I remember the first time I held an art book in my hands—a small, handmade zine made by a friend. As I flipped through its pages, slightly uneven and covered in smudged ink, it felt like an invitation to step into the artist’s world: filled with sketches of their everyday life, woven with their musings on the unnoticed beauty of the ordinary. Unlike anything I’d ever bought in a bookstore, this was a piece of someone’s creative process, a work of art that I could touch, revisit, and carry with me. 

As I studied the arts, and then started working in the industry as a visual art curator and producer, I encountered a range of printed materials that defied conventional book formats: some meticulously-bound with intricately-stitched spines; others quickly photocopied and loosely stapled. Some brimmed with images, photographs, and drawings; others pieced together fragmented texts and poetic writing. I never really questioned whether they counted as “books” in the traditional sense; to me, they were creative expressions sitting comfortably alongside the artworks and exhibitions I was already familiar with.

It wasn’t until I attended the Singapore Art Book Fair (SGABF) that I began to reflect on what an art book truly was. This annual multi-day event, part celebration and part marketplace, gathers artists, designers, and publishers across South-east Asia and beyond to showcase and sell their creations. Through the diversity of works on display at SGABF, I came to appreciate how art books push the boundaries of conventional formats, blending visual art, design, and concept in new and unexpected ways. (Jom commissioned this essay as part of its partnership with SGABF2024, and maintained full editorial control.)

Over the past decade, their growing popularity, fuelled by an increasing number of regional art book fairs, reflects a shift towards independent publishing and the exploration of varied visual cultures. The art book has emerged as an unexpected but powerful vessel for expanding access to creative practices, catalysing a budding ecosystem of ground up and independent initiatives around its production and distribution. More than just objects, art books act as meeting points, forging connections between artists and audiences. They play a pivotal role in making creative practices visible, while also fostering new communities and engaged publics.

What exactly is an art book? The medium’s heterogeneity and loose boundaries make it challenging to define. There’s a general consensus among this year’s SGABF exhibitors though: an art book is one where how it is made and what it is about are of equal importance. Michelle Santiago Cortes, writer and culture critic, offers this definition: “Object and content are equally prominent, if not totally indistinguishable.” Art books are often works of art in themselves, offering artists unique ways to translate ideas while maintaining control over both visual and conceptual elements. The interplay between text, image, and form is central to their impact. 

For Singapore-based Temporary Press, collaborating with artists on art books is a natural extension of their design work. The two-person studio, comprising designers Gideon Kong and Jamie Yeo, notes that “the design will significantly affect the way that content is being experienced in a book form…and the understanding of the content or research.” Decisions on design elements—such as typography, layout, paper type or ink—are intrinsically tied to the book’s content. The control and autonomy afforded by its role as an independent small-scale publisher enables Temporary Press to explore alternative approaches to the art book outside of commercial pressures.

Such experimentation can also challenge traditional narrative structures and invite non-linear ways of reading. For reading an art book is not just an intellectual exercise, but an intimate, sensory journey. An art book is a physical object meant to be held and experienced; the page becomes an interactive site where the reader actively participates in bringing the book to life through their touch and attention. Creators often experiment with the pace and rhythm of the reader’s engagement through materiality—from the weight and texture of the paper, to the layers of ink applied through analogue print methods like silkscreen or risograph. Readers, in turn, are free—and often encouraged—to engage with the art book on their own terms, making the experience a personal one. 

Originally a children’s book publisher in the 1990s, the Chennai-based independent publisher Tara Books brings its highly visual, tactile, and interactive approach to its art books today. Its handcrafted works are produced in its in-house artisan workshop in collaboration with Indian indigenous artists. SEED, for instance, is a beautifully illustrated book that explores humanity’s relationship with seeds, incorporating four distinct book forms—a pop-up, a fold-out, a booklet, and a scroll—to embody each narrative section. Readers are invited to unfold a long accordion scroll that illustrates the journeys of seeds across different landscapes, while a folded pop-up blooms like a seed bursting into life, transforming into a seed-gathering basket similar to those used by the Warli people, an indigenous tribe of western India.

