Thanks to everyone who came to LA Zine Fest! If you couldn’t, fret not: we’ll have these new zines and more on the online store real soon #zines #risograph #TinySplendor
we have so many new zines to share with you, world. this sunday in los angeles.
The third annual LA Zine Fest is happening in the parking garage of the Helms Bakery building on Sunday February 16, 2014! The event will feature OVER 180 ZINESTERS in one place for one amazing day!
ALSO, there will be some amaZINE events:
**Black Hill Press Presents: Zine to Publishing**
Tomas Moniz, Yumi Sakugawa, Kevin Staniec, Mark Todd, & Esther Pearl Watson
Moderated by Lilliam Rivera
**The Cartoon Utopia**
A multi-media presentation by Ron Regé Jr
Jaime Hernandez (co-creator of Love & Rockets)
In conversation with Charles Hatfield, author and professor of English, CSUN
Throughout the day, check in on Mark Todd and Esther Pearl Watson’s Zine Hut, stop by NOMAD artspace’s table, and drop in in on activities in the Pop-Hop Zine Zone!
The LA Zine Fest is FREE, it’s close to the new Expo Line, and it’s going to blow your mind right out of your skull in the best way possible. We will see you there!!
RSVP on Facebook here! Invite your friends, your mom, your dog (and your mom’s dog), and we’ll see you on Sunday, February 16th!
Buy and support here!
We’re popping up this Sunday at Linden Street Brewery’s vinyl swap - grab a beer, read a zine, trade some records! 12-5pm at 95 Linden Street Suite 7 in Oakland, rain or shine.
A piece by Cynthia Navarro about two wieners in love for Tiny Splendor’s forthcoming Sausage Fiesta zine
Self Portrait, 2013
preview of some work im doing for a collaborative hot dog zine project called “sausage fiesta” with some friends.
10 % zine 100% hotdogs
Amongst the Link-iputians! Prepare yourself for Tiny Splendor's upcoming hot dog zine, it's gonna be a sausage fest.
you know the feeling..
one of my lil thangs from the upcoming sausage fiesta zine from tiny splendor
Somewhere between Kikaida and Kenneth Anger lies this self-published gem in the shifting paper desert known as digital-age independent comics. Regarding the notion that all experimental cartoonists are stodgy, disheveled men: “I don’t really consider myself a cartoonist,” stated author and illustrator MICHAEL OLIVO over the phone as I stared out into the clean courtyard of my 60’s era apartment, spices of Ethiopian stews wafting through the air. Somewhere between Honolulu and New Jersey, there is a place called Oakland, CA, where many journey, escaping prejudice and political turmoil, or the gaping maw of the bland.
Leaving the art world and his previous forte’ of experimental film, Olivo dedicated his time to developing a pristine illustration style that displayed contemplation, a steady hand, and a sense of humor that displays the prismatic malfunction of a space-age computer. He is a mysterious municipal wing from an unknown government, painting signage with the eerie consistency of an automaton and the whimsical glee of a young Keith Haring running through a virtual subway. And adding to the mystery, he does so with no dialogue.
“Who is B.I. Buke?” I asked, in a halal supermarket eating Tabouli.
“An insult my brother once called me.”
From a monastic outpost, the steely eyed OLIVO first introduced me to his work in his apartment overlooking MLK Jr. Way, a very dangerous street in Oakland, where drivebys are a summer occurrence, bullet holes in wooden fences a mildly interesting conversation piece amongst struggling ghetto locals, jaded punks, artists, and burnouts. Where a bullet passed through three bags of Doritos in a liquor store circa 2010, and an Arab grocer fervently told me the story, I now feel the parallel in the Nintendo-addled Futurism of B.I. BUKE. Olivo’s work drinks in his surroundings, from the deepest hideout of abstraction, probably through a crazy straw.
“I use this to improve my skills,” said Olivo one evening as we worked on an animation at his house, proceeding to beat most of Contra 1 without dying.
The outsider stance is a challenging viewpoint to access, and a dangerous place to inhabit. To the Mondrians listening to their first Jazz records, hungry Basquiats quitting their day jobs, and the dejected Duchamp prior to uttering the words DADA, this feeling is no stranger.
