TY - JOUR
AU - Carpentier, Nico
AB - Abstract This article studies the role of the material in four Prague-based zines. The analysis is theoretically embedded in the model of the discursive-material knot, which is a non-hierarchical articulation of the discursive and the material, and it is contextualized by a reflection on post-digital culture, which allows revalidating the role of the material in zine production and distribution more. The case study combines the analysis of personal interviews and zine content with an ethnography of the production and distribution processes, including zine fairs. This analysis shows how the alternative media discourse, with its focus on particular aesthetics and amateurism, intersects with networks of bodies, spaces, paper and related objects, many different machines and scarce capitals. This allows arguing that the material is omnipresent in zine production and distribution, also in intermaterial and transmaterial ways, but also that zines then use the particularity of this material component to signify their cultural specificity. People say that they won’t get any information from the exhibited zines, but I do – because of the creative approach in terms of print, color spectrum or raster register. (Vítek Jebavý, personal interview, December 2, 2018) Introduction Zines have been traditionally studied from the perspective of subcultural studies, which brought about a focus on meaning, identity and discourse. The role of the material—crucial for zines with their cut&paste graphics, pages stained with glue and fingerprints, printed on different machines—was in most cases overlooked as a self-evident mode of production. Moreover, the popularization of the Internet made a considerable number of zines migrate to the web in the 1990s, while others ceased to exist, triggering discussions about the end of the zine. Arguably, there are also a number of more general processes that reduced the attention for the material components of zines. First, the fascination for the virtual and digital—with its paradoxical separation of online content from the technologies that enabled it—reduced the interest for the material in general (see Broersma, 2019). In the recent decades, media studies has also become more and more “digital-media-centric,” which decreased the interest in print cultures that became articulated as “old-fashioned.” All this led Piepmeier (2008) to write the following, already in 2008: “Even among critics who do discuss zines, few have analyzed zines’ materiality as a significant component of their cultural functioning” (p. 218). Nevertheless, the interest in the materiality of media has been increasing—even though it was never completely absent (see, e.g., Gray, 1992; Thornton, 1995), assisted by the theorizations of the post-digital (Cramer, 2014; Ludovico, 2012). It has led some authors—e.g., Casemajor (2015)—to declare that another turn has taken place in (digital) media studies, namely the material turn. Without necessarily wanting to join those who have nominated yet another turn, the increased attention for the material, articulated with the post-digital, has enabled more attention for the material-as-material. In particular, post-digital theory moved the attention, in the world of zines, from radical political statements, enthusiastic fan writing and subcultural rituals to the role of the material in the zine-making process and zine scenes: printing techniques, combinations of materials and even the weight of paper. At the same time, there is a need to avoid seeing the material turn as replacement of what is sometimes articulated as the previous turn, namely the discursive turn. The logic of replacement, and the implicit assumption that these two turns—or better, the material and the discursive—are antagonistic and/or mutually exclusive, is deeply problematic. This is why this article is framed by a model that articulates the material and the discursive in a non-hierarchical way, and theorizes their continuous interaction and interdependency, captured through the metaphor of the knot (Carpentier, 2017), even if, in this article, we want to focus more on the material component of zines. More concretely, we want to highlight the material component of four zine assemblages and study how the material matters, without forgetting the workings of the discursive-material knot, how these material elements are entangled with the discursive, and how the particular use of materials strengthens the discourses of alternativity and amateurism that characterize (these) zines. The four zines all belong to the Prague zine scene, which is one of the thriving European zine scenes (Hroch, 2017), and particular relevant for its concentration (and combination) of subcultural and artist zines, even if zine scenes have become more globalized (Dunn, 2016). In order to understand the workings and significance of the material in these four assemblages, we combined interviews with the zine producers and their contributors, qualitative content analysis of a selection of the four zines, and an ethnography of the production and distribution process. Before turning our attention to this analysis, though, we first describe the general theoretical framework we used—the so-called model of the discursive-material knot—and provide a theoretical discussion on the post-digital condition, which contextualizes the analysis of the four zine assemblages. The model of the discursive-material knot One model that has been developed recently to reconcile the discursive and the material, and to theorize their entanglement, is called the discursive-material knot (Carpentier, 2017). Its starting point is Laclau and Mouffe’s discourse theory (1985)—as it was elaborated in Hegemony and Socialist Strategy—which served as a foundation for this model, to which work on new materialism could then be added to produce a more balanced theory on the incessant interactions of the discursive and the material, in order to—as Foucault (1981) already suggested in his 1970 Order of Discourse—battle the “anxiety about what discourse is in its material reality” (p. 52), but also the opposite anxiety. It is important to stress