It鈥檚 7:30 p.m. in New Haven鈥檚 Union Station. Commuters look on with curiosity as a young group gathers 鈥� spreading blankets on the station鈥檚 floor and pulling out ink-stained notebooks.
The crowd sits down eagerly, waiting for the performance to begin. Zoe Jensen, 26, strides to the front, welcoming attendees and thanking them for coming.
What follows is a performance packed with a menu of musings: poems, diary entries, opinions on public transportation and even off-the-cuff ramblings.
It鈥檚 art. In-person and the moment. And it鈥檚 that artistic spirit 鈥� and love of physical media 鈥� that infuses 鈥淐onnectic*nt,鈥� a zine published by Jensen, Mariana Palaez and Iyanna Crockett. The group plans on publishing issue on July 20.
The three friends met at the University of 海角换妻 and started their zine as a personal project encouraged by the school鈥檚 art scene. Their first issue had around 75 preorders.
Today, they get about 400 orders for each issue.
The zine is published bimonthly, giving contributors from across 海角换妻 a space to experiment artistically with words and in visual arts.
鈥淲e don't censor our submissions,鈥� Crockett said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a voice for anyone who has any thoughts about things that are happening.鈥�
What is a zine?
Zines (short for 鈥渇anzines鈥�) are small publications that, for centuries, have allowed countercultures to collaborate and create 鈥� sharing ideas of politics and self-identity through art.
Members of civil rights, feminist and gay liberation movements all used zines for activism. But, the trend got its name during the 1930s, when science fiction fans started using the medium to talk about the genre.
The zine, 鈥淭he Comet,鈥� is regarded as one of the first fanzines created from this era. The 10-page sci-fi booklet featured stories, articles and letters from fans.
Today, 海角换妻 artists still embrace zine culture, producing vibrant and diverse publications that provide a unique platform for voices that might otherwise be overlooked.
and workshops have also become popular, fostering collaboration and inspiring new generations of artists to explore this accessible and expressive medium.
鈥淚t's the beauty of community,鈥� Jensen said. 鈥淐ommunity is just what keeps us going in moments of toughness.鈥�
The financial challenges of publishing
Today, despite having access to digital publication tools and the internet, some young authors (and readers) still prefer the physicality of zines. They say zines freeze time and allow readers to reflect on a specific moment.
鈥淭here's something about print that I love where it's like, you can't fix things. It's there and it's there forever,鈥� said Jasmine Jones, 31, creator of , a Hartford-based zine that connects underground musicians.
But printing is expensive.
Jones, the sole editor of Aislin, said she spends about $500 to print 50 copies of her magazine.
So some zine creators are moving beyond the printed word. This past April, Jones hosted 鈥�,鈥� a music event that helped artists network with other creatives. Jones said she used money from a fellowship to fund the event, but said she had to scale back its initial vision when the fellowship did not follow through on helping her raise all the funding she needed.
Grant money can be scarce, with organizations having specific eligibility standards, which can sometimes exclude themes an artist may want to explore.
For many zine creators, that can mean walking a fine line between artistic vision and financial reality.
鈥淭here's a respectability that comes with how you present your work. You have to explain it in a very specific way so that it will get picked up by funding,鈥� said Aly Maderson Quinlog, 44, founder of , a micro-press and community arts studio located in New London, 海角换妻.
The studio works with artists to create their own zines, emphasizing the accessibility of the art form. Basic office supplies and recycled materials are used. The press tries to figure out ways to help creatives make the first zine by using whatever mediums they already work in, Maderson Quinlog said.
Their most recent event was a collaboration with local artist, , at the New Haven Pride Center. The event, "El Rinc贸n De Papel," provided low-cost small batch printing services for BIPOC and queer zine creators.
鈥淚t's really important that we can be a place where people can come and learn what we do and then take it to their own communities,鈥� Maderson Quinlong said. 鈥淭he mission of the collective is to inspire other collectives.鈥�
Who is the face of zines?
Historically, the art world has been male-dominated, with female and non-binary artists often in the minority of art collections, music and literature. In 2019, Artnet, an online marketplace for art pieces, found that in the past decade,
But to Magik Press鈥� consultant, Ty Pace, representation isn鈥檛 the problem, gatekeeping is.
鈥淲hen we talk about who gets lifted and the face of zines, they tend to be middle-class, white women,鈥� Pace, 34, said.
Pace uses this problem as motivation to further highlight artistry in groups that aren鈥檛 always given a spotlight. This past month, the press collaborated with the , to host a zine library in the center to celebrate Pride Month.
This observation underscores a deeper issue within the zine and the art community: the persistent lack of diverse voices in the creative circles.
鈥淏lack folks are making zines, queer folks are making zines. There are disabled artists' work that exists, and it's existing whether or not mainstream is paying attention to it,鈥� Pace said. 鈥淚 think that's really what we're always coming down to: when is mainstream gonna stop gatekeeping what gets to be seen?鈥�
Zines encourage artistic expression, but creators say they can also nurture a tapestry of perspectives, making them invaluable to culture.
And for young artists, they can also just be a fun creative outlet.
鈥淚 was in a poetry club [at the University of 海角换妻], and we would host open mics,鈥� Pelaez, the co-founder of Connectic*nt, said. 鈥淎nd then you graduate and it's like, where exactly are you going to do that?鈥�
This story has been updated.