A pivotal encounter with Olivo occurred in his backyard. He appeared in a reddish plot of bare soil, a vacant area with a lone palm tree standing the breeze. We engaged in a strange, labyrinthine conversation that touched on topics of fractals, cats, and Paul Pope’s career. Here I found evidence of an earnest philosopher in the field of experimental comics, who had a keen eye for craftsmanship and no fear of the resultant isolation. Next door, reggae played out of a lot filled with abandoned cars.
“Your backyard looks like Haiti,” I said.
The conceptual is apparent in his work, as he draws forth comparisons and ideas that challenge current assumptions and associations in motifs, bringing us to points of insight and humor that mimic the movement of frantic tropical birds. We are randomly greeted by lush jungle scenes and flailing, muscled arms that give way to floating beings of Japanese mist in an iconic night sky. The main character, B.I. BUKE, is both empowered by his mutation and the subject of ridicule in his warped, fragmented world of hall-of-mirrors masculinity. His genitalia, disembodied, greet us abruptly within cracked plexiglass scattered as if Charlie Chaplin were filmed courting Yoko Ono. Are we witnessing G.I. Joe’s first night as a gay in the military? Is knowing half the battle?
As Oakland swelled and exhaled with political fervor during Occupy, and rents continue to skyrocket in tacky fortresses whilst peeling Victorian houses appreciate steadily in gun infested streets, we see a city of the future, a societal scrambler, a pressure cooker, as language, identity, art, and sexuality are fed LSD and academic chiding from Berkeley, Zen lesbian perfume wafting in from Mills College, cold digital freon from San Francisco. This is a place of fragmentation, the Chimera of bohemian existence.
“Have you read that in 30 years, the ocean will be devoid of fish?”
“I look forward to one day retreating into a digital world,” said Olivo.
The movie Platoon and the book The Things They Carried engage in literary cell-division and their offspring produce a calm Egyptian relief, aloof, bicycling calmly past several crackheads in moth eaten wool cloaks, screaming at God.
While many minnows swarm to the carrion of the beached whale that is Obama’s promise, and hot storefront churches belt out distilled soul on Sundays, urban youth eating Ramen out of cups on rusty bikes, a gunshot rings out and kills a thug at Oakland’s burgeoning Art Walk. Olivo is an artist that unlike the minnow, will survive in the futuristic ocean as it evaporates, he is already developing his two dimensional lungs at a young age.
GET TO KNOW YOUR ZINESTER: Tiny Splendor
What was your first zine about and when was it made?Our first zine, Rat Milk, was inspired by watching many a Simpsons episode and drinking warm bhang on cold winter nights. We would throw potlucks at our house and cover our dinner table with paper and our friends would draw on it. It got covered with strange food stains intermingled with depraved drawings of rats lactating, dogs on acid, caricatured faces, and mountains of details by friends and visitors. We did this a few times and scanned the results, which we screenprinted and turned into a zine. This was once upon a time, when Sanaa Khan, Max Stadnik, and Cynthia Navarro were living together, and Kenny Srivijittakar lived down the street. It was a time of constant creation. Now that Cynthia and Kenny live in L.A. we’ve had to change up the collaborative process a bit.Name three of your influences and how they affected your work.We could name drop, but we are four people here, and that’s what seems to keep our work from getting stale—four brains are better than one. As far as the three things that keep us going, we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention printmaking, community, and food.
Printmaking, because all four of us studied it and fell in love with it; it gave us an appreciation for process-based thinking, working in layers, color separations, registration, discipline, stamina, experimentation, and working in limited editions. Working in multiples allows you to reach a wider audience than a single painting ever could. We’ve brought that mentality to running a small press.
Community is essential to what we do. If it weren’t for all our friends who laughed at our drawings, inspired us with theirs, and worked side by side with us in between countless glasses of whiskey, we’d have long ago lost our sanity and become boring introverts. We’re extremely lucky to be a part of a community of hardworking creative people—musicians, photographers, writers, framers—all stripes of people working with their hands.
Food is what keeps us going. I’m hungry right now. We all have a soft spot for anthropomorphized drawings of food, weird retro food iconography, and cooking and brewing and trying all the edible things out there. We had an art show this year devoted to coffee. We are working on a zine dedicated to hot dogs. Our best ideas have been hashed out over food and drink, reenergizing our brain batteries by indulging our taste buds.
Read the rest over at the LA Zine Fest blog!