that Laclau and Mouffe’s discourse theory uses a broad definition of discourse, to refer to the frameworks of intelligibility that structure how humans think and know.1 Their argument is that the discursive realm is indispensable in its provision of meaning to the social and material world. This position is very close to Hall’s (1997) idea, discussing Foucault's work, that “nothing which is meaningful exists outside discourse” (p. 44, emphasis in original). In Hall’s statement, the presence of the words “nothing is meaningful” is crucial, as he—in a way similar to Laclau and Mouffe—does not want to argue that “nothing exists except discourse,” which is a common misinterpretation about discourse theory (and constructionism in general). As Hall (1997) writes: “Our material interests and our bodies can be called to account, and differently implicated, depending on how meaning is given and taken, constructed and interpreted in different situations” (p. 10). This does not imply that discourses are necessarily stable and unchangeable. On the contrary, discourses are seen as only partially fixated, through articulation and negotiation. Laclau’s (1988) definition of discourse as a “structure in which meaning is constantly negotiated and constructed” (p. 254) captures this contingency, and how discourses are articulated in always particular ways, but can also be re-articulated over time (and space). This contingency not only occurs through the re-articulations of a particular discourse, but also originates from the confrontation between different discourses, in their quest for domination (or hegemony, as Laclau and Mouffe call it). The model of the discursive-material knot acknowledges this key role of the discursive, but Laclau and Mouffe’s rather exclusive focus on the discursive necessitates additional support, to better reflect on the entanglement of the discursive and the material. This support can be provided by new materialism and object-oriented perspectives, which—interestingly—share with Laclau and Mouffe (1985, p. 108) a radical acknowledgement of the existence of a material world that is independent of our minds (see Dolphijn & van der Tuin, 2012, p. 93). But new materialist perspectives bring an additional and important element to the table: the idea of agentic matter. To use Barad’s (2003) words: “Matter is not little bits of nature, or a blank slate, surface, or site passively awaiting signification; nor is it an uncontested ground for scientific, feminist, or Marxist theories” (p. 821), but matter does things without being signified. Bennett (2010, p. viii) refer to the vitality of matter to describe this “capacity of things—edibles, commodities, storms, metals—not only to impede or block the will and designs of humans but also to act as quasi agents or forces with trajectories, propensities, or tendencies of their own.” New materialist analyses are often characterized by a strong sense for detail when mapping the materials that are part of an assemblage, combined with attention for intermateriality, which is defined as the associations between, or articulations of, different materials (Lange-Berndt, 2015, p. 20; Oliviéro, 2003, pp. 67–68; Overbey & Borland, 2017, p. 153). Morton’s (2013) analysis of the role of material in painting illustrates this material agency nicely, but will also prove to be helpful for the (artistic dimensions of) our analysis, when he writes that: “Paintings have always been made of more things than humans. (…) Now when you put the painting on the wall, it also relates to the wall. (…) Dust settles on it. Slowly the pigment changes despite your artistic intentions” (p. 24). Positioned at the ontological level, the model of the discursive-material knot is one of the possible answers that attempts to protect a non-hierarchical relationship between the material and the discursive, preventing becoming locked in the dualism of “matter-of-opposed-to-signification” (Dolphijn & van der Tuin, 2012, p. 96). In, particular, the metaphor of the knot signifies the impossibility to disentangle these worldly spheres, and “theorizes the knotted interactions of the discursive and the material as restless and contingent, sometimes incessantly changing shapes and sometimes deeply sedimented” (Carpentier, 2017, p. 4). In this model, discourse is still acknowledged for producing meaning, but the material is also acknowledged for its agentic capacity to either dislocate discourses or to invite for particular discourses to be articulated with it. As the metaphor of the knot is located at the level of the ontological, there is (arguably) also a need to deploy a concept that functions at the ontic level, capturing the translation of the discursive-material knot into social practice. Here, the discursive-material knot model uses the concept of the assemblage, as it signifies the ideas of entanglement, articulation and/or unification well. To use Deleuze’s (cited in DeLanda, 2016) words: “The assemblage’s only unity is that of co-functioning: it is a symbiosis, a sympathy” (p. 1). Especially DeLanda’s work on assemblage theory is helpful here, as is witnessed by his description of the workings (and broad range) of assemblages: Being wholes whose properties emerge from the interactions between parts, can be used to model any of these intermediate entities: interpersonal networks and institutional organizations are assemblages of people; social justice movements are assemblages of several networked communities (…). (DeLanda, 2006, pp. 5–6) The post-digital condition The discussions on the digital have not escaped from the dynamics of the discursive and the material, sometimes—especially in the early days—privileging the digital-as-discursive through the use of the virtual/real dichotomy. The concept of the post-digital allows capturing the reconfiguration of our exclusive attention for the digital-as-discursive—as it articulates discursive representations and material structures, and positions the digital firmly within the discursive-material knot. This notion also theorizes the current condition where pivotal aspects of our lives have been digitized, but still attempts to incorporate what is