Photo: Daniel Wang
@dwangphotoIn
early 2019, I was at a crossroads moment in my life: living in Chile
and recently recieving a scholarship to move to NYC within six months,
however, this amazing gift was preventing me of finding a regular job in
my hometown. Excited about the future but desperately unemployed, an
idea occurred to me: creating art. Particularly, making up zines.
I'd heard
about zines before—some friends I met in college printed their own
drawings and poems, and photocopied them, merely for spreading
creativity. After graduation, I started work as a journalist and author
and later on I published my debut in fiction “Quiltras,” a collection of
stories that has been highly praised by critics in Chile and abroad.
Thus, once I was invited to host a writing course, which finished with a
zines workshop where I learned how to make the classic one-page format.
Thereby, jobless in 2019 I fancied: What if I make and sell zines?
Since I
couldn't think of anything new to write, I picked my favorite tweets.
Are you on Twitter? It's microblogging on social media, and back in 2019
only 140 characters per tweet were permitted. I used every tweet as a
verse, arranged them by topics—love, friendship, drugs, politics,
feminism—and made up what I called "poetweets." Illustrations by Sofía Flores were added through friendly collaboration, and Vicenta Mendoza
designed it as a one-page zine. I titled the piece "Cosas que pienso
mientras fumo marihuana" (Things I Think When I Smoke Weed) for sounded
funny to me and by then I used to be such a pothead. I'm rehabbed now.
Long story short: I printed a thousand copies, and sold them all out.
I paid my bills and went off to New York.
After
landing in the big city, I restarted the project, this time founding a
pocket poetry imprint: Editorial Negra. Allison Braden and Patricio
Baeza translated my poems into English. I visited Endless Editions (a
risograph studio in midtown, nearby The New York Times) and printed a
thousand zines again, both in English and Spanish.
Afterward,
I published another title "Everything Fits Harmoniously Into Everything
Else," pocket poetry by Hernán Miranda. He's a Chilean poet born in
1941, who was my professor at Journalism School. I've always been fond
of his oeuvre, so wanted to spread it among New Yorkers. Same story: I
picked my favorite poems by him, Allison Braden translated them from
Spanish, Jenny Frias aka Siempre Gótica drew the illustrations, and Maritza Piña designed it. A thousand copies were printed in fluor pink risograph at Endless Editions.
That was September 2019. One month later, Chile started burning all down.
On October
18th, 2019, the Chilean people rose up against a system that has
privatized social rights and divided the country into a rich privileged
class and an impoverished working class. Whole families went onto the
streets to protest. The government's response was police brutality. Cops
shot directly into the population’s eyes. Now there are hundreds of
half or completely blind citizens by the Chilean state. I'd recently
moved to NYC, witnessing all this on social media or in the news.
Devastated
by the idea of being away from home and safe from bullets, I used art
as my weapon and contribution to the revolution: Editorial Negra made an
open call for poetry regarding the Chilean uprising, and blissfully
we’d got more than a hundred manuscripts.
Authors
Macarena Araya and Francisca Molina helped out in selecting the pieces
for the zine. I wished to include as many poems as I could, so repeated
the technique used for my own zine: I picked my favorite verses by
different authors and shaped them into collective poems. This
congregated style also sounded like a metaphor for revolution to me:
something we hold up together. Later I learned this artistry is known as
"centón" in the Hispanic literary tradition.
Last, the
same team was assembled: translator Allison Braden, illustrator and
designer Maritza Piña. A thousand units of “Nuestro Fuego” / “Our Fire”
were printed in Endless Editions, two hundred of them were gifted for
free in Santiago de Chile.
Now, I'm an art book-maker. I go to fair upon fair selling my zines. Still pay my bills.
*This article was originally published en La Revista: https://www.larevista.nyc/editorialnegra