Raspberry Marmalade is Silvia Conde. Here is her portfolio.
It’s hard to say when exactly the ‘zine’ emerged; from the chapbooks peddled in the streets of England in the nineteenth century, to the swapping of science fiction tales in the 1930s, to the Riot Grrrl epidemic of the 90s; zines can be found from the time that people had the ability to write, create and self-publish and everywhere that paper, pen and scissors are available. I’d like to show you that, as the title intimates, zines can change the world; it’s no small claim, I know, but I really believe it.
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First of all, power to independent publishers! Zines allow more and more people to have a legitimate say, and give total creative license to their inventors. Every zine that circulates, hand-to-hand, mailbox-to-mailbox, is chipping away at the monopoly of the major commercial publishers for whom maximum profit inevitably takes priority over quality content. The unfortunate reality is that capitalism and independent expression just don’t fit together that well. George Nicholson, an editor-in-chief at Dell Publishing (an American cornerstone of the pulp magazine since the early 20th century) writes that “…anything perceived as ‘difficult’ is avoided at all costs by the major publishers… every penny is being watched and the ‘dragons’ of censorship are stronger than ever in my memory”. The thoughts and writing of everybody should at least be accessible; whether they are actually read or not, is the choice of he or she who holds the zine in hand, flipping the covers. Censorship is a decision for individuals – not CEOS.
The creation and distribution of zines is far less factory-like than the infinite, removed nature of the reproduction of glossy books in the major printing presses. Usually, zines are covered in the fingerprints of their loving creators, who have pieced them together, slid them beneath the scanner, lifted each copy from the photocopier, arranged and hand-stapled them. Purchasing zines is like buying your eggs from the old man up the road rather than factory-farmed ones; sometimes they cost a little extra, but they’re ten times more ethical. And anyway, many people give away or swap their zines, for nothing (or next to it)! That’s because making zines is enjoyable; a fantastic creative outlet that combines thought, creativity and art. You feel proud when you finish a zine – I know I do, anyway.
Zines localise the publishing industry, often involving niche content with quite specific audiences. They bring together people with similar interests, but also help others to see things from your perspective. They’re a great way of meeting people – if you come across somebody you like, you hand them a copy of your zine and carefully watch their reaction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to reduce it entirely to this, but I’m willing to suggest that a zine played a not-so-insignificant role in bringing my boyfriend and I together. After we first met, I posted him a copy of Ruby Tuesday, a zine comprised of my own poetry. In return, I received a hefty envelope of typewritten notes and drawings – it was on. Nearly two years later, and we’re still here! The moral of that story is, that self-publishing helps people fall in love.
Zines begin with tiny roots which can spark entire movements. For example, in the early 90s Kathleen Hanna got together with some girlfriends and created the zine Bikini Kill, containing the famous Riot Grrrl Manifesto. At the NY Art Book Fair in 2010, an exhibition of over 600 unique Riot Grrl zines was put together. What once was small spread like wildfire – and all independently! Not only did Riot Grrrl give rise to a number of influential zines (Jigsaw, Snarla, Manifixation to name a few), but great politically-oriented bands too (Le Tigre, Bikini Kill, Bratmobile); zines are an important part of the counterculture which, I believe, is integral to creating social change.
So, while zines can simply be the swapping of ideas between a group of friends, they can also bring people together from all over the world. Zines can be international stewards! Not only this, but zines can help save the postal service! Sure, the post has some issues it needs to work on (such as its environmentally friendliness), but the fact is that nothing beats receiving a fresh book or zine in the mail in hard copy. There’s no need for an argument here, you know what I’m talking about. It’s a feeling.
Are you convinced? Well, time to get out your gluesticks, people! Make a zine! Change the world!
If you enjoyed this, then please check out my SOYA page here. Comments and feedback much appreciated!
Good morning. I'm in southern Austria, and outside my bedroom window it's snowing. Big, extravagant snowballs, like somebody is tossing white handkerchiefs from the sky. Tomorrow, I'm moving to Rome. Perhaps they're waving for me?
Images by Iciar J. Carrasco, here not lost, aaananana.