outside the digital, both materially and discursively. The post-digital is a concept that redirects our gaze, bringing our attention back to analogue media that had never disappeared in the first place (e.g., vinyl) and whose resilience and increased popularity cannot be explained by pure retromania (Reynolds, 2010) or the nostalgic mourning for something material that was lost. This post-digital assemblage includes media, both old and new, digital and material, capitalist and alternative. Moreover, this assemblage is fluid, for instance, characterized by transmateriality, which—as Whitelaw (2012) explains—consists out of the transgression of the boundaries of existing materials,2 including “Hardware hacking, embodied interfaces, homebrew electronics, physical computing; these practices literally and figuratively crack the computer open, hooking it up to new inputs and outputs, extending and expanding its connections with the environment” (p. 233). One example can be found in print culture. Ludovico, who focuses on post-digital print culture as an assemblage (consisting out of various discourses on sensuality and compiled from different materials), warns that the exclusive focus on the digital-as-discourse reduces the experience of the written text (or of art) only to sight. But printed media offer more perceptual dimensions, such as smell (which may give us information about the freshness or the old age of material) or touch (allowing us to feel the paper): The resulting sense of loss stems from much more than nostalgia: What is missing is an entire small perceptual universe that is instinctually unfolded every time the physical printed medium is used, which is altered, if not negated, in its new screen-based embodiment. (Ludovico, 2016, p. 100) The resuscitation of print could be said to contribute to filling the gaps of (sensual) loss brought by the hegemonic digital-as-discourse discourse, and places more emphasis on the process of entextualization, which—inspired by the work of anthropologists Bauman and Briggs (1990)—can be used to understand this combination of both material and signifying (text-related) practices, embedded in the broader fields of materiality and discursivity (Carpentier, 2017, p. 58). Zines One particular exponent of print culture—on which we will focus in this article—are zines. It is difficult to come up with one clear definition, though, since zines can encompass so many different aspects, speaking to different social groups (punk or sci-fi fans, anarchists, feminists […]) and taking distinctive forms and formats (Xeroxed zines or professionally crafted publications). The simplest definition of a zine is offered by Duncombe (2008): “Zines are noncommercial, nonprofessional, small-circulation magazines which their creators produce, publish, and distribute by themselves” (pp. 10–11). Zines served (and serve) as megaphones of resistance, music subcultures and outsider voices, that transgress mainstream communications and were traditionally studied from the perspective of subcultures, which has its limitations (see Liming, 2010). In this article, we want to activate one more perspective, by articulating zines, and the broader zine scene,3 as assemblages, structured by the workings of the discursive-material knot. Zines assemble a whole series of discourses—about aesthetics, alternativity, marginalization, but also participation and production pleasure (see Duncombe, 2008)—together with a wide range of materials, with paper, ink, presses and printers. This also implies that the alternative media discourse (see Atton, 2002) remains relevant to understand zines. Zines are antidotes of mainstream magazines and thus celebrate amateurism as approach. Although zines can be professionally made—both in terms of journalism and crafted object—amateurism is an important feature which is connected to horizontal divisions of labor, distribution through hand-to-hand contact at zine festivals or concerts, more empathetic relationships between readers and makers, and opposition against formal professional production rules. But zine assemblages also consist out of materials. The anarchical graphic design of early punk fanzines was described in terms of ‘cut&paste’ because of the use of scissors and glue. The result was as chaotic and radical as punk or noise music was. Zines were celebrations of intermateriality, with their different layers, traces of glue, hair or fingerprints and neglectfully cut pictures. With the rise of digital technologies in the 1990s, we could see how zine makers were trying to achieve the same effect of these wild collages, and imitate the cut&paste method, by using computer tools. This digital turn in the zine scene did not result in the predicted death of zine production, expected in the late 1990s, but, in contrast, gave a new impulse to the democratization of zine making: It became easier to distribute publications, interview people or connect through global platforms. But the lure of the material remained: “Still, there is something about the materiality of a zine—you can feel it, stick it in your pocket (…) give it away at a show” (Duncombe, 2008, p. 208). In the first decade of 21st century, to perform alternativity, people thus returned to printed zines with their anachronic printing techniques and crafts, but with more emphasis on intermateriality, as Spencer (2008) argues: As riot grrrl zines are decreasing in numbers, many of those people once involved in the zine community are moving into a new form of DIY endeavour. The act of crafting—sewing, knitting, doing crochet and in fact any form of craft as long as you can do it yourself—has recently taken over. (p. 59) This has resulted in strong zine scenes, with printed publications that are mainly visual-symbolic material objects. The use of machines such as the Xerox or Risograph, which are old printing technologies constructed for the efficient office-based printing of large quantities of paperwork, and transformed by zine communities into symbols of creativity and subversion, define the identity of a zine just as much as the content. “The majority of today’s zines and experimental Super 8 films, however, tend