Creating Community One Zine at a Time with Akaa Ling
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Time to read 3 min
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Time to read 3 min
Hi! I’m Akaa Ling (阿卡 凌), an artist, writer, and community organizer based in San Francisco. I create bilingual zines, illustrated books, and poetic storytelling that explore identity, memory, and belonging—especially within the Asian diaspora. I’m also the founder of Now Place 此间, a Chinatown-based art space and independent press that supports emerging artists through publishing, workshops, and community events.
A fun fact: I accidentally adopted two cats after moving to the U.S.—one with a permanent grumpy face like a sunset about to explode, and the other so gentle she follows the first one like a shadow. They've become my studio companions and emotional anchors through every creative project.
I create zines, illustrated books and community spaces that speak to the in-between—between languages, identities, and geographies. My work often centers on the quiet, overlooked moments: a poem scribbled on the back of a receipt, a story passed down through food, or a zine made late at night with cut-up scraps.
My creative path was shaped by a longing to make sense of disconnection—between cultures, languages, and generations. Growing up between worlds, I often felt like there was no place where all of me belonged. Art and zine-making became a way to reclaim that in-betweenness, to turn fragmentation into form.
What truly inspired my current direction was the moment I realized I didn’t need permission to tell stories or build community—I could just begin. In a world and system that often made me feel rejected or invisible, creating became an act of reclaiming authorship. Every zine I made, every gathering I hosted, was a quiet form of resistance and a step toward healing.
One of my favorite parts of the process is when someone picks up a zine I made—something small, hand-folded, personal—and quietly says, “I feel this too.” That moment of resonance, especially across language or background, reminds me why I do this.
"I’m continually inspired by others who carry soft, persistent voices into the world despite everything."
My identity as a Chinese immigrant and member of the Asian diaspora is inseparable from my creative practice. I grew up learning to navigate silence—cultural, emotional, and linguistic—and creativity became a way to give shape to what was unspoken.
Being AAPI means carrying both inherited history and the responsibility to imagine new futures. It shows up in my work as a desire to document, to archive the ephemeral, to honor the textures of everyday life—whether it’s through a hand-bound zine, a community meal, or a story about longing in two languages.
It also means questioning who gets to be seen, who gets to speak, and creating platforms where those on the margins can take up space without apology.
My work isn’t just cute drawings or community events. It comes from years of being made to feel like I didn’t belong—being flattened into someone else’s idea of “Asian,” “immigrant,” or “artist.” Every zine I make, every space I build, is a refusal to be simplified or consumed on someone else’s terms.
I wish more people understood that what looks soft is often built from struggle. That bilingual doesn’t mean half-formed. That DIY doesn’t mean unprofessional. My work comes from the margins—not by choice, but by necessity—and I’ve learned to turn that marginality into a place of power.
I just opened a physical space in San Francisco’s Chinatown after a long, winding journey filled with uncertainty, loss, and unexpected resilience. It’s called Now Place 此间 — and it’s more than just a shop or gallery. It’s a living experiment in community, care, and creative resistance. I’m building a platform for Asian diasporic and queer artists—offering space, visibility, and kinship. We host gatherings that blend food, drinks, art, writing, and zines—whatever medium makes sense in the moment.
After years of dreaming, grieving, and trying to find where I belong, it feels surreal to have a place that’s real, tangible, and open to others. I’m excited (and a little terrified) to see what grows here — and to welcome others who are also in search of somewhere to just be. It matters to me because so many of us grow up feeling untranslatable, constantly having to explain or define ourselves. I want to help create a world where we don’t have to. A space where we can just be—messy, evolving, and true.
I think the most powerful thing we can do is show up — imperfect, unsure, and still willing to try. Whether through art, food, writing, or conversation, I’m just trying to create spaces where people feel seen, and where softness doesn’t have to be hidden.
Thank you to On Waverly for creating space for artists like me to be witnessed—not just for what we make, but for why we make it. It means a lot to be part of a community that values voice, vision, and vulnerability.
Instagram: @akaa.null (personal art practice), @nowplacesf (art space)
Website: nowplacesf.com
