Thank you, Rene. Thank you for agreeing to do this. Could you give us a bit of an introduction as to who you are, what you do, and how you came to be doing this?
Yeah. So, my name is Renee, and the space we’re in is called the Armory Room. My full name is Renee Marie. I’ve been working creatively since I was little, exploring all sorts of visual arts. I fell in love with printmaking when I was at school, and this space is now both a printmaking and letterpress studio. It’s a combination of my own art practice alongside commercial modern letterpress work.
So it all began with printmaking at school?
Yes. I was lucky to have an art teacher who was passionate and experimental with printmaking. By the time I left school, I had tried most of the mediums. It became second nature to me, and that foundation carried forward.
And how did you find yourself running this business here?
In some ways, it was accidental. I had a little printmaking studio in Wanaka where I started doing commissions—businesses wanting logos embossed or something special. I was using an etching press, but it made me wonder: how do you do this commercially, at scale? That’s how I discovered letterpress. When I moved to Nelson, someone suggested I look at Founders Park for studio space. When I arrived, they offered me this room—with all the machinery already here. It felt like serendipity, so I took the plunge.
What was it about printmaking that made you fall in love with it?
I loved the processes—especially acid etching zinc plates. It was just such a cool thing to be able to do at school. Printmaking offered me layers, textures, and tactile surfaces. Even before letterpress, I was fascinated by embossing and surface texture. That’s still my main interest: creating surfaces through the medium.
Letterpress is such a tactile craft. What keeps drawing you back to it in a digital world?
Initially it was curiosity—what can you do with these machines? But I’ve realised how rare and valuable the skills are. You can watch videos and listen to podcasts, but you only learn by doing. It’s a hands-on craft, like basket weaving—you can’t automate it, and you need mentors to guide you. The skills pass from person to person.
Your prints are visually striking, balancing precision with playfulness. How do you find that balance?
I’ve always wanted to push print beyond being just a framed rectangle on paper. I explored prints as objects—cutouts, forms. At the same time, I’m a precision person. I love figuring out how to do things right, and as a teacher, I pass on the correct techniques first, then encourage experimentation. I believe you need to know the rules before breaking them.
How much of your work is carefully planned, and how much do you just go with the flow?
It depends. If I’m creating artwork from scratch, it starts with an idea and develops through sketches and experimentation. With client work, sometimes I’m bringing their designs into letterpress, which is more about collaboration and adaptation. So I have two arms: one where I create, and one where I help bring someone else’s vision to life. Both are satisfying.
Printmaking is very analogue and physical. Do you think that’s part of its beauty?
Absolutely. I love working with my hands. Printmaking slows you down and makes you focus. Whether I’m creating for myself or for a client, there’s real pleasure in producing something physical. It’s the reward after the digital design stage.
Do you think people understand how much goes into the process?
Not really. Even I didn’t, before I started. Every job involves mixing inks by hand, preparing physical plates, and adjusting the press as it runs. It’s not a matter of pressing a button and walking away. Each machine has its own character: the Heidelberg is precise and fast, great for large runs, while the flatbed press is hand-cranked and slower, but allows creativity with colour blending. They each bring something different to the process.
In a digitally overloaded world, does traditional craftsmanship reconnect us to art and each other?
Yes. I see it most in workshops. People find real joy in hands-on making, in slowing down, in creating together. There’s a great energy in the room as they support one another. Even though I work alone often, those workshops remind me why this craft matters.
Is the act of printmaking meditative for you?
Very much so. From drawing, to carving woodcuts, to pulling a print, the process has a rhythm and flow. Carving especially is meditative—slow, focused, transformative. Even the imperfections that appear become part of the work. With your own art, you embrace those surprises. With client editions, you aim for consistency, but there’s always a balance between perfection and humanness.
What do you think is lost when we prioritise efficiency over craft?
Craft forces us to slow down. Letterpress makes both me and my clients check everything carefully—because once the plate is made, mistakes are costly. That slowing down brings more care and attention, which is valuable in a world that’s always rushing.
Do you see maintaining this craft as a kind of quiet activism?
I do. The work I make—whether for myself or for others—often becomes a keepsake. Even a business card can be a little artwork that people don’t throw away. In that way, it resists disposability and honours the value of the handmade.
What advice would you give someone wanting to get into printmaking?
Like any craft, it takes time and practice. Each work teaches you something that informs the next. Even beginners in my workshops—just learning how to use tools—come away with lessons they can build on. Over time, those small steps evolve into your own voice and style. The key is simply to keep turning up and making.
Were there misconceptions you had when starting out?
Yes. I underestimated how much work and knowledge letterpress requires. I was lucky to have retired printers willing to train me, but it was a huge learning curve. Traditionally, it was a seven-year apprenticeship to master. That’s a massive body of knowledge to carry.
How do you source presses, typefaces, and equipment?
Much of the machinery here belongs to Founders Park, but I’ve also built connections with groups like the Ferrymead Print Society in Christchurch, who helped me find another Heidelberg when mine broke. Collectors and enthusiasts are generous in helping preserve the craft. Typefaces appear from time to time, and I’ve slowly built up a collection.
What kind of mindset or skills does someone need to pursue this field?
You need both creativity and problem-solving skills. Printmaking often feels like detective work—solving practical issues, restoring machinery, and working out technical puzzles. At the same time, you have to see the endless creative potential in the tools and processes.
Were there mentors or artists who inspired you?
Yes, the street art movement was a big influence—seeing woodcuts pasted in alleyways, becoming objects in space rather than just framed works. Artists like Swoon really inspired me. It shifted how I thought about my prints and opened up new possibilities. Printmaking has always had activist roots, historically used to comment on society, and that tradition continues today.
What excites you about what’s next?
I’m collaborating with another printer who has a machine for intricate cutouts, which will let me explore layering in new ways. But what excites me most is that the studio is ticking over steadily, giving me the space to focus on my own creative work alongside client projects. That balance is always the challenge—and the joy.
And finally, how can people connect with you, take a course, or buy your work?
The best place is my website: TheArmarieRoom.com. I’m also on Instagram and Facebook under the same name. The studio is open Tuesday to Friday, 10:30 to 4:30, and people are always welcome to pop in.
Is there anything else you’d like to add?
No, just thank you. It’s been really fun to share this.
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