has connected deeply with people of very different ages. It carries layers of Buddhist and Taoist philosophy, Indigenous worldviews, and reflections on war, trauma, displacement, and healing. It doesn’t simplify those themes — it lets them exist quietly inside the narrative. In that sense, it’s become one of those modern myths: completely fictional, yet strangely accurate in how it speaks about the human condition.

One of my frequent clients, Simon, brought this idea to me. We come from different generations, and to be honest, I hadn’t been deeply familiar with Avatar before he mentioned it. But we’ve worked together enough that trust was already there. He wasn’t looking for something obvious or loud — he wanted a tattoo connected to the story, but filtered through his own experience of it.

That’s where the project shifted.

Instead of working directly from the original animation, we took a different path. I came across a Lego version of Aang and his glider — something a child had built. Simple. Slightly awkward. Full of character. We decided to use that Lego construction as the reference. The tattoo became a tribute not to the show itself, but to how the show had been reinterpreted, played with, and rebuilt through someone else’s hands.

It became a translation of a translation.

A story turned into a cartoon.
A cartoon turned into a toy.
A toy turned into a tattoo.

Not just an image of a character, but a trace of how stories keep moving. How they pass from one generation to another. How they change shape without losing their core. The Lego version carried a softness and humility that felt right — less heroic, more human.

In the world of Avatar, the glider isn’t just a tool. It’s part of Aang’s identity as an Air Nomad. It folds into a staff and stays with him at all times, but when opened, it allows him to fly. It’s how he moves through the world — light, detached, responsive rather than forceful. For a character constantly running from war, loss, and responsibility — and sometimes from himself — the glider is both escape and return.

It holds his culture.
His childhood.
His way of being.

That’s why the Lego version made sense. A child’s interpretation of an object already tied to freedom, transformation, and becoming. It brought the symbol back to play, to curiosity, to something unpolished. Something built, not designed.

There’s also a small technical detail I wanted to share about this piece.

I used white ink within the composition — something I often do when a tattoo relies on very fine detail and negative space. Over time, darker ink can slowly spread under the skin and soften those gaps. By introducing white ink, I create a subtle barrier that helps preserve structure and keep the design legible as it ages. The white doesn’t shout. It lifts the piece quietly. Adds a slight shine. Another layer without adding weight.

In the end, this tattoo became a bridge. Between generations. Between mediums. Between different ways of telling the same story.

From animated series, to Lego object, to ink on skin.

That’s what I love about this craft. It never stands still. It’s always borrowing, translating, carrying something forward. Meaning keeps shifting, even when the form feels familiar.

Thanks to Simon for trusting me with this one — and for bringing me along for the ride.

nOT

References:

And if you want to explore the Lego side of things, here are a few fun finds:

jorge cruz
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