to focus less on content and more on pure materiality, so that the medium, such as paper and celluloid, is indeed the message,” as Cramer (2014, p. 15) describes this radical shift, which also implies the transgression of the dualism between “old” and “new” media. It means that zinesters, in the post-digital condition, pay close attention not only to the printing techniques, but carefully choose their materials from which zines are assembled, even though—as Blaha (2017) writes—these material qualities can be very subtle: Oftentimes, the material qualities artists seek out are much more subtle than that. Barely visible, the coarseness of the paper, its specific weight, the differences that result from treatments of the surface, can only be experienced by those bold enough to cross the deeply ingrained barrier that keeps us from touching not only art objects, but objects in general. (p. 276) Methodology This case study’s discursive-material analysis includes four zines. When selecting these four zines, we used diversity at the level of subgenre, graphic style, zine scene, period of existence and gender of the key producers as criteria (see Table 1). In terms of graphic style, Drzost and Kolyma Tales remain close to the pre-digital 1990’s tradition of zine-making. Drzost revives the radical enthusiasm of the riot grrrl zines, while Kolyma Tales celebrates the authenticity of imperfection, evoking the rough recordings of black metal albums. The Spiritistky comics zine is more an art object and struggles for precision in DIY conditions. Finally, Mazinérie connects two more or less separated worlds: The hardcore punk scène and art school communities. Photos from independent punk shows are combined with pieces of work originating from school projects with their institutional background. Table 1 The four selected zines Title . Zine subgenre . Printing & graphic techniques . Scene . Existence . Gender of key producers . Present at a zinefair (observation) . Drzost Collective zine Cut&Paste / Knitting Anarcho-feminist New Female Openzine Zine Fest Kolyma Tales Personal zine Xerox / Cut&Paste Black metal Old Male −----- Mazinérie Perzine/Photozine Mixed Cut&Paste / PC Graphic Design Software Hardcore punk / Contemporary art scene New Female Openzine Spiritistky Artzine/Comics Risograph / Silkprint Alternative comics Old Female PhaseBook Title . Zine subgenre . Printing & graphic techniques . Scene . Existence . Gender of key producers . Present at a zinefair (observation) . Drzost Collective zine Cut&Paste / Knitting Anarcho-feminist New Female Openzine Zine Fest Kolyma Tales Personal zine Xerox / Cut&Paste Black metal Old Male −----- Mazinérie Perzine/Photozine Mixed Cut&Paste / PC Graphic Design Software Hardcore punk / Contemporary art scene New Female Openzine Spiritistky Artzine/Comics Risograph / Silkprint Alternative comics Old Female PhaseBook Open in new tab Table 1 The four selected zines Title . Zine subgenre . Printing & graphic techniques . Scene . Existence . Gender of key producers . Present at a zinefair (observation) . Drzost Collective zine Cut&Paste / Knitting Anarcho-feminist New Female Openzine Zine Fest Kolyma Tales Personal zine Xerox / Cut&Paste Black metal Old Male −----- Mazinérie Perzine/Photozine Mixed Cut&Paste / PC Graphic Design Software Hardcore punk / Contemporary art scene New Female Openzine Spiritistky Artzine/Comics Risograph / Silkprint Alternative comics Old Female PhaseBook Title . Zine subgenre . Printing & graphic techniques . Scene . Existence . Gender of key producers . Present at a zinefair (observation) . Drzost Collective zine Cut&Paste / Knitting Anarcho-feminist New Female Openzine Zine Fest Kolyma Tales Personal zine Xerox / Cut&Paste Black metal Old Male −----- Mazinérie Perzine/Photozine Mixed Cut&Paste / PC Graphic Design Software Hardcore punk / Contemporary art scene New Female Openzine Spiritistky Artzine/Comics Risograph / Silkprint Alternative comics Old Female PhaseBook Open in new tab Within the case studies, to select the relevant data, we used the “follow the object” metaphor that Lash and Lury (2007) used in their book Global Culture Industry, where they mapped seven cultural objects (e.g., Nike or Toy Story products). In our study we modified the metaphor, which became “follow the zine”—which is also in compliance with ethnographical methods (Marcus, 2012, p. 59). Lash and Lury (2007) describe this method as follows: “But how do you follow objects? Very simply you find out as much about them in as many places in time and space from as many points of view as possible” (p. 20). For our data analysis, we used a discourse-material analysis (see Carpentier, 2017), which consists of a combination of qualitative research methods with sensitizing concepts that originate from the combination of a discursive and material theoretical framework. The qualitative research methods used in this article are the textual analysis of zine content and interviews, and ethnography. We analyzed four zine issues, performed 10 in-depth interviews with zine-makers and their contributors,4 and did an ethnography of zine production sites and zine fairs. In the latter case, participant observation at the three production spaces5 and at three zine fairs was combined with informal interviews and photographic documentation, resulting in an extensive set of field notes. The post-digital assemblages of the four Prague zines Given the lack of attention for the material-as-material in the study of zines, but also considering the particular role the material plays in zine production and distribution, we will focus our analysis on the material component of the four zine assemblages. This is not to discredit the discursive component of this assemblage. The discursive unavoidably slips in, but its discussion will be kept brief, even though it will feature prominently in our conclusion as well. The reason for not completely unpacking the discursive component is that it has received ample attention in the literature (Atton, 2010; Cole, 2014; Farmer, 2013; Piepmeier, 2009). With our analysis we want to attribute more attention to the material,6 and the articulation of networks of