Rooms that Remember: Q+A with Stephanie Postles

Rooted in interior and domestic spaces, Stephanie Postle's paintings treat rooms not simply as settings, but as psychological landscapes. These are spaces marked by presence and absence, by the subtle residue of life lived. Pattern and colour are used not decoratively, but as emotional language, building atmosphere and sensation through careful, meditative repetition.

In their latest series, Bluff, interiors take on an even deeper significance. Painted in response to the artist’s completion of the Te Araroa trail, the works centre on the historic Bluff Lodge. A place that became a symbolic endpoint, and a beginning. Doorways, windows, and staircases recur as liminal motifs, quietly holding ideas of movement, transition, and resolution.

In this Q&A, we speak with the artist about their relationship to domestic space, the role of pattern and repetition in their practice, the influence of Post-Impressionist painters, and how their academic journey has shaped a confident, expansive approach to painting. We also glimpse the rhythms of their studio life and the questions currently guiding their future work.

Your work draws heavily from interior and domestic spaces. What draws you to these environments as a source of inspiration?
My work is drawn to the profound yet subtle complexities of our domestic and interior environments, viewing them as psychological spaces that hold a residue of life lived. I am fascinated by the idea of felt presence—the lingering, hidden symbolism in the objects we choose to surround ourselves with. Painting these interiors becomes a conversation about what is revealed and what remains concealed within a personal sphere.
This particular series, Bluff, is deeply personal. It centres on the historic Bluff Lodge (formerly built as a post office), which marked the culmination of my eight-month journey on the Te Araroa trail. Having embarked on that walk after a difficult chapter in my life, reaching Bluff symbolised an essential passage into a new phase of life for me. The works focus compositionally on liminal spaces—doorways, windows, and staircases—which serve as subconscious symbols of entry, exit, and transition, physically embodying the narrative of movement and resolution.

It seems as though, pattern and repetition are central to your visual language. What is it about patterning that resonates with you conceptually or intuitively, and are there particular artists, designers, or movements that have shaped your relationship with colour and pattern?
Yes, pattern and repetition have been consistent throughout my painting practice from the beginning. I find a profoundly meditative and cathartic quality in the methodical application of repeated brushwork. The repetition demands huge concentration, and I often feel myself pass through this concentration into a flow state, becoming completely absorbed in the moment with the work and the space I am painting.
Conceptually, my relationship with colour and symbolism is heavily influenced by the Post-Impressionist movement, particularly the work of Pierre Bonnard and Paul Gauguin. I am guided by the notion—often attributed to Van Gogh—that the purpose of painting an interior is not simply to render it as one sees it, but to translate how one feels it.

You’ve studied at both Whitecliffe and Ilam. How has your academic journey, including your recent postgraduate research, shaped the direction of your work and deepened your understanding of painting?
My academic journey provided a necessary structure for my evolution as a painter. We were given a lot of freedom in my undergraduate studies at Whitecliffe, which I think was important as a young maker. We got up to some good mischief and had a tight night class—I won't forget those days. My post-graduate research at Ilam was great; I had more of a sense of stylistic direction and was able to explore making some massively large works, such as a 7-metre painting, that I wouldn't have been able to execute in my home studio. I really pushed myself stylistically, and for now, it feels like I've found my groove. I feel that the focused research environment provided the necessary conceptual and physical space to enrich my artistic voice and establish a clear, stylistic direction for my current practice.