recentpopularlog in

robertogreco : friendster   4

Why the Internet Didn’t Kill Zines - The New York Times
"As a lonely teenager growing up in Virginia, I fed off any pop culture that could show me different ways of being from what I saw on “The Cosby Show” reruns or read about in an Ann M. Martin book. This was the early 2000s, before social platforms had taken off: LiveJournal was still in its infancy; Tumblr had not yet been created. Friendster and Myspace, the most popular of the networks that did exist, were more about sharing perfectly angled photos than having conversations or bouncing ideas off someone. When, in college, a spirited English teaching assistant (who once canceled class for the week to attend a riot-grrrl punk reunion show in Washington) introduced me to zines and the early feminist publishing movement of the 1990s, I felt as if I had been given a lifeline to the outside world. Those self-published, unofficial magazines offered tangible glimpses of radical feminism, social-justice movements, queer history and subcultures that I always knew existed but had little access to. The world seemed to open up for me.

In theory, the maturation of the internet should have killed off the desire for zines entirely. The web is a Gutenberg press on steroids, predicated on free software platforms created by companies that invest considerable sums to lure people to their sites and make exactly the kind of content I craved growing up. Millions, maybe hundreds of millions, of posts are published to social-media sites each day. And yet somehow, it can feel impossible to engage with new ideas, even as our compulsive inability to stop scrolling exposes us to an unending stream of new content. Yes, you can catch tweetstorms on Twitter, watch someone’s life unfold on Instagram, do deep dives into hashtags on Tumblr or watch video diaries on YouTube that explore diverse perspectives, but the clutter of everything else happening at the same time online can make it difficult to really digest and absorb the perspective being offered.

Which might be part of the reason zines never disappeared — and are even available in abundance in 2017. A few months ago, I walked into a Laundromat in Brooklyn where a former cellphone kiosk had been transformed into a feminist queer shop called the Troll Hole. I was thrilled to find it stocked with the same kinds of small booklets I consumed in college, though much better designed and produced. They contained nonbinary coming-of-age stories, photo essays featuring gender nonconforming people of Latin-American descent, trans Muslim narratives, first-generation essays, fat-positive imagery. I scooped up as many as I could rationally read in one sitting.

Many of the offline zine projects I came across have some online presence, too. Sula Collective, for example, which describes itself as a journal by and for people of color, actually started out on the web as an art magazine for people growing up “in the suburbs and Deep South,” as one of its founders, Kassandra Piñero, put it to me. It was meant for anyone who “didn’t have access to galleries and events.” Piñero is 21, and the only world she has ever known is one that is also lived partly online. But she found that publishing on the internet often had the unintended and unconscious effect of causing her to cater to the aesthetics of those platforms. “The internet should be a place with no rules, and freedom, but it’s not,” Piñero said. “There is a certain pressure to conform to certain aesthetics.” It was something I had noticed myself. Each social-media platform tends to reward certain behaviors and styles of posting, all in the interest of building fans and followers who are invested in the performance of a persona (maybe even more so than the Geppetto-like person orchestrating it all). Instagram is a place for intimate-seeming photos, Twitter for clever quips and collaborative memes. Facebook demands an unmitigated rawness that can be terrifying at times. With all, the works are often made to fit the platform, not the other way around.

Producing zines can offer an unexpected respite from the scrutiny on the internet, which can be as oppressive as it is liberating. Shakar Mujukian, publisher of The Hye-Phen — a zine by and about queer and trans Armenians who, as he puts it, often “feel as ignored and invisible as their motherland” — told me via email that just because technology can fully replace something doesn’t mean it should. He described zines as the precursor to personal blogs, but personal blogs have been on the decline over the last decade. And zines can’t get replies or hateful remarks in a comments section. Publishing ideas outside the mainstream can make an author incredibly vulnerable; the web is polluted with a culture of toxicity that invites attacks. Zines, in Mujukian’s vision, “are essentially about reclamation. You get to make your own media and define your own narrative in the way you want to and can.”