bodies, spaces, paper, and related objects, many different machines, and scarce capitals.7 Still, the analysis always needs to be read in conjuncture with the ontology of the discursive-material knot, and our analysis contains regular reminders of this necessity. Networks of bodies One core element of (the material component of) the zine assemblages are its people that are connected in collaborative production and dissemination networks, and who identify with, and are driven by, discourses on alternativity and amateurism. At the same time, these were not only the bodies that assemble at zine fairs or “small manufacturing workshops” in producers’ bedrooms, but also consisted out of human fingers browsing a zine, a hand operating a printing machine or even the whole body fully engaged in the zine-making process. The labor of the networked bodies is not only intellectual, but also manual. Marek Zeman (the only respondent who was an active zinester already in the 1990s) compares the energy invested in zine-making with the live shows with his bands, describing the embodied practice of zine-making in the following terms: “I was sweating all over, and I could feel drops of sweat from my beard. I’m interested in energy, in music and as well with zines” (personal interview,8 April 8, 2019). His black metal zine Kolyma Tales very much embodies this energy, with its almost maniacal use of the cut&paste graphic design. The collaboration of these bodies is characterized by efficient divisions of labor. As the printer Lukáš Parolek explains: “With Julijána, we are accomplices. It is important to have more bodies in one place for the production process of zines or DIY books—when you’re printing alternative media, you need some help! It is a small mechanized manufacture shop” (personal interview, April 25, 2019). Similarly, Spiritistky co-author Julijána Chomová9 describes the production process of the first issue of their comics zine as follows: “Someone had to collect the pages in the order of the story; the other had to patch the binding using tape and stapling machine” (observation, April 15, 2019). Moreover, the networks are affect-driven—with affects in themselves being discursive-material assemblages—where friendship plays a vital role, and is also materially performed. This is illustrated by the words of the experienced zinester and printer Lukáš, who presents himself under the label Kudlawerkstatt and helped with the comic zine Spiritisky: “I wouldn’t say it’s work, because the key element is friendship—you really care about that” (personal interview, April 25, 2019). This idea is echoed by zinester and activist Martina Malinová (of the anarcho-feminist zine Drzost): “We are friends, girls in their thirties, who love glitters, zines, and who don’t want the world to end” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). Drzost contributor Lada has been the part of the zine since its first issue in 2017 and she emphasizes the importance of zine-making sessions, where friends could meet to work on something together: “I didn’t participate in any other zines, but I loved this idea of evenings with a girl crew” (personal interview, April 28, 2019). This is also evident from the Drzost cover of issue no. 2 (see Figure 1), with the deformed photo from the session: Two persons are touching—almost embracing—each other while working on the zine. Figure 1 Open in new tabDownload slide Drzost cover of issue no. 2 (2018). Figure 1 Open in new tabDownload slide Drzost cover of issue no. 2 (2018). Spaces A second material component of the zine assemblages are the spaces of production and distribution. The production spaces have a more private and even intimate nature, allowing for the performance of the discourse of amateurism. The co-author of the Spiritistky zine, Julijána, lives in a three-room flat with her boyfriend, and their space is filled with bookshelves and printing technologies. The Risograph printer stands next to her bed, and the freshly printed pages are laid to dry next to her washed clothes (observation, April 5, 2019). Such intimacy was also present during the zine-making process of Kolyma Tales: Marek took one phase of the zine-making process to his kid's room. Next to child toys were photos of black metal bands, and the room was covered with glue and ripped papers (observation, February 20, 2019). A trace of the intimacy of the production spaces can also be found in the story of the Canadian black metal band Blasphemy in Kolyma Tales no. 2, which has a photo of the group made from Lego bricks, which was created together with Marek’s son (see Figure 2). Figure 2 Open in new tabDownload slide Blasphemy photo in Kolyma Tales no. 2. Figure 2 Open in new tabDownload slide Blasphemy photo in Kolyma Tales no. 2. Production spaces are often private, while spaces of display and distribution are often public, with zine fairs playing an important role. These fairs are spaces where producers meet with their audience, add layers of signifying practices to the zine content and make connections for future collaborations with other zine enthusiasts. Zines are also traded or exhibited there. For our observations, we visited three zine fairs. The Openzine fair took place at the alternative space D39 in Prague (observation, December 15, 2018). Organized in the spirit of DIY and (thus) open to all zine makers, there were around eight tables and a triangle rack with a wide range of zines on display. People were chatting, reading, and sitting close to each other in armchairs around a fireplace. The same openness was visible at the Zine Fest in Brno’s autonomous community center Sibiř (observation, April 13, 2019), where Martina from Drzost organized a zine workshop. The former cinema—where the Sibiř collective resides—was transformed into a squat-like space, with antinationalist flags around the corridors leading to the concert venue and library. The PhaseBook festival at the CAMP gallery in Prague was curated in a different manner, namely as an exhibition, with a polished white cube space. The paradigmatic change from voluntarily financed spaces to state-funded gallery was visible in the way how the zines were displayed. At