In a private studio, tucked inside a big salon in Thornton, the walls are lined with fantasy figurines and horror memorabilia. There’s a Chucky doll, a stuffed Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas, and even a Frodo Baggins Funko Pop doll perched on a shelf. It might not look like a typical tattoo shop — but then again, Joel Medina isn’t a typical tattoo artist.
“I really like collecting stuff,” Medina said. “This space is kind of a reflection of everything I’m into.”
But beyond the decor and the buzzing of a tattoo gun, Medina’s co-owned studio is something more personal. It’s a space built on grief, recovery, and second chances.
Medina had always been an artist at heart, but long hours working at King Soopers left little time for passion projects. The only brushes with tattooing he’d had were as a canvas for his friend Avery, an aspiring artist known to friends as “A-Boogie.” Who passed away before he was able to realize that dream, leaving Medina in pain over the loss of a good friend and guilt in not having pursued his calling with Avery.
“There was a lot of guilt, a lot of emotion,” Medina said. He’d turned to alcohol to cope and didn’t realize the toll it had begun to take on his loved ones or on his choices.
After a late night out in December of 2021, Medina was a passenger in a fatal car accident. There were three people in the car when they hit a ditch at nearly 100 miles per hour.
“I got ejected out of the sunroof,” Medina said. “Unfortunately, I lost a really good friend in the process. She passed away on impact.”
Medina was found under the car and rushed to the hospital, where he woke up on a ventilator. He couldn’t speak or walk. His body was broken — and so was his spirit.
“I remember trying to ask my dad, ‘Am I dying? Am I going to walk again?’” he recalled. “I was using this kind of sign language.”
Recovery would take over a year. But as he lay bedridden, with a permanent scar over his right eye, something began to shift.
During recovery, someone gifted Medina an iPad, and he started drawing again. That creative spark, combined with the memory of Avery, became a driving force. Then, one day, an old friend named Johnny made an unexpected pitch.
“He just came up to me and said, ‘You know what? For us, but also for Avery, we're going to do tattooing,’” Medina said.
The two started small, practicing on fake skin and each other as well as friends and family. Eventually, they opened a tattoo studio together. They named it Boogie Boys.
“At first, I was like, ‘How am I going to take that name seriously?’” Medina laughed. “But now, we just own it. We are the Boogie Boys, and it’s in honor of Avery.”
Body art as therapy
Inside the Boogie Boys suite, clients don’t just come for the ink; they come for connection.
“Tattoos are like putting your diary on your skin,” Medina said. “People tell me things they haven’t told anyone else.”
One of his regulars, James Lewis, has ten tattoos, all from Medina. He says each one carries a memory, like the simple string of numbers on his ankle, 8045, the address of the house he grew up in.
“Every time I see it, I think of Easter with my parents or my graduation party,” Lewis said. “It’s special. It just reminds me of old stories.”
When we visited the studio, Lewis came in to sit for a hummingbird tattoo, a symbol he says helps him stay grounded during life’s chaos.
“I like the hummingbird because, even in slow motion. It's going so fast. To the people that aren't the hummingbird, they’re like, 'That's insane.' But it's just hovering and staying still,” he said. “It's present, and it kind of comforts me.”
For both Lewis and Medina, these sessions often feel more like therapy than tattoo appointments. They talk. They laugh. They remember.
“No one’s writing books about your everyday little things,” Lewis said. “But when it’s on your skin, it’s like, okay — that really happened.”
Turning pain into purpose
“I was going through a lot back before the car accident,” Medina said. “Instead of handling it and owning it, it was always like, [woe is] me, I'm going to drink my emotions away.
“I didn't realize how much it had an effect on my life and my loved ones.”
Those habits had caused him to lose connection with his young daughter, Mila. “For the longest time, she wouldn’t even call me ‘Dad,’” he said. “When the car accident happened, it put so much perspective on my life. There was no choice but to get sober.”
In reconnecting with his art, his body, and his sobriety, he was also able to reestablish a relationship with her. Now, at age eight, she’s already dreaming of becoming an artist, just like him.
“She'll be like, ‘Look, Dad, look what I drew,’ or ‘Look at this tattoo I did,’” he said. “So it's pretty cool to see my daughter, my own blood, looking up at me and kind of inspired.”
While the marks of the car accident and the past struggles he’s overcome haven’t all faded, Medina wears his scar without shame. “When people ask, I tell them, ‘Whatever you’re going through — tomorrow’s another day. It’ll get better.’”
At Boogie Boys, that message flows through every tattoo needle. Every rose. Every number. Every new design. Because for Joel Medina and the people who sit in his chair, healing isn’t just something that happens. It’s something you choose to carry with you.
