A soft buzzing sound radiates from a small room within the DuPage County Jail in Wheaton. On the door, in hand-painted red and black letters, are the words “Redemption Studio.”

Walk in, and you’ll find the only state-licensed tattoo studio located inside a prison or jail in Illinois.

The clients are people incarcerated at the jail. But this ink shop is less about what new images are going onto their skin and more about what’s getting covered up.

Gang tattoos. Hate symbols. Branding marks from human trafficking. Scars from bullet wounds or self-harm. In short, anything that might make it hard for a person to move forward.

This tattoo program is part of JUST of DuPage, a faith-affiliated non-profit that partners with DuPage County to prepare people incarcerated at the jail for their re-entry into society. Artists and technicians from outside companies visit the detention facility for free tattoo removal and cover-up sessions.

On a recent summer morning, artist Sammi Agonis from Empire Tattoos was working with a client who asked to go only by his first name, Terrell. On his arm, over a matching tattoo he got with friends, she inked a silvery black wolf – a lone wolf, Terrell said.

“I was basically doing things to prove myself to others,” he said. “But now I’m at the point where I’m picking and choosing what I want to put on my body, and not what … the whole group says we should put on ourselves. It’s liberating.”

Later in the session, Terrell took off his shirt to reveal a large scar on his shoulder. He said he was hit by a car as a teenager, and seeing the scar gives him flashbacks. Plus, he worries when other people spot it, they assume he was involved in some kind of violence.

So Terrell got it covered with a tattoo of a glittering watch surrounded by heavenly clouds. The script above it spells out a reminder: “Time is precious.” Terrell described the experience as taking his power back from the scar.

“Tattooing is fulfilling in any respect – just putting your art onto someone forever,” said Agonis as she added the finishing touches to the tattoo. “But specifically in the Redemption program, it’s giving people a second chance not to be judged within the first two seconds of meeting them.”

A study of data from the Florida Department of Corrections in 2014 found the recidivism rate was higher for people with visible tattoos, possibly because it affects their job opportunities.

In California, the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation launched a statewide tattoo removal program in 2023, which sends mobile studios to state prisons.

“We’re looking at increasing their likelihood of employment and things of that nature,” said associate warden Melanie Bruns, who used to help oversee that program.

However, both the California program and the one at the DuPage County Jail prioritize people who are likely close to their release. For people serving time in Illinois’ state prison system, sometimes for decades, there is no statewide tattoo removal program.

That’s a disappointment for Adonis Veal, who’s incarcerated at Illinois River Correctional Center, a state prison in Canton. He has about a decade left to serve. Ever since the start of his sentence, Veal says he has wanted to remove his many face tattoos, which include gang imagery and a swastika – but he’s stuck with them.

“I want to change my circle, my crowd,” Veal said. “And I just want to just change my appearance, because it’s like, I don’t want to be 60, 70 years old with tattoos on my face.”

Veal is pitching a piece of legislation to create a tattoo removal program for people serving state prison sentences in Illinois; he calls it the Adonis L. Veal Tattoo Removal Act. He thinks it would benefit anyone in state custody who wants to come back from prison a different person, both internally and externally.

“I just thought this would be a great way to help people,” he said in an interview with WBEZ’s Prisoncast! project, “and not be a part of the problem but be a part of the solution.”

The Illinois Department of Corrections denied WBEZ’s request for an interview about whether it has considered offering a tattoo removal or cover-up program for its population of nearly 30,000 imprisoned people. However, spokesperson Naomi Puzzello confirmed in an email that department officials requested information on the DuPage County tattoo studio and toured the facility last year.

For those who have the opportunity to cover their unwanted ink, Terrell has some advice: Don’t be afraid. Tattoos don’t hurt that bad, he said.

“Actually, sometimes they feel good,” Terrell said. “Definitely feels good covering up something that you shouldn’t have got in the first place.”

Lauren Frost is a WBEZ audio engagement producer and the executive producer of Prisoncast!, a radio show made with and for incarcerated Illinoisans and their loved ones.