Open Zine or Zine Fest, zines were just lying on the tables and zinesters did not really care about the form, at PhaseBook the zines were positioned as artistic objects and installed in the space using the principles of the gallery system: Zines were hung from the ceiling on threads, installed on walls or even exhibited during public readings and performances (observation, December 2, 2018). Paper and more The materiality of print, with its paper and smell of ink or its fading colors, is more important than ever in the zine publishing sphere. Of course, print has always been the material condensation (or entextualization) of the zines’ signifying practices and the multitude of discourses they convey, communicating often inaccessible (“underground”) information and acting as megaphones for marginalized voices in society, very much in line with Laclau and Mouffe’s notion of counter-hegemony (see Mouffe, 2005, p. 18). But now, in the post-digital landscape, the form (or the medium, in a very McLuhanesk sense) has become even more important, and more part of the message itself. For instance, the co-organizer of PhaseBook zine fair, Vítek Jebavý, says: “Publishing itself became the topic, not that you’re writing about some band. Printing is about slowness, the immersion of the spectator into another dimension and about researching possibilities of printing technologies” (observation, December 2, 2018). In particular hapticity comes to matter with print: Co-organizer of the PhaseBook festival Vítek explains why he did not like a particular zine because its pages did something he did not like, because they were “sharp as razors and it was an uncomfortable object” (personal interview, December 2, 2018). For the author of Spiritistky, Julijána, choosing the right paper is part of the pre-research and her artistic sense for precision can be experienced when browsing the zine: “For me, as an artist, I have to [be able to] identify with the type of paper” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). Lada, who is a contributor of the Drzost zine, also underlines the hapticity of zine-making sessions: The materiality of the process is fundamental to me. I love to craft collages, work with glue, draw pictures, and I believe it is a beautiful activity. Also when you can touch the zine or smell the pages, it has its magic. (personal interview, April 28, 2019) Hapticity is closely related to the intimacy of zine production and the ways how the medium is intensely personalized. This is another way how the material enters the assemblage: Zines are entextualizations of the ideas and emotions of their producers. NBDY, a Kolyma Tales collaborator, says that zines can be about his “emotions experienced while listening to music, and then transferred to paper” (personal interview, May 1, 2019). He describes zines as archives of memories and emotions in opposition to “the sterile nature of official media.” The element of entextualized memories is also present in the interview with Marie, who says: “It is my diary, I preserve memories and ideas here” (personal interview, February 3, 2019). But the paper and ink itself also (materially) communicates, as indicated before. The curator of the PhaseBook festival, Vítek, argues that form matters: “People say that they won’t get any information from the exhibited zines, but I do—because of the creative approach in terms of print, color spectrum or raster register” (personal interview, December 2, 2018). Moreover, the zines are not only composed out of paper (and ink); they move into post-paper environments, which are intermaterial. When Martina (Drzost) describes the distinction between the scale model of the zine and the final product, she refers to these “other” material elements and their agency: “The most beautiful are those printed zines, where the paper meets with the hair of zine makers, the rests of glue and other materials. When you use a scanner, you take something out of it” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). Also Drzost—with a look and feel that identifies with the pre-digital zine-making tradition—uses different materials, with, for example, pressed leaves from the herbarium or knitwork. For instance, the front cover of Drzost features the photo of Martina and her contributor Lada from the zine workshop, with the hand of one on the shoulder of the other (see Figure 1). The photo is deformed, watercolors have been added, and their hair is stitched over with brown thread. Knitwork is also used to decorate the back cover (Figure 3); a demonstration of media crafting, described by Spencer (2008, p. 59). Figure 3 Open in new tabDownload slide Drzost back cover of issue 2 with knitwear (2018). Figure 3 Open in new tabDownload slide Drzost back cover of issue 2 with knitwear (2018). In some cases, these material components even remain invisible. The author of Kolyma Tales, Marek, creates layers of pictures in his zine to the point where some of the material is entirely hidden, which again shows the intermateriality of zine production. “It isn’t necessary for them to be visible, I know that they are there and that matters” (observation, February 20, 2019). The thrashed edges of pictures which are neglectfully positioned on pages, show the intermaterial nature of zine production. Finally, the zine production practices also generate connections with the digital (and the discursive), which brings us to the transmaterial. Zine makers have laptops next to typewriters in their workplace, old Risographs connected to computers and they use graphic design software. This can be manifested through analogization, where the look and feel of the analogue—the effect of old Xerox printers, for instance—is sought after and reproduced. This analogization effect was described by one zinester and graphic designer at the Open Zine festival, Vojtěch Jasanský: “I print some pages on Xerox. Afterwards, I digitalize them with the scanner, and from the result, I extract the patina, which I later use as an effect in the graphic design software” (observation, December 15, 2018). There is also transmateriality, with, for instance, the integration of the virtual in the