LA MANCHE - SPECIAL CONFINEMENT

A bi-lingual magazine

Racing back and forth at high speed
in an undersea tunnel across the
channel, we left scattered on the rails
pieces and titbits of an impulse that
grew stronger with each train voyage.
A true desire to shape up a link of
an artistic nature between the two
shores. This impulse is now a project,
a reality you can browse under your
fingers and is called La Manche
fanzine. Its intentions are to unveil
and give substance to the connections
between artists with eclectic
universes, mediums and languages.
We did not draw up an architype of
our reader. Our wish is that the fanzine
falls into the hands of a multifaceted
public, professional, amateur, creative,
art-connoisseur, eager or just
curious to discover original productions
and innovative approaches
around various subjects.
The goal is to research originality in
artistic productions and approaches
around a specified subject and the
invitation is extended to all. Our pages
are forever open to new collaborators
and artists who relate to the project
and are willing to bring their unique
subjective flair and sense of aesthetics
to it.
The ‘zine doesn’t impose any specific
medium, which we hope offers
the reader a palette of visuals overflowing
with creativity and contrasts.
However, we have neither the pretention
to inform nor the desire to publish
advertisement. We simply want to
invite you to observe the beautiful
in the broad sense of the term. Be it
funny, witty, grotesque, pleasant or
surprising.
We invite you to take the time to
examine it, or simply leaf through
it, maybe even… at high speed in an
undersea tunnel across the channel.
The Team wishes you a pleasant read!
Au fil des voyages à grande vitesse
dans un tunnel sous la mer, balayant
à chaque fois la déception de ne
pouvoir observer les poissons par
les fenêtres de l’Eurostar, sont restés
clairsemés sur les rails des bouts
d’envies et d’idées d’un projet qui
lie les créativités des deux rives. Ce
projet porte pour nom aujourd’hui la
Manche Fanzine. Il a pour intention de
donner corps au lien artistique entre
les deux bords. Unifier dans le même
écrin des artistes qui ont des univers,
des médiums et des langues différentes.
Notre souhait est que la Manche
Fanzine tombe dans les mains d’un
public vaste, amateur, créateur,
connaisseur d’art, curieux ou désireux
de productions originales et d’approches
innovantes autour de sujets
variés. Nous ne ciblons en particulier
aucun « lecteur type ».
Notre recherche est celle de l’originalité
des approches à la production
artistique et l’invitation s’étend à tous.
Nos pages sont ouvertes constamment
à de nouveaux collaborateurs
sensibles à notre projet qui ont envie
d’y amener leur subjectivité et leur
sens de l’esthétisme.
La ‘zine n’impose aucun médium, ce
qui nous espérons offrira au lecteur
une palette de visuels débordante de
créativité et de contrastes. Cependant,
nous n’avons ni la prétention
d’informer ni l’envie de publier des
messages à caractère publicitaire.
Nous voulons simplement convier à
observer le beau au sens large, soit-il
drôle, grotesque, plaisant ou surprenant.
Prenez le temps de l’examiner, ou
simplement le feuilleter, peut-être
même ... dans un train à grande
vitesse dans un tunnel sous la mer.
L’Équipe vous souhaite une bonne
lecture !

LIAM BRADLEY

SOPHIE MAY

AUGUSTIN LALO

APOLLINE BÖKKERINK

MOLLY McFADDEN

JULIA BASSINET-BERENGER

JULIETTE LABORIA

VALENTINE CARRE

JEAN PASQUIER

JOY JINDU
Hello dear boy how the devil
are you
I wondered to the people that
do believe in him what in hell
they think he’s doing at the
moment
As in , what the hell they think
he is doing ever
Leaning back into the comfiest
of cosmic rocking chairs
smoking a pipe
With plush slippers on
By a fire with a glass of water
asking it to change colour
Slippers
Like the ones I saw that night
with the gold crest
worn by someone far too
young to wear emerald slippers
with a crest on
But money makes up for youth
Youth makes up for money
Its not that things aren’t like
this always
For someone I mean
It is always for very many
people
Dumb dumb
Can’t you see that by now
If I could tile a whole room I
would
If I could tile a whole house I’d
like to try
If I could tile the whole world
I’d have to borrow another
planets clay supply
The bouncy castles wouldn’t
work so well
Neither would the trampolines
Nor fields, nothing grows on
tiled fields
No rabbits burrow
Where would all the insects go
Between the cracks of course
Like dirt like time
Which are the same
Like dust
A smoking cocoon
The rubble of two others
means
there are two beauties in the
air
A beauty met a beauty in the
dry caked mud
Then they began to levitate
All the best things do
They don’t have to :
On trusting on being held
Levitating between two rusty
bars
On an unfixed rug that will definitely
dip
And buckle under the weight
But will have waited to hold
for a moment before
The close ground is not far at
all
The grass barely inches tall
barely inches away
Was mown the other day
We moaned a lot today
That this is strange this is slow
like a game paused like
it’s not happening anymore
remember now we
put our hands in our pockets
when we walk through gates
Cos they are to tempting to
touch and we mustn’t to stabilse
The balance it tricky
When pivoting through a kissing
gate.
Pillar of salt
Edith I would do the same
Although you walked with Lot,
Turn around by Head, neck,
shoulder
Such an easy motion It is done.
we climbed an extinct volcano
in the winter
And maybe it would have all
been easier
After I ran away from that
supermarket that I had dropped
eggs in.
Why do you get to throw words
around
But I don’t care
Honestly,
They bloom
In pink
Thought it was easier than
being alone
And her home
But now It feels so out of
control
And her dog and her mum
The Incan empire
How do I undo
But how about
You know all about the crows
nest of a ship before I told you
why
And all that mastheads mean.
That you can use the skin of
pines as chewing gum
And burn its sap
And fasten half the seasons in
one go onto a stick
A staff with which you could
part the oceans
I’m building boats to cross
That won’t be water tight
But foil could be as good as
tar
And the tying my stomach in
bowline knots
That I’ve not worked out how
to undo
One time when my head was
so flooded with things
That were not mine
I couldn’t speak very well
And she couldn’t see
Its heavy I feel heavy and fatigued
Easier than missing the echoer
Maybe I don’t care about anything
Why don’t I throw my feelings
at you
I’m scared they’re as heavy as
a hairdryer
And might bruise you
I miss
She Came on the first day of
the year
And again last summer
And held my hand while we
talked
She was back as soon as she
had left
To collect her tall umbrella
Oh this funny mix of urban forest
and hippie messiah
She is both beautiful and
dashing
We were gonna see the rhododendrons
this time last year
Whether I just wanted to be
near cos I felt safe
Its their season again
But back to February
Full of chemicals we walked
across the meadows in the
snow
She took me back to hers
And she played the saxophone
even it was all blurry
In a house with high ceilings
I miss her in that moment
Her eyes shining how they do
And the…
Nothing you just make me
happy.

