What do I love about making zines?
That I start with one piece of paper—innocuous, blank. Some days inviting. Other days, daunting. And I can do anything with it.
I can scribble, drip paint, press in with a brayer. I can collage, layer washi tape, rub-on transfers, and every emotion I want to dump that day. And the paper takes it. It absorbs it all—without resistance.
Then I fold. This way and that. I push deep into the score lines. Align the edges. Cut through the heart.
And suddenly, what was—just moments ago—a single story, unravels into smaller parts.
Vignettes. Nuances. Peeks.
From a whole, pieces are born. And I get to retell the story again. Choose to continue the same thread—or begin anew. To breathe life into fresh chapters. Ask different questions. Celebrate the transformation of something simple into a tangible ripple of moments.
What do I love about making zines?
That they are part story, part art, part spoken, part unsaid. Part raw emotion, part quiet finesse. And all of me.
Join me on June 7 with a single sheet of paper— and the courage to see where it might take you.
I’m holding space for 10 of us to gather and make a zine together. We’ll meet for 90 minutes on Zoom—no pressure to finish, no pressure to share.
Just a soft prompt, a quiet rhythm, and the companionship of others willing to create without measuring.
Perhaps, in it, you’ll find the beginning of something honest. Something true. Because a zine isn’t just folded paper—it’s a tactile meditation.
One story, many parts—unfolding quietly in your hands.
Share this post