Tattoos by Mattson Masterpiece
I’m so glad you’re here! Whether you’re dreaming up your first tattoo or adding to your collection, I’m here to help you create something bold, personal, and unforgettable.
Hey, I’m Meagan — a tattoo artist in southwest Iowa, still growing and finding my unique style. I’m drawn to bold lines, sketchy textures, and meaningful pieces that tell a story. Whether it’s dotwork, grunge-inspired, or full of color, I love creating art that people can wear proudly.
I actually started with henna during COVID — just playing around, trying something new that my daughter and I could do together. Once life opened back up, I started doing henna at craft shows, and everywhere I went people kept telling me, “You should be a tattoo artist!” After two years of hearing that, I finally gave in and started researching like crazy — watching videos, reading everything I could, and following every artist I admired. And that was it — I was hooked.
Now I get to do what I love every day. Both of my kids are grown, and if I’m not tattooing, I’m probably hanging out with my husband (I’m kind of obsessed with him, not gonna lie), or sketching out new designs just for fun.
Tattoos are personal — and I’m here to make sure yours is exactly what you want.
The details of my life are quite inconsequential.... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize; he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament... My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon... luge lessons... In the spring, we'd make meat helmets... When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Vilmer ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking... I suggest you try it.