For some, the art book format is particularly suited to archival or historical narratives; its visuality enables the communication of complex stories and dense research in accessible and engaging ways. The Jakarta-based independent publisher Binatang Press, for instance, collaborated with Indonesian music archive Irama Nusantara on the risograph-printed book Dari Ngak Ngik Ngok ke Dheg Dheg Plas. The history of Indonesian pop music is chronically under-documented, and the book is crucial in its foregrounding of the political tumult that rocked the country in the 1960s—viewed through the lens of popular music. “That’s where the visual comes into play—we find parts in the book where we can turn facts into something more lively, like illustrations or infographics,” explains Wanda Kamarga, owner-operator of Binatang Press. The book also includes QR codes so readers can listen to the music discussed, adding an aural dimension to a visual medium.

These overlooked topics often find a home in the art book. The Malaysian independent press Suburbia Projects argues that art books, even with their niche concerns, can find a dedicated audience—unlike mainstream publishing, which typically requires a larger readership to gain traction. Suburbia focuses on local architecture, noting that the lack of comprehensive documentation of architectural practice in Malaysia limits its international recognition. “No matter how small the book or topic is, any number of publications is important in pushing the field forward,” says co-founder Naadiya Hani. Art books’ commitments to peripheral communities and niche fields reaffirm their lasting value, and how print might expand the ways in which stories are shared and told.

The first time I made a zine was for an exhibition I curated. Working with a tight budget, I printed a hundred A3-sized sheets at a local shop, manually cutting and folding them into small, palm-sized pamphlets. In hindsight, my efforts at clean cuts and sharp folds were beside the point. Zine culture—short for “fanzine”, from “fan magazines” popularised by science fiction fans, later adopted by music and punk subcultures—embraces a do-it-yourself ethos that is inherently rough at the edges.

In its analysis of zine cultures in East and South-east Asia, Hong Kong-based group Display Distribute traces how zine-making spread from punk scenes in Europe and the US to the Philippines, Indonesia, and Japan in the 1970s-80s. At the same time, they point to parallel trajectories of independent publishing scenes that emerged in Japan, China, and Indonesia, showing how zines became integral to local creative communities, on the fringes of mainstream culture.

Zines, characterised by their handmade, small-scale production—they are often created on copier machines—provide a cheap, portable, and accessible means of sharing ideas. Contrast them with larger, bulkier photobooks, and you can see why this inexpensive and intimate format is popular among young people and students. Tum Wuthipol, a Bangkok-based artist who makes both zines and photobooks, says: “Zines don’t have to be 100 percent perfect—they’re quite flexible in terms of quality and what you choose to say. [They] can also be very personal.” 

This low cost and ease of production means the zine is an ideal medium for artists to test ideas and dip their toes into the world of book-making without financial strain. Singaporean artist Ryan Lim Zi Yi, exhibiting at SGABF this year with his group Other People’s Books, has been creating zines that complement his art-making over the past five years. “It was a very accessible medium to work with, using things that were at my disposal like cartridge paper and staple bullets from my stationery collection,” he says. Ryan recently published his first art book with Temporary Press, and making zines was a necessary rehearsal for the translation of his artworks.

The DIY ethos of zines also makes them powerful tools for political movements and freedom of expression, allowing for rapid production and grassroots dissemination in response to socio-political urgencies. Circulating largely within social subgroups on a non-commercial basis, sold in small quantities, or passed from person to person, they bypass traditional publishing and subvert established institutions, serving as a vital medium for those without access to conventional communication channels. 

