Alex Larsen
There are artists who tattoo — and then there are the ones the streets talk about.
The ones other artists side-eye at conventions because their shit hits different. In Denver, that name is Alex Larsen. You don’t even need to see the signature. You know his work when it walks past you — bold as a brick through glass, clean as a scalpel, carved with the kind of confidence you can’t fake. Because the lines don’t lie. Not in neo-trad. Not in his world.
Alex didn’t claw his way into this industry trying to make friends or follow trends. He built a style that looks like his sketchbooks bled onto skin — color when the piece demands to scream, black & grey when the soul calls for grit, always stamped with that “don’t water this shit down” integrity.
Most people treat neo-traditional like a formula: Pretty lines. Pretty faces. Pretty colors. Same shit, different day. Not Alex. He treats neo-trad like a knife fight between tradition and evolution — keeping the roots sharp, but pushing the style so it never rots into imitation or comfort.
And here’s where the story shifts — because even wolves run stronger in the right pack.
When Alex landed at Real Gone, it wasn’t about “joining a shop.” It was about stepping into a space built for artists who don’t flinch. A studio with backbone — where style, risk, and voice aren’t just allowed, they’re fucking required. Steel sharpened by steel. Real Gone didn’t create Alex — but it’s the only place loud enough to hold him without asking him to turn down the volume.
Other artists watch him work, shake their heads, and whisper, “Motherfucker makes it look too easy.” But that’s the part people never see — the hours, the obsession, the discipline. He doesn’t chase clout. He chases craft. And that’s why the artists who know? They fucking know.
You don’t get called an “artist’s artist” by accident. You earn that by protecting your voice, by saying no more than you say yes, by refusing to slap your name on anything that doesn’t meet your own standards.
Clients don’t come to Alex for a cute little “will-age-like-milk” trend tattoo. They come for work that stands its ground. Strong silhouettes. Linework with backbone. A statement you wear like it was born with you.
You sit in his chair, you’d better be ready for the truth: He’s not here to hand you some temporary-cool bullshit. He’s here to carve something that could outlive you. A legacy piece, not a sticker.
Because in this industry, there are tattooers who follow the path — and then there are the ones who burn their own fucking road through it.
Alex burned his and Real Gone is where the flames found fuel.
