Inside the Pop-Up Printmaking Studio at the Practicing Jews Conference
Tucked into a sunlit room on the first floor of the conference venue, the pop-up printmaking studio hummed with conversation, the rhythmic clack of the press, and the faint smell of ink and damp paper. For one week in Madison, this temporary workshop transformed an ordinary seminar space into a working print shop, open to every delegate passing through. Visitors from academic, artistic, and community backgrounds stopped by to pull their own impressions and trade notes with seasoned printers.
The studio sat alongside talks on dance, gender, and Yiddish theatre, anchoring the conference's conversation about Jewish visual culture in something tactile and immediate. Dr. Miriam Colden, an art historian visiting from the University of Sydney, paused between sessions to compare the Madison setup with print workshops she had observed at Sydney's Printing Workshop at the Wharf. Her comments opened a small bridge between Australian craft traditions and the American Midwest, a thread that ran quietly through several conversations over the week.
By the time the doors closed each afternoon, the studio's drying racks were lined with fresh prints, each one a small artefact of the day. Visitors walked away with their own paper proof, but also with a sharper sense of how printmaking has long functioned as both a Jewish craft and a universal language.
A Studio Built for the Week
The room had been cleared of its usual rows of chairs and fitted with two Vandercook proof presses, an exposure unit for photo-etching, and a wide table for hand-cut lino and wood blocks. Long sheets of Hahnemühle paper were stacked near the window, ready for visitors to choose. Tools sat within reach and the floor was protected with kraft paper, signalling that organisers wanted the studio to feel like a real printshop rather than a demonstration.
Workshop coordinator Aviva Levenson, a printmaker based in Milwaukee, made it clear during her welcome talk that the studio should be treated like a shared studio. Participants were asked to wash their hands before handling paper, similar to the rule at Melbourne's Australian Print Workshop, where hygiene and handling habits are part of introductory inductions. Her Australian visitors recognised the care immediately, having absorbed the same practices during time spent in Fitzroy and at the Victorian College of the Arts.
The studio ran with two open sessions each day, plus bookable time blocks for projects that needed more focus. Anyone with a conference badge could walk in, choose a technique, and leave within an hour with a finished piece. That low barrier to entry shaped the flow of the room, which constantly shifted between solo focus and small clusters of conversation. Even shy delegates left with ink on their fingers and an unexpected sense of belonging.
Comparing the Techniques on Offer
| Technique | Materials used | Visual result | Time to complete |
|---|---|---|---|
| Linocut relief | Lino block, roller, oil-based ink | Bold, graphic shapes with sharp edges | 30 to 60 minutes |
| Photo-etching | Light-sensitive plate, acetate, ferric chloride | Fine tonal marks, soft gradients | 90 to 120 minutes |
| Letterpress | Wood or metal type, polymer plate, Vandercook press | Crisp impressions, slight debossing | 20 to 45 minutes |
| Screen printing | Photo emulsion screen, fabric ink, squeegee | Flat areas of saturated colour | 45 to 75 minutes |
The range was chosen to cover broad contrasts in skill, time, and visual character. Relief and letterpress could be sampled in under an hour, while etching and screen printing rewarded a slower, more deliberate afternoon. Several attendees combined techniques within a single edition, layering textures drawn from Yiddish manuscripts and family photographs. The mix kept the room humming from beginners to seasoned practitioners, with every visitor finding a station that suited the time they had available.
Yiddish Letterpress and the Politics of Print
One corner of the studio was reserved for Yiddish letterpress, where participants typeset short phrases in Hebrew script using vintage metal type sourced from a Brooklyn collection. Yiddish has a long print history that stretches back to the early printed books of Prague and Italy, and the studio gave visitors a way to feel that legacy through the press, the kerning, and the relief of each letter. A visiting scholar from the Australian National University in Canberra used the station to set her grandmother's name in Yiddish, an act that drew a quiet crowd.
Movable type shaped Yiddish literary culture in ways that other media did not. Printers became cultural gatekeepers, deciding which authors reached readers and which dialects appeared in print. Setting type by hand returned some of that agency to participants, even if only for the length of a single short poem.
The activity invited attendees to think about what is preserved, edited, or quietly left out when a tradition passes through print. Watching ink settle into paper, and feeling the press handle respond to each pull, made the linguistic history feel close and physical rather than archival.
Cross-Disciplinary Collaborations in the Room
The studio drew an unusually broad mix of conference delegates. Dancers, performers, and art historians worked side by side, occasionally pausing to compare impressions. One academic studying Yiddish theatre commented on the visual rhythm of a phrase pulled on the press, noting it resembled the cadence of a spoken monologue. A visual artist working on textile-based pieces used her etching time to prepare a small plate referencing fabric patterns familiar from Eastern European shtetl life.
The studio functioned as a meeting ground where ideas could be tested before being carried back into the formal panels. Several presenters cited prints made in the studio during their evening talks, giving the room an unexpected role in the wider programme. Attendees from Perth and Melbourne compared notes with delegates from New York and Berlin over a shared ink tray, the open seating making those conversations feel casual rather than staged.
Local Madison residents joined open hours after the formal sessions, drawn by signs posted along State Street. Their presence broadened the conference's reach in ways that exhibition halls often cannot, a reminder that studios can speak well beyond academic circles when they remain open and unhurried.
Hands-On Practice as a Mode of Research
Printmaking has long served scholars and artists as a way of thinking through materials, not just illustrating finished ideas. The studio leaned into that tradition by encouraging participants to treat each pull as a question rather than a product. Visitors compared paper grain, ink tack, and pressure on the press, recording observations in shared notebooks near the door. The studio's printed handouts, designed with a former workshop coordinator now at Brisbane's Jogging Arts, included prompts for reflection alongside practical tips.
By the final afternoon the drying racks were full, the table was smudged with ink, and the communal notebook held several pages of notes in different hands. Some entries were technical, others personal, and a few were reflective pieces about Jewish belonging, exile, and craft. The variety itself captured what the conference was trying to do.
A handful of delegates stayed past closing time on the final day to pull a shared farewell print, a collaborative etching recording every participant's hand as a small textured shape. The etching will be held in the conference archive as a record of the work done in the room, a tangible trace that outlasts the studio itself once the presses have been wrapped and the kraft paper peeled from the floor.
What Lingers After the Press Cools
What stays with visitors is not a single print but a felt sense of how practice carries meaning. The studio showed that ink, paper, and pressure can hold conversation as readily as words do, and that making something by hand is one of the surest ways to enter another person's history. Prints made in Madison will travel home with delegates to Sydney, Perth, and Tel Aviv, each carrying a small trace of the week. The pop-up studio offered proof that scholarship and making can share the same room, a reminder that Jewish visual culture extends well beyond the gallery wall and into the workshop, where the slow craft of paper and ink still has plenty to say.