Zines, for instance, played a significant role in Hong Kong’s 2014 Umbrella Movement and the 2019 Anti-Extradition Law Movement. Researcher Tong Kin-long argues that artists and activists participated in a form of horizontal and direct democratic action by making zines and distributing them in the public sphere. Self-publishing has long represented a means of exercising political power. The aesthetic beauty and emotional persuasiveness of zines adds to their affective potential, turning them into potent tools in socio-political struggles. The collective spirit of zine-making fosters collaboration not just across socio-political movements, but also among their creators. This collectivity is evident in platforms like SGABF’s annual Zine Room, which expanded into its own zine fair, Cut Copy Paste, in 2023. Artists often form loose collectives for these events, pooling resources to cover table costs and to showcase personal projects that might otherwise not see the light of day. Ryan, who has gathered different groups of friends to exhibit under various monikers over the past three years, jokes that these assemblages of artists have always been temporary, dissolving shortly after the event. But these collectives that coalesce around the fair, while circumstantial and makeshift, thrive when given the opportunity for formalisation and visibility. 

PEER is one of these provisional collectives that has regularly exhibited at SGABF since 2016—previously under sobriquets like “Benjamin” and “Rock, Scissors, Books”. They emphasise how the fair has served as an anchor to gather as a creative studio. “I always thought being a collective meant you had to be someone important,” says Feranda Chua from PEER. “We realised that you can just be a bunch of friends who decide to call yourselves a collective, apply for a booth for fun, and actually get it.” She adds that such opportunities afford a valuable and low-stakes creative outlet for collective members outside of their day jobs and primary practices.

But zines are also evolving across South-east Asia, and their increasingly polished design and refined production is blurring the lines between this form and other types of art books. Djohan Hanapi and Marl Goh, co-founders of the risograph studio Knuckles and Notch, explain: “People assume zines are cheap, photocopied items…but some of our works are very difficult to print, while others are handbound with special threads or produced in limited editions.” As a process that merges digital and analogue techniques, risograph printing involves individually printing each colour layer of the artwork using unique stencils wrapped around colour drums. Meticulous testing and calibration are particularly crucial for works featuring intricate lines and multiple colour layers, as misalignments, smudges, and stains can occur during repeated passes through the machine. Knuckles and Notch’s riso-printed publications, with their vibrant colours and rich textures, result from careful planning and thoughtful consideration of the visions of the artists it works with.

Political, portable, approachable: even in their pricier incarnations, zines can lower barriers to entry for new enthusiasts outside creative cliques. Zines fit comfortably under the broad definitions of what constitutes an art book, which means that this expansive genre offers artists the flexibility to adapt and scale this format according to their needs, limitations, and communities. The Singaporean collective Tripartite creates zines on breakdancing, selling them at breakdance battles; Binatang Press distributes its cycling zines in bike shops and its music titles in vinyl record stores. Compared to collecting traditional artworks, collecting art books remains affordable, providing a means to bring art into our homes and daily lives. Art book fairs often act as a repository of all of these movements and histories, a one-stop space for readers to encounter these well-travelled text-objects.

In Publishing as Method, Lim Kyung Yong, co-founder of Seoul-based publishing collective Mediabus, examines how temporary art markets like art book fairs are vital in distributing small-scale publications. In regions where specialised stores are scarce and traditional distribution networks, such as those requiring an ISBN, are often unsuitable, these fairs provide essential alternative avenues for dissemination. Here, creators of art books that might typically have a narrow and niche audience also have the opportunity to encounter a much more diverse range of consumers. 

A recurring motivation for exhibitors is the chance to interact directly with their readers. “It’s a very special experience when you pick up a book on the table, look up, and see the person who made it right in front of you,” says Renée Ting, founding director of SGABF. This direct engagement offers a more personal connection than selling through retail stores, where interactions with buyers are rare. “At the fair, you can tell people about your process and hear their thoughts in real-time. That’s what makes the space so magical for me,” adds PEER’s Feranda.