Karen Gisonny is the periodicals librarian at the New York Public Library and specializes in alternative publications and zines. We’ve spoken over the years about alternative media and the role that it plays among the people who make it and consume it. She noted that zines allow for an “element of freedom that’s not beholden to anyone.” We think of the web as a place for freedom, but with zines, authors control every aspect, from the design to the distribution. When I visited her at the library, she showed me some of her newest acquisitions, which included the first issue of Dr. RAD’s Queer Health Show, a guide for self-exams and checkups for all gendered bodies, and Blue Collar Review, a journal of progressive working-class literature that is made in Virginia. She explained that zines could be seen as a historical record of the current moment. To their creators, zines can feel like necessary means of defiance, even resistance to cultural norms that rarely acknowledge them.

Devin N. Morris, who edits and publishes 3 Dot Zine, told me that he sees self-publishing as a political and radical act. He’s a young queer artist from Baltimore, and the zines he creates reflect that experience and create a historical narrative that otherwise would be ignored. For him, the act of creating a zine is more about defining his reality on his terms and legitimizing it than it is about the novelty of making indie media and distributing it. It was a sentiment I heard from almost every zine creator I spoke to. Morris, who recently hosted an indie-press fair at the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts, said that zines have a way of encouraging people to have “inspiring interactions in real life.” He described a hunger to physically interact beyond simple likes or direct messages. Social apps weren’t made to inspire that desire; they were created so that there would be no need.

And it perhaps reflects why zines can feel so much more intimate than a Facebook post. The deliberation and care that goes into making them is important. The internet is especially adept at compressing humanity and making it easy to forget there are people behind tweets, posts and memes."
jennawortham  zines  2017  publishing  internet  web  online  livejournal  tumblr  myspace  friendster  twitter  tweetstorms  youtube  attention  clutter  karengisonny  alternative  classideas  devinmorris  3dotzine  thehye-phen  shakarmujukian  kassandrapiñero  sulacollective  care  craft  deliberation  politics  radicalism  artapp 
march 2017 by robertogreco
The Collection and the Cloud – The New Inquiry
"Many platforms cease to be relevant and tend to go away wholesale. In engineering terms, the data becomes no longer relevant. As a result, our pasts can exist piecemeal in distributed systems, in more or less moribund conditions, with no consistent means of access."



"The job of an archivist is work outside interfaces, working with the documents outside their native context, often to make sense of a previous generation’s cast-off data for the interest of the current and future ones. “Processing” a collection is an exercise in not only “saving” the important things and anticipating the interests of future interested parties, but in weeding out the stuff that no one wants to see. My first job as a processing archivist was in a mathematics archive. One obscure Romanian mathematician would send a box of junk quarterly, using the archives as a junk drawer. My boss gave me curt instructions on throwing away his bills and divorce papers and told me to be very selective with his vacation photos.

But who would be qualified to make such decisions about the archives of activists who in part have protested their erasure from the historical record? I think of all the brilliant, give-no-fucks activists I follow on Twitter. I would never want to speak for bad_dominicana, or those on the ground in Ferguson — so how could I begin to speak for their archives?"



"From a collections standpoint, it’s clear that the Internet Archive isn’t the Internet Archive, but an Internet Archive, very much built and collected from a certain standpoint and position of power. Those who are actively collecting in the digital realm represent a specific set of values, a perspective, and as in traditional archives, this perspective reflects a certain hegemonic order of knowledge. The Internet Archive’s Grateful Dead collection is vibrant and exhaustive, developed in the image and enthusiasm of Kahle, an avid Deadhead. Archival institutions tend to have a point of view. University archives collect records of their institution; governmental archives collect government records. The Internet Archive, and other collections of its ilk, collect from the standpoint of old-guard Internet culture.

No one I know of is collecting and preserving from a position that stands to counter this. For the generation of artists, citizens and activists who has come of age in the era of social media platforms, the power of archives is deployed in the banality of surveillance. Distance from one’s data is a design feature, and ownership of one’s data profile seems impossible. What from our digital environments can become historical and archived?

Contemporary archival practices advocate a hybrid of two approaches first some interpretation of keeping the original order of things: respect des fons, and an a posteri organizing stuff into sensible categories. Of course, many of the collections that have been in archives for decades had been organized in ways that simply did not work. I’d been asked several times to “reprocess” a collection and organize it in a way that made more sense to me or my bosses. How often do archives get shifted now when algorithms adjust?