A soft buzzing sound radiates from a small room within the DuPage County Jail in Wheaton. On the door, in hand-painted red and black letters, are the words “Redemption Studio.”

Walk in, and you’ll find the only state-licensed tattoo studio located inside a prison or jail in Illinois.

The clients are people incarcerated at the jail. But this ink shop is less about what new images are going onto their skin and more about what’s getting covered up.

Gang tattoos. Hate symbols. Branding marks from human trafficking. Scars from bullet wounds or self-harm. In short, anything that might make it hard for a person to move forward.

This tattoo program is part of JUST of DuPage, a faith-affiliated non-profit that partners with DuPage County to prepare people incarcerated at the jail for their re-entry into society. Artists and technicians from outside companies visit the detention facility for free tattoo removal and cover-up sessions.

On a recent summer morning, artist Sammi Agonis from Empire Tattoos was working with a client who asked to go only by his first name, Terrell. On his arm, over a matching tattoo he got with friends, she inked a silvery black wolf – a lone wolf, Terrell said.

“I was basically doing things to prove myself to others,” he said. “But now I’m at the point where I’m picking and choosing what I want to put on my body, and not what … the whole group says we should put on ourselves. It’s liberating.”

Later in the session, Terrell took off his shirt to reveal a large scar on his shoulder. He said he was hit by a car as a teenager, and seeing the scar gives him flashbacks. Plus, he worries when other people spot it, they assume he was involved in some kind of violence.

So Terrell got it covered with a tattoo of a glittering watch surrounded by heavenly clouds. The script above it spells out a reminder: “Time is precious.” Terrell described the experience as taking his power back from the scar.

“Tattooing is fulfilling in any respect – just putting your art onto someone forever,” said Agonis as she added the finishing touches to the tattoo. “But specifically in the Redemption program, it’s giving people a second chance not to be judged within the first two seconds of meeting them.”

A study of data from the Florida Department of Corrections in 2014 found the recidivism rate was higher for people with visible tattoos, possibly because it affects their job opportunities.

In California, the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation launched a statewide tattoo removal program in 2023, which sends mobile studios to state prisons.

“We’re looking at increasing their likelihood of employment and things of that nature,” said associate warden Melanie Bruns, who used to help oversee that program.

However, both the California program and the one at the DuPage County Jail prioritize people who are likely close to their release. For people serving time in Illinois’ state prison system, sometimes for decades, there is no statewide tattoo removal program.

That’s a disappointment for Adonis Veal, who’s incarcerated at Illinois River Correctional Center, a state prison in Canton. He has about a decade left to serve. Ever since the start of his sentence, Veal says he has wanted to remove his many face tattoos, which include gang imagery and a swastika – but he’s stuck with them.

“I want to change my circle, my crowd,” Veal said. “And I just want to just change my appearance, because it’s like, I don’t want to be 60, 70 years old with tattoos on my face.”

Veal is pitching a piece of legislation to create a tattoo removal program for people serving state prison sentences in Illinois; he calls it the Adonis L. Veal Tattoo Removal Act. He thinks it would benefit anyone in state custody who wants to come back from prison a different person, both internally and externally.

“I just thought this would be a great way to help people,” he said in an interview with WBEZ’s Prisoncast! project, “and not be a part of the problem but be a part of the solution.”

The Illinois Department of Corrections denied WBEZ’s request for an interview about whether it has considered offering a tattoo removal or cover-up program for its population of nearly 30,000 imprisoned people. However, spokesperson Naomi Puzzello confirmed in an email that department officials requested information on the DuPage County tattoo studio and toured the facility last year.

For those who have the opportunity to cover their unwanted ink, Terrell has some advice: Don’t be afraid. Tattoos don’t hurt that bad, he said.

“Actually, sometimes they feel good,” Terrell said. “Definitely feels good covering up something that you shouldn’t have got in the first place.”

Lauren Frost is a WBEZ audio engagement producer and the executive producer of Prisoncast!, a radio show made with and for incarcerated Illinoisans and their loved ones.