Chaim Machlev Grows Geometry from the Skin Up

I once had the (somewhat painful) pleasure of being tattooed by the great Thomas Hooper, an experience that felt equal parts mystical and masochistic, like being gently exorcised by an ancient geometry. It left me with a deep appreciation for artists who work almost exclusively with black ink and nerve endings, carving intention into skin through nothing but patience, repetition, and the occasional existential throb. Enter Chaim Machlev (aka DotsToLines).

Now based in Los Angeles after a formative decade in Berlin, Chaim’s work lives in the quiet space between control and release. Using little more than needle, black ink, and a body as compass, he creates mandalas, lines, spirals and arcs that seem to move even when they’re still. His tattoos don’t sit on the skin: they hover just above it, like they’re considering escaping, but keep having a change of heart.

He calls his studio practice meditative, even ceremonial, and it shows. There’s no rush, no chaos, just one client per day, one deeply considered session at a time. And whether he’s working with a first-timer or someone named Roger Waters (yes, really), Chaim’s work speaks with a quiet fluency, like a whispered language of symmetry, breath, and intention.

His work has earned him a devoted global following - not just from ink obsessives, but from designers, dancers, and the occasional rock god looking for something less “flash sheet” and more “spiritual engineering.” You won’t find Chaim hustling for attention online or live-streaming his process with a ring light. He doesn’t need to. He’s been featured in The New York Times, Tattoo Life, Juxtapoz, and a hundred moodboards you’ve probably scrolled past without knowing the source. But that’s sort of the point. Chaim’s not chasing clout, he’s building temples, one body at a time. Quietly. Deliberately. Like someone who’s been entrusted with a secret and has decided, graciously, to share it: dot by line, breath by burn.

I. ORIGIN STORIES & SHIFTS

What has your journey from Tel Aviv to Berlin to Los Angeles taught you about creative reinvention?

Never. I didn’t plan any of this. I just knew something in my life wasn’t aligned, and I couldn’t ignore it. Leaving engineering for tattooing wasn’t just a career shift, it was a shift in how I relate to the world. Berlin gave me the space to start over completely. Los Angeles brought an entirely different kind of energy, expansive, chaotic, beautiful. Reinvention, for me, isn’t about chasing something new, but responding honestly to what’s no longer working.

How did self-teaching in Berlin shape your approach to tattooing?

Learning outside of the traditional system taught me how to trust my instincts. I didn’t inherit habits or rules, I had to invent my own logic. That independence shaped my whole philosophy. I work slowly, I only tattoo one person a day, and the process is deeply collaborative. I didn’t start with tattooing because I loved the medium, I started because I needed a new language. Over time, it became something sacred.

How did LA shift the rhythm of your work after Berlin?

Absolutely. Berlin is introspective, a bit darker. There’s a kind of silence to it that I love. LA, on the other hand, is louder, brighter, faster. At first, it was disorienting. But then I found rhythm in the contrast. The light here changes the way I see the body. The scale of the city has pushed me to think bigger. It’s not better or worse, just a new layer in the work.

II. FORM, BODY & FLOW

How do you collaborate with the body when designing a tattoo?

I see the body as a landscape, curves, rhythms, tension points. When I meet a client, I try to feel where the energy sits. I don’t come with a pre-made design. I sketch directly onto the skin. It’s not about placing art on someone, but growing it with them. The process is physical, intuitive, and deeply personal.

You also work in photography and printmaking. How do these mediums inform your tattoo practice?

Each medium is like a different frequency. Tattooing is slow and intimate, photography captures a moment, printmaking allows for controlled abstraction. They inform each other. When I step outside tattooing, I’m reminded that creativity doesn’t belong to any one form. Sometimes I need to move away from the needle to come back to it with fresh eyes.

Why do you keep returning to geometry, minimalism, and mandala forms?

At first, I was drawn to geometry for its precision, it gave me something to hold onto in a chaotic time. But over the years, I’ve come to see these forms not as rigid systems, but living patterns. Minimalism is not about simplicity, it’s about clarity. Sacred geometry isn’t about perfection, it’s about resonance. These forms continue to teach me.

How do you balance logic and instinct when you work?

It’s a conversation. I start with structure, a kind of architectural base. But once I begin working with the body, I let instinct take over. You can’t force geometry onto a human form. The lines have to breathe with the person. Precision keeps me grounded, flow keeps the work alive.

III. PRESENCE, PROCESS & PEOPLE

How do you approach high-profile clients like Roger Waters or Machine Gun Kelly?

I try to keep it exactly the same. Fame doesn’t change the skin. Everyone who comes to me is vulnerable in that chair. My job is to listen, to be present. Whether someone has a million followers or none, the process is sacred. The work doesn’t belong to the public, it belongs to the person wearing it.

What’s your process when a client comes in with only a loose idea?

I welcome uncertainty. It means they’re open. I ask questions, not about symbols or styles, but about feeling. What are you drawn to? What do you want to carry on your body? Then I let intuition lead. The design emerges from the conversation. It’s less about telling a story and more about creating something that feels right, for both of us.

Why do you only take on one client per day?

Time. Space. Presence. Tattooing is not just technical, it’s energetic. When I work with one person a day, I can be fully present. We breathe together. We move through the process slowly. That kind of depth isn’t possible when you're watching the clock or jumping between clients. For me, it’s essential.

IV. FUTURE SHAPES

What other creative avenues are calling to you?

Sculpture has always fascinated me. Tattooing is, in a way, sculptural. It responds to form. I’d love to explore physical materials more, maybe something that merges architecture with movement. But I don’t force it. If the pull is strong enough, it will happen.

What continues to surprise or challenge you after more than a decade of tattooing?

What surprises me most is how infinite it still feels. I thought I’d get bored, repetition, success, all of it. But the more I do this, the deeper it becomes. The challenge now is staying open. Success can create pre