material. We can, for instance, find printed Instagram photos in Mazinérie. As, the youngest of the respondents, Marie, who started her zine, Mazinérie, just a few years ago, says: “I won’t pretend that I made printed zine in the 1980s. Therefore you can see in Mazinérie the collection of my favorite Instagram accounts” (personal interview, February 3, 2019). Pictures from her favorite profiles are in the accompanied by a caption which perfectly grasps the post-digital practices: “The fact that you’re now holding a printed fanzine, doesn’t mean that you are not scrolling your Instagram simultaneously” (Mazinérie 3#, 2018).10 Machines: typewriters, cut&paste, and printing technologies During the research—and as some the previous citations already illustrated—we could witness the deployment of the whole range of machines in the zine assemblages, enabling the entextualization of the zine’s signifying practices. Computers with graphic design software were used, and made the zine production process more effective. But, typewriters, different printing technologies such as silk print or Risograph, or more traditional tools like glue and scissors were also used, to achieve a particular artistic vision and to allow for the above-described immersion into to (hapticity of the) paper. As Kirschenbaum (2016) argues, computerization allows us to reconsider the qualities of older technologies: “The ubiquity of computers and word processors has clearly allowed us to retroactively buff and varnish the typewriter’s aura of authenticity” (p. 18). The cut&paste techniques and typewriters, to produce a particular aesthetics are employed in Drzost, as Martina explains: “It has that volume, that substance: scissors, glue and the machine!” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). A similar attitude is shared by Kolyma Tales. In our observations, we could see Marek standing at the table, with all the visual materials on display, violently ripping the source material apart and spontaneously placing these parts on the pages, using the material’s agency for his composition. The main goal, Marek said, is to spread chaos (observation, April 5, 2019). Not all zines use this Sturm und Drang method, though. Artists and zine makers like Julijána from Spiritstky want to achieve—what they consider—professional results within the context of DIY (see Figure 4). While Kolyma Tales benefits from the traces of imperfection, Spiritistky is the opposite: There had been months of printing technologies research, with the zine Spiritsky eventually using the combined techniques of Risograph printer and silk print. And again, we find transmaterial practices here, demonstrated by the way how zine maker and printer Lukáš hacks old Risograph printers and finds new creative possibilities: “Risograph is not an old technology; it keeps evolving. Older types are more creative, because they don’t have digital chips, they are easier to be hacked. You can find new possibilities beyond the instruction manual” (personal interview, April 25, 2019). These media archeological practices nicely illustrate Hertz and Parikka’s (2012) observation: “We believe that media never dies: it decays, rots, reforms, remixes, and gets historicized, reinterpreted and collected” (p. 430). Figure 4 Open in new tabDownload slide Spiritistky zine with the inserted postcard and the translation sheet (2018). Figure 4 Open in new tabDownload slide Spiritistky zine with the inserted postcard and the translation sheet (2018). Limited financial capital: the struggle for money The last material element in the zine assemblages is financial capital, keeping in mind that money11 is “inorganic dead matter which has been made alive” (Brown, 1985, p. 279). The zines are grounded in networks driven by voluntary labor, which places them outside the capitalist economies that aim for profit. Marek (Kolyma Tales) uses the following terms to describe this financial reality (and materiality): “My investment, my loss. I always invest 15 thousand [CZK] from my own money, I sell the zine below cost and exchange the zine for cassettes I wouldn’t ever buy” (personal interview, April 8, 2019). Or as Julijána says: “You hardly ever come back from zine fair abroad with profit” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). Partially, this implies that financial capital is gathered from other activities, and channeled into the zine assemblage. Marek (Kolyma Tales) works as a psychotherapist, and generates a clear distinction between both worlds: “For instance, I come back from work tired, and I relax by zine-making” (personal interview, April 8, 2019). Others do generate (some) revenue from the zines, which is often reinvested in the zine assemblage. The struggle for revenue also affects the lifestyle of zinesters, who all struggle to pay their rents and bills, paying a material price for their identification with the discourses of alternativity and amateurism. Especially artists like Julijána, who have ambitions to earn their living from their art, point to the difficulties: “Self-publishing is from the rational point of view an incomprehensible thing” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). While being aware of inability to generate sufficient revenue from zine production, they continue to make them, even if, as Julijána explains in her interview, she has to earn extra money by printing bags, tote bags or posters. Even if the lack of resources is complicating the lives of the producers, distribution, promotion and management is not awarded that much priority, at least not with the objective to generate revenue. To quote Marek (Kolyma Tales): “This part of my brain is missing” (personal interview, April 8, 2019). For instance, Martina from Drzost says: “More important is to share it with your friends than [to have it circulate] in the whole world” (personal interview, February 7, 2019). Finally, also the production process, but also their ability to circulate their signifying practices (which does matter to the producers), is affected by the scarcity of resources. Zinesters developed strategies for cutting costs, which ranges from using black and white printing to smaller