I wonder if the data collected by platforms will at some point become more transparent, and at what cost or contextual shift. Will my daughter be able to sift through my dark data profiles and learn about the egregious number of times I looked at someone else’s profile? Will there be a new round of data mausoleums, offering to sell us peeks at the past? Is data like defaulted debt, ready to be bought and sold at a fraction of the price and subject to a secondary market?

Where are the future archives? Moreover, where are the future points of canonical extinction?"
ameliaabreu  archives  archiving  collecting  socialmedia  2015  internetarchive  brewsterkahle  vintecerf  web  online  pauljaeger  friendster  jasbirpuar  tracebody  data  cloud 
march 2015 by robertogreco
Improving Reality | Joanne McNeil
"My talk was concerned with the strangely malleable qualities of time.

What if a digital photograph taken several years from now looks exactly like an image taken today? Digital content appears with minimal visual language distinguishing yesterday from tomorrow and today. Now habits have emerged in which we communicate with the past and even mistake it for the present. Is time itself something mutable on the web, available to us to reimagine and remix?"



"Google privileges the relevant over the new — and our search habits on the web work the same. Why might I have guessed that after sitting there abandoned for thirty years, it would be gone just as I had the chance to see it? I made the mistake the people using that Haiti image had done — confused the past for the present.

I went out anyway, to see for myself, see the place in context, see if there was anything left. I stood there looking at my iPhone with Google Earth satellites telling me I should be in the middle of this fantastic place. But I was only standing in the pieces of what used to be.

The web has changed the way we think of time. We see examples of contemporary culture remixing the past, present, and future in celebrity holograms, instagram filters, WW2 in real time tweets.

We can communicate with the past online. Here you see, on an actress’s IMDB page. This conversation went on from 2007 to just recently. Who knows how long people will discuss “does she have a boyfriend or husband?” Until she’s in a confirmed committed relationship? Until she dies? Until the end of IMDB? We’ve never had anything like this before. Messages in the bottle or bathroom graffiti never had a lifespan, accessibility, and community like this.

The mutability of time as its represented online isn’t a cause for alarm. It’s something we can play with, have a little fun —

Early last year, I logged in Friendster after many years of leaving it inactive. And it occurred to me…all these photos of me were old, my favorite movies, books, nothing related to the way I am today. Most of these “friends” I’d lost touch with long ago….it was all frozen in time from the last time I used it, about 2006.

And I began to wish there were a rewind button. That I could look at its first iteration. What I was like when I signed up for the service, my favorite books, my friends then.

So, for a laugh, I created a brand new profile. One as I would have created it a decade before. And I asked my friends — my new friends — to come join me there. These are people I didn’t know then. I got to share my history in an unusual way — show what I used to be like. I would post status updates complaining about my job as a waitress or bragging about reading Ursula LeGuin….
via:litherland  2012  joannemcneil  time  change  internet  web  profiles  avatars  friendster  photography  digital  images  memory  memories  reality  storytelling  howwechange  identity  mallealility  future  past  present 
september 2014 by robertogreco
Improving Reality 2012 : Joanne Mcneil
[Try this link instead: http://www.joannemcneil.com/improving-reality/ ]

"Google privileges the relevant over the new — and our search habits on the web work the same. Why might I have guessed that after sitting there abandoned for thirty years, it would be gone just as I had the chance to see it? I made the mistake the people using that Haiti image had done — confused the past for the present.

I went out anyway, to see for myself, see the place in context, see if there was anything left. I stood there looking at my iPhone with Google Earth satellites telling me I should be in the middle of this fantastic place. But I was only standing in the pieces of what used to be.

The web has changed the way we think of time. We see examples of contemporary culture remixing the past, present, and future in celebrity holograms, instagram filters, WW2 in real time tweets."
improvingreality  leilajohnston  warrenellis  anajain  taiwan  taipei  sanzhr  images  ursualeguin  memory  conversation  community  accessibility  lifespan  mutability  timecapsules  timelines  friendster  reality  twitter  instagram  atemporality  newness  relevance  culture  web  google  search  perception  time  joannemcneil  2012  via:litherland 
september 2012 by robertogreco

Copy this bookmark:





to read