By Noa Zuidervaart
Several zines in my collection stand out as my most cherished possessions. They contain stories I can revisit endlessly or are special relics associated with memories of travels, kinship or collaborations. Some zines I stumbled upon during a leisurely stroll through a book fair, others I traded with fellow artists, and a few are remnants from a long-lost friendship. The significance of these booklets goes beyond their pages, as the story behind their conception and acquisition is often equally precious. To me, zines bring to life the sense of community and care that preceded their creation.
This notion of community and care resonates with the medium's history. For a century, zines have functioned as a method for self-expression and the exchange of ideas while giving voice to marginalised members of society – from sci-fi fanatics and rowdy punks to feminist revolutionaries and queer groups. Clearly, the medium has proven to be a powerful tool for association and resistance. Nowadays, this is not only due to the content of the booklets, but also because of the choice of the zine as a medium.
I think using zines as a means of self-expression in our continuing digital era is already a subversive act in itself. The process of creating and distributing a zine involves manual labour and a level of dedication, which are not required in digital mediums. It would be much more efficient to spread your messages in the democratic realm of the Internet. However, the power of zines doesn’t lie in their practicality but in their tangible and physical nature. In this way, zines provide an intimate and emotional connection between the creator and the reader, allowing personal stories to be shared without the constraints of commercial interests or editorial control.
In addition to this shifting significance of the medium in our current era, I have noticed another development: the definition of what is considered a zine is becoming increasingly ambiguous. There has always been a fine line between the conception of zines and artist publications, but today this line seems more blurred than ever. Traditionally, artist publications were perceived as more sophisticated and refined than zines, often due to their high production costs and focus on craft. However, with the proliferation of accessible publishing technologies, it has become increasingly difficult to draw a clear distinction between the two. Today, artists are pushing the boundaries of these categories and are creating works that challenge traditional notions of what constitutes a zine or an artist publication. This fluidity allows for more experimentation and exploration of the medium, fostering a dynamic and evolving landscape for independent publishing.
I would like to highlight some of the publications in my collection to give an idea of what zines can entail these days:
FanArt collective
In my opinion, FanArt collective – a group of German artists consisting of Liva Kandevica, Joo Young Kim, Jannis Esselbrügge, Michel Esselbrügge and Julius Wagner – embodies the original DIY mentality that is at the heart of the zine. Their wacky eponymous magazine stands as a testament to the sheer enjoyment they experienced during its creation and as a reflection of their collaborative creativity. I own the fifth issue by the collective with the theme "international”. The booklet proves that you don't need much to convey your story; it consists only of black and white images printed on simple A4 paper. Despite the limited resources used, the magazine creates a captivating visual experience that surprises you with every page turn.
“Rotterdam Madrettor” by Harriët van Reek
Another impressive demonstration of using small means to achieve great ends is “Rotterdam Madrettor” by Dutch illustrator Harriët van Reek. In the publication, van Reek examines Rotterdam's forgotten plants and animals. With her fragile digital drawings she transports the reader to visit a sunflower by the highway, an abandoned pony in its pen and a coot's nest in the water. This version of a zine is not an activist gesture as we have come to expect from punks and feminists from before the turn of the century. Nonetheless, it communicates an important message and represents a sensitive ode to the secluded life of the city.
"Bleu Bleu" by Paul Descamps
The surreal adventure "Bleu Bleu" by French artist Paul Descamps is another noteworthy edition in my collection. While I have to admit that I never bothered to translate the French texts into Dutch and therefore don't fully understand the story, the captivating visuals don't require translation. The book features drawings that seem to blend watercolor paintings, biblical scenes, and Japanese manga, creating an otherworldly and intriguing mix. I discovered this gem at The Other Book Fair in 2019, and it hasn't gathered any dust on my shelf since. It is a prime example of the ambiguity surrounding the definition of a zine, as it was meticulously printed in multiple colors using a Risograph printer and then assembled by hand, with various separate prints added to the inside of the publication.
The examples above show that the spirit that gave rise to zine culture still inspires artists today. From the personal narratives they convey to the collective movements they ignite, zines embody the power to capture individual experiences and fuel larger cultural shifts. The DIY ethos and raw authenticity inherent in zines have resonated with me personally as well. Through zines, I have found a medium that allows me to effortlessly process and give form to ideas in a direct and spontaneous manner. And I'm not the only one who feels this way, because the medium continues to captivate artists and enthusiasts alike. As zines continue to gain a wider audience and more recognition, it is clear that the medium will continue to evolve and remain as an influential tool for expressing diverse stories and perspectives.