The fairs also provide audiences with unique opportunities to encounter works they might not normally have access to, including elusive international publications. But access isn’t just about ease or convenience; it’s about broadening exposure to diverse content, which is essential in cultivating a more critical and informed audience. As Gideon Kong from Temporary Press points out, “I think access goes both ways. It’s one thing for a broader audience to get access to works…but audiences also get exposed to a wider range of works, some of which may be challenging or difficult.” By showcasing more provocative and unconventional works, art book fairs also create valuable space for alternative voices often underrepresented in mainstream art scenes.

Art book fairs support a wide range of players within the creative ecosystem—from artists, designers, photographers and writers, to publishers, printers, institutions and magazines. “We’re quite careful about balancing representation across genres, countries, and disciplines,” says Renée. SGABF works with a selection panel to ensure diversity and parity among exhibitors. Established institutions are placed alongside emerging, small-scale makers, all given equal table sizes and sharing a common stage. Despite its growing scale, SGABF says it continues to prioritise creative independence and a ground-up spirit. This includes supporting independent artists and student-run collectives through Artist Support Tables, where table fees are subsidised and zines must be priced at S$15 and below.

For Binatang Press, the art book fairs in South-east Asia hold particular significance. They frequently hop on the Singapore, KL, and Bangkok fair circuit each year: “They are almost non-negotiable, as it’s our home region.” The publisher finds that these neighbouring audiences share a cultural understanding and a mutual interest in common themes, making conversations about publications more meaningful. Knuckles and Notch, which started its risograph studio after a trip to the 2011 New York Art Book Fair, view international fairs as expansive meeting grounds. “It’s a cultural exchange,” it explains. “Every fair has its own quirks…it’s not always about how much we sell; it’s about getting to experience different cultures and publishing scenes. Diversifying ourselves in this way is very important.”

Programmes like talks, panels, and book launches, which often accompany the fairs, also provide space for dialogue and exchange. This year’s SGABF includes a roundtable discussion bringing together organisers from major art book fairs in Asia and the US, as well as a panel on independent print journalism in Singapore (featuring Jom), reflecting on contemporary urgencies and strengthening connections across creative communities.

These large-scale and spectacular fairs have become key milestones for many exhibitors. While established publishers may spread out their book-making activities throughout the year, the fair remains a key driving force for indie creatives with book production as a secondary practice. Even dedicated publishers like Suburbia Press share that “every time we go into a book fair, we try to put something new on the table.” This creative momentum encourages the production of new works. 

But this also makes me wonder if an overreliance on the fair format could create a void in their absence, especially within smaller, emerging creative scenes in South-east Asia. The Bangkok and Jakarta art book fairs, for instance, are on hiatus this year. While these fairs are important nodes in creative ecologies of sharing, exchange, and distribution, they aren’t sufficient on their own. To sustain a thriving creative and independent publishing scene outside the fair structure, we need additional support and distribution channels. Temporary Press hopes that more people will come to appreciate art books, and develop their own creative interests and production methods. More formalised structures of support, like publication grants, will also bolster the ground-up efforts of self-publishers and independent presses. 

For now, there’s a palpable buzz of anticipation leading up to this year’s SGABF. Publishers and creatives I spoke to are poring over final drafts, double-checking colour proofs, assembling glossy sheets of photographs, cutting richly-textured illustrations to size, and carefully pressing flat-folded seams. These tactile art books, zines, and publications embody their makers’ creative efforts, and will soon go on to forge new connections in their readers’ hands. 

These fairs reiterate that the book is social in its implications, created to communicate with an imagined public and disseminated across space and time. Despite concerns about the future of physical books, especially with the decline of brick-and-mortar bookstores in Singapore, the enduring popularity of libraries and emergent community initiatives like the Casual Poet Library indicates the appeal of physical books as a means for self-expression, communication, and connection. Printed works continue to be culturally and emotionally relevant in an increasingly digital world, offering a sense of permanence and longevity, and a way to tell stories that persist over time.

Seet Yun Teng is a curator, arts producer, and writer based in Singapore.

The Singapore Art Book Fair 2024 runs from October 25th to 27th at the Singapore Art Museum at Tanjong Pagar Distripark.

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