Henry Cotton is a freelance photographer living in San Francisco. For more, click here.
brunaburton, Joe Nigel Coleman, youcancallmekristin, evanfred.
It was in a quaint Turkish café on 28th Street that I first met Igor. Well, not met exactly. Noticed. The room was abuzz. He was a lanky, gangling bird-of-a-man, with dark hair combed back tightly from an unusually high forehead. Behind the ears the darkness streaked grey, though he couldn’t have been more than thirty. His skin was smooth and thin, like new tissue paper. He was pale, so pale, with eyes of light slate. Eyes of light slate. Whether I truly recall this from the café is unclear to me now, but upon our re-encounter this became, for me, his defining feature. The first time it was a cotton sock. Brow deep-set, furrowed. A delicate shirt buttoned fast and high about a crane-like neck; the wrists, too, swathed tightly in silk. Perhaps the best way of describing Igor was through his exaggerations.
He sprawled out from behind a large table; alone, attracting mild looks of disapproval from the waiter. It was a red-velvet, throne-seat establishment, and Igor had only a single cup of coffee before him. A long black, which he sipped at tenderly and stirred with a long, thin spoon. A tangle of papers and newspaper clippings surrounded him like marigolds. He scribbled furiously, and in short bursts, into a leather-bound notebook. Outside it was cold and blistery; I could feel the winter pressing against the window panes. The flames of the open hearth licked at their own reflection in the glass.
Igor coughed delicately into a handkerchief, holding it to his lips for a moment; his eyes flew up to meet mine. A spindly, black-slacked leg slid out from beneath the tabletop, the fabric inching up just enough for the flash of white to catch my eye and hold it fast, like a brass hook. It was so delicate, all milky and herringbone stitch, I could have cradled it. It was inexplicable. My gaze followed it upwards, over the frilled edge and up past the trouser knee – then the chestnut of the table, then the eyes again. They contained a challenge. Dismayed and embarrassed, I turned back to my falafel. It had lost its appeal. Fumbling in my shirt-pocket, I left twenty dollars by the plate and slunk away, without looking back.
Image by Jorge Bonelli.
Hello all - indeed, I'm back! A philosophy degree and a move to Europe later, I finally have the time to sink my teeth back into this project. When I logged onto the Flickr group last week, there were THIRTEEN HUNDRED photos awaiting me, so I beg your forgiveness if I don't get the time to look at them all. There were so many that I loved, but I'm going to start with these:
Thanks to Joe Nigel Coleman, Kerena P Photography, aaananana and idea (Rent A Moose). And special thanks to all who kept submitting despite my absence which, as promised, was only temporary! I can't wait to get zining with these. x
Never fear, folks - the lull as of late has not been in vain. RUBY TUESDAY is going through, shall we say... a metamorphosis? Keep your eyes peeled and your senses a'tingling for more. You'll be hearing from us again very soon!
Images by joe nigel coleman, jared brown, marija majerle, ali s.
California-based Kristin Shaw is infinitely cool. We had our eyes on her long before this blog was even born, and her trail of film-induced grain and dropped-my-camera-on-the-concrete light leaks have never ceased to leave us in a state of awe.
q: we know this is a pretty standard one by now, but who are you?
a: i'm just a typical girl who hates her life. some people call me kristin, or bad words
q: the last album you put on repeat?
a: i've been listening to patti smith's radio ethiopia a lot recently. i listen to most patti smith albums on repeat
q: do you collect anything?
a: i have a habit of picking up things that have been dropped on the ground, like notes or lists or business cards or feathers or things of the sort. you know there's some kind of story associated with those things, but you never know exactly what it is. i find that intriguing
q: what'd you do yesterday?
a: yesterday i bought a new bike and was on it less than sixty seconds before i ate shit and guts were gushing out of my knee. got me some stitches and a pretty brutal road rash, and i now can't ride my bike for two
weeks. definitely a relatively shitty day
q: your favourite camera?
a: i'm a huge fan of disposable cameras because they're so easy and get the job done. favorite that i own is an argoflex, twin lenses are super fun. i take most of my images with a canon elan ii though, i love it cause it's a beast, i've dropped it out of cars and in lakes and shit
