With so much of the world staying virtual, let's turn our attention to a lasting and tangible art form that's been through it all: zines.
The do-it-yourself publications are still telling stories about arts, politics, culture, identity and organizing that were once exclusively shared in them.
Zines are sold in brick-and-mortar bookstores, shared at events and meetups, downloaded digitally or ordered online through subscription services. Some zinesters use Instagram, Discord or online wikis, while others still opt for trading them via their neighborhood FedEx office.
The Twin Cities zine scene was launched by influential publications like 1970s' Little Free Press, Frank Gaard's Art Police throughout the 1980s and 1990s works from Profane Existence Collective.
The early 2000s challenged zine culture with online blogs, but the digital limitations couldn't meet the same interactive, experimental needs they thrived on: print formatting, typography and binding that captures the authors' unique, independent voices.
"It's like an analog social media in a way," said Elysa Voshell, executive director of Minnesota Center for the Book Arts.
At Minneapolis Community and Technical College's library, zine librarian Elissah Becknell sees communication about subcultures, movements and identities being disseminated in print, and not digitally, as synonymous with its form.
On the internet, people give up their privacy, Becknell said. With zines, people can express themselves while controlling what, how and where they share about themselves.