print runs. The Spiritistky zine recycles material—Julijána used to work in one paper shop in Prague, where she gained considerable skills to work with paper, but was also permitted to take away left-over paper: “I have this super expensive premium paper, which is left over from work. People don’t take cuttings, but I do and I collect them under my bed—and one day I recycle them” (observation, April 5, 2019). Conclusion For decades, subcultural studies has underestimated the role of the material-as-material. This does not imply that the material was absent from these analyses, but that the focus was placed on the meanings of the material. If we take a look at an early and canonical subcultural study—Subculture: The Meaning of Style (Hebdige, 1979), we see a focus on discursive negotiations, in which “objects are made to mean and mean again as ‘style’ in subculture” (Hebdige, 1979, p. 3), as if the material, with its record collections, punk hairstyles, ripped jeans or zines, had no role to play in this assemblage. But as Hebdige (1979) formulated it: “Style in subculture is, then, pregnant with significance” (p. 18). With this article, we wanted to analyze how the zine (sub)culture is also pregnant with materials, without ignoring the role of the discursive and its processes of signification. The analysis of the four zine assemblages shows this strong presence of materials, with their networked bodies, machines, paper, knitwear, some capital, private production spaces, and public spaces of display and distribution. But these materials are still knotted together with a set of discourses (for instance, about aesthetics and amateurism) that give meaning to these materials, that articulates them into an assemblage, and that also contribute to holding the assemblage together. At the same time this study shows that the material plays a more privileged role in the post-digital zine scene than in other media (production) ecologies. Zines no longer function as primary sources of information about new bands and cannot compete with online platforms, but zines remain unrivalled in one respect: They are sensorial, in particular, they are haptic. Moreover, they have become prime examples of intermateriality and transmateriality. Zines cherish paper and ink, but they have integrated and articulated many other materials, that impact on the look and feel of zines, moving even further away from mainstream (glossy) publications. And they have integrated the digital into their assemblages, while simultaneously transgressing (and sometimes perverting) its logics. Zine producers, for instance, simulate Xerox print with graphic design software, use Instagram photos in their zines and hack printing technologies. Interestingly, the strong intermateriality and transmateriality of zines (obviously) does not escape from the knotted interaction of the discursive and the material. Zines perform and thus also signify their alternativity through these intermaterial and transmaterial elements, and, more in general, through the material practices that produce and distribute them. The material is important, not for nostalgic reasons, but because it generates a discursive marker of their subcultural activities and identities, which again motivates the mobilization of particular materials and practices, in a permanent—but still specific and contingent—interplay of materials and signifying practices, and, of the material and the discursive. Funding This research was supported by the Joint Writing Seminar at the Institute of Communication Studies and Journalism, Faculty of Social Sciences, Charles University in Prague. Footnotes 1 Their definition of discourse is different from the common discourse-as-language approaches, as Laclau and Mouffe see discourse as the structures of meaning communicated through language (and other signifying practices). Laclau and Mouffe’s take on discourse can be described as a macro-textual and macro-contextual perspective on discourse (Carpentier, 2017, p. 14). 2 Arguably, transmateriality also incorporates discursive re-articulations, as these material transgressions articulate these altered materials with different discourses. 3 The zine scene can be seen as an assemblage of discourses, bodies, spaces, practices, machines and objects, while zines (as objects), with their signifying practices, entextualizations, printing techniques, papers, emotions, photos, articles, and drawings, are an assemblage within this zine scene assemblage. 4 All interviewees gave permission to be quoted, and to have their real and full name used, in this article (except for Lada, the contributor of the Drzost zine, and noise artist NBDY related to Kolyma Tales). 5 The fourth zine, Drzost, had no issue in production at the time of the research. 6 Other authors have also done this, of course. See Piepmeier (2008) for an early example. 7 The categorization (grouping many different materials) was generated through our analysis, but also inspired by earlier analyses, as, for instance, those by Ashcraft, Kuhn and Cooren (2009) that used objects, bodies and sites. 8 All Czech content was translated into English by the first author of this article. 9 The other co-author of Spiritistky is journalist and scriptwriter Klára Vlasáková, who wrote the storyboard. 10 Zines Mazinérie, as well as Kolyma Tales, do not have page numbering: Zines in general tend to ignore formal rules, which signifies their identification with an alternative media discourse. 11 Money itself is a discursive-material assemblage in its own right, but developing this argument here would take us too far. References Ashcraft K. L. , Kuhn T. R. , Cooren F. ( 2009 ). Constitutional amendments: ‘Materializing’ organizational communication . 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TI - Beyond the Meaning of Zines: A Case Study of the Role of Materiality in four Prague-Based Zine Assemblages
JF - "Communication, Culture & Critique"
DO - 10.1093/ccc/tcab001
DA - 2021-02-21
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/beyond-the-meaning-of-zines-a-case-study-of-the-role-of-materiality-in-HNGodN0fMh
SP - 1
EP - 1
VL - Advance Article
IS - 
DP - DeepDyve
ER -