VICTOR CARRE

NOUHA MOHTADI
Bake a leg
If you had access to the internet and
have been confined at any point in the
past 6months, and I mean confined
enough to watch all your friends’ and that
one weird guy from first year stories, you
have, without a doubt, noticed the mass
hysteria case around BANANA BREAD …
well today’s recipe isn’t about that. And to
not trigger any further your nightmares
revolving around the flour shortage,
this delicious treat will be mindful of the
context.
Its four past twelve on a Tuesday, and
you’re all falzèda in your favorite loose
trackies which will forever sport that
one stain from the time you made your
secret, curry from a can, recipe for your
flat mates. You woke up an hour ago, and
after tending to your relationships on
Animal Crossing, it’s time for a Tuesday
Brunch, and I’m here to help
you razzle dazzle your feast.
Now if you’re not from Arab
descent, then you probably
don’t have this in your pantry
so run to your favorite/only
corner shop and get a bag
of semolina. You heard me,
I said semolina, not the
old couscous pack sitting
somewhere, not corn flour
nor quinoa, try and get fine
semolina, the finest you find
and come back home.
You home yet? good! Now google Moroccan
tea glass, and find in your kitchen
drawers, the closest thing to it you can
find, and if while doing so you see that
the dishwasher is full, take time to empty
it. And if some old plates are sitting in the
sink, find this playlist (scan thse QR Code)
listen to it while you wash them. Aren’t
you feeling better already about this day?
PRODUCTIVITY, take this @BeautySquats-
MomsWhoPlank54!
In either a blender, somewhere where a
stick blender goes in or a bowl and your
muscles can whisk, put in – using the
glass you found - two glasses of semolina,
one glass of the flour you tore of
the hands of Jessica before she made
another loaf of sad, sad bread, a one
level tablespoon of baker’s yeast, a teaspoon
of salt, a teaspoon of sugar, and
three and half glasses (the same glass)
of lukewarm water. whisk it all however
you can, manually with the help of
the playlist mentioned before, or using
the blender. Whisk it good, whisk that
liquidy dough just like you shouuuuuld,
your neck, your back, whisk that dough
and don’t crack. Then, and only then add
a teaspoon of baking soda (and while
you do that, say it in a Jamaican accent,
addictive).
Move the whole shebang close to the
hobs, steal your mom’s most precious
pan, the one you’re not allowed to touch,
the one that doesn’t stick, THE ONE. If you
don’t have one, just grab your trusty pan,
it might work, I think ... I don’t
know. Put a ladle full of the
mixture in the pan heated to
the max, blaze it up. Observe
... Observe ... if you can see
bubbles forming up, you
succeeded honey, you made
it. This recipe is like your
GCSC’s, you either made
it, or you didn’t, no bubbles
means you failed. When you
see said bubble, bring your
heat down low and let them
pop and in like 10 seconds it’s
done, put it to the side and repeat, heat
high, heat low, heat high, heat low.
You’ve end up with Moroccan pancakes
(around 10) called BEGHRIR – send a
request to @lamanchefanzine and you
will unlock a voice note coaching you
on how to pronounce it. This beautiful
sun-colored, moon-craters-filled disk of
delicious is ready to receive whatever you
put on it, traditionally some melted butter
and honey, but if you chose some chocolate
spread or maple syrup, I won’t tell!
P.S: This pancake is proven better than
‘murican pancakes since the cratersper-meter
ratio compared to the American
version (plummeting to zero), allows
for a better absorption of whatever you
put on it, and is fluffier. Yes, we also deliver
science in this ‘zine.

DOWNLOAD THE DRAWING,
COLOUR IT AND SEND IT BACK TO US
AT :
la.manche.fanzine@gmail.com

SPECIAL THANKS TO/REMERCIEMENT SPÉCIAL À:
JULIA BASSINET-BERENGER
@doggoth_
APOLLINE BÖKKERINK
@__pommedap_i
LIAM BRADLEY
@liambrdley
VALENTINE CARRE
@abstract_val
VICTOR CARRE
@victorcarre
MARIE GERALD
@mariegerald_
JOY JINDU
@justjoyjoyy
AUGUSTIN LALO
@blinded_colours
SOPHIE MAY
@soph_bean_scribbler
MOLLY McFADDEN
@mollymcfadden
NOUHA MOHTADI
nouha.mohtadi@gmail.com
JULIETTE LABORIA
@juliette.laboria
JEAN PASQUIER
@jeanpasquier