Zingy Zines
This was originally published in my Prime Lenses Newsletter. You can sign-up for a weekly update to your inbox here.
Photography is noticing things and Tum Wuthipol Ujathammarat is a keen notice-r of the often ignored. I came across him via his Instagram account where he shares instructional videos that help folks to make their own zines.
I was then delighted to learn that he also makes wonderful bright photos of things that many wouldn’t consider beautiful or worthy of capture.
His series of photos of covered cars, for example, speak to his love of making with what you have in front of you. Yes, his zines are meticulously folded and beautiful, but they’re made using accessible materials, and he’s not hiding what he’s doing, he’s sharing his approach with the world.
“Things are always beautiful only to those who choose to observe—you can choose to see more of the world or focus on what matters the most.” - TWU
Long time readers will know that this is exactly the sort of thinking that delights me so I was excited to ask him a few questions for the newsletter this week.
You clearly love graphic design and photography, and I can see their influence on each other in your work, but which came first? Did you grow up around photography?
Photography and design emerged in my life around the same time. I began my career as a graphic designer in Brisbane, Australia, in the early 2010s, and my passion for photography deepened after moving to Melbourne, where I launched my personal blog, Melbourne Brought Me Here. It started out as a travel blog, but as the project gained popularity among locals, photography quickly became a serious focus, helping me tell my story through my lens. While pursuing my Master’s degree in Communication Design in 2014, I was introduced to Melbourne’s diverse zine culture, which led me to participate in The Festival of the Photocopier and Zine Fair—marking my first step into self-publishing.
This was when I began to find a deeper purpose for my photography beyond digital platforms, exploring print as a medium through the original series like Selfies and W-Class of 2015. After moving back home to Bangkok, I continued to pursue what I used to call “photographic publication design”. Not long after, I launched a new project called Aperture Brought Me Here, which serves as a kind of continuation of my Melbourne project, but with a stronger focus on the art of photography. While street photography initially carried over from my time in Melbourne, I gradually moved away from it and began to find my true voice in minimalistic photography—a style that feels much more aligned with who I am.
Were your parents artists or designers?
No, my parents weren’t artists or designers. I’m a free spirit and chose my own path. They’ve always supported me in following what I love and being independent.
How do you approach your projects and making photos? You’ve spoken in the past about going out and working with what you have. Is that still the case?
I have a habit of hoarding heaps of photographs—right now, I’m on my fifth external hard drive! While collecting images can be inspiring, I’ve realised that simply accumulating photos isn’t always productive. My approach to creating photography series focuses on revisiting and reconnecting images from my existing archives, weaving them together visually and thematically to build cohesive bodies of work for exhibitions and publications.
At the same time, I continue to take new photos during my photowalks, guided by the projects I’m developing. I consider what’s already in my collection and whether I need fresh perspectives, stronger images, or additional content to complete each series. This balance between revisiting my archives and exploring new shots helps me maintain both continuity and creative growth in my work.
There’s plenty of folks out there making zines and posting them online, but you’ve taken the additional step of producing the dummy zines. Can you talk about where that idea came from and why you chose to invest so heavily in helping others to create?
I’ve been making zines for almost a decade now, and through that experience—both in creating and attending art book fairs—I’ve grown passionate about keeping the community spirit of zine culture alive. It’s not just about sharing and selling my work anymore; I also want to inspire others by offering content and tools they can learn from and use.
As my platform has continually grown, I’ve seen an opportunity to contribute to the culture. That’s how the Zine Dummy Kit came about. I created it to fill a gap I noticed in abundance of online templates and tutorials—which are often confusing, inconsistent, or overly technical. The formats I use in the kit aren’t inventions of mine; they’ve been around for a long time, though it's hard to trace their exact origins. What I’ve done is compile and translate these classic zine structures into a physical, hands-on kit.
The kit allows people to interact with the folding and cutting process directly, helping them understand the mechanics of each format while also visualising how their content can flow within the page sequence. I believe learning through a tactile experience leads to better understanding and creative confidence—letting people literally unfold their ideas into a zine, right before their eyes.
Did ichi-go ichi-e feed into that? I discovered the concept through an interview with you and love it.
The concept of "ichi-go ichi-e" (一期一会) is a Japanese philosophy that translates to “once in a lifetime encounter”, expressing the idea that each moment is unique and can never be repeated in exactly the same way. The process doesn’t just feed into my design and photography—it also shapes how I approach daily life. Even when folded the same way, no two pieces of paper are ever exactly alike. That’s part of the charm of zines. Like all handmade work, they’re often seen as “limited edition” art pieces, with each copy carrying its own unique character. My intention with the Zine Dummy Kit reflects this idea of capturing a single moment in time. Many zine makers even number their editions—like 25 of 50—to acknowledge the individuality of each piece.
This idea of “ichi-go ichi-e” comes through most clearly in my photography, especially in The Peeking Cloud series. These quiet encounters with clouds drifting above vibrant buildings aren’t staged or constructed; they’re natural moments I happen upon during my photowalks.
Through composition and observational approach, I’m able to frame these fleeting alignments. What fascinates me is knowing that even if I return to the same location at the same time, the clouds, the weather, the light—none of it will ever align in quite the same way again. Each photograph becomes a small, quiet record of a moment that existed only once.
Which is your favourite format or which did you most recently use?
This feels like a trick question—just kidding! Honestly, I love all formats, but what really makes one stand out as a favourite is when it perfectly complements the story or narrative I’m trying to tell. That’s when a format truly shines for me—when the structure becomes part of the message. For example, in my zine Made Obscure Vol. 3, I used a complex folding and cutting technique I call the ‘G’ format. The photo narrative explores the vibrant, hidden colours of Bangkok’s Chinatown. To mirror the neighborhood’s endless maze of interconnected laneways and streets, this format lets readers unfold the zine in multiple directions—up, down, left, and right—offering an interactive experience that reflects Chinatown’s unique urban layout.
And a last question, which would you recommend that someone pick up first if they want to make their first zine?
A simple scrap of paper at home—that’s where every zine maker should begin. There’s no need to worry about following any established formats or complicated templates right away. Just take that sheet and fold it into a booklet however feels natural to you. This hands-on approach sparks creativity and opens up endless possibilities. By physically manipulating the paper, you can discover how your story flows in real time, long before you reach the design stage.
This process helps you see if your page sequence makes sense and lets you experience how a reader might unfold and interact with your zine. It’s not just about the visuals—it’s about how the act of unfolding and turning pages shapes the storytelling itself. Each fold, cut, or flip can add layers of meaning or surprise, turning your zine into a unique, tactile experience. Starting with a scrap of paper encourages experimentation and helps you connect with the essence of handmade publishing—where the form is as much a part of the story as the content.
A massive Thank you to Tum for his time, I look forward to seeing the Zines you all make! I’m going to make one once I come back from a trip I’ve got coming up. More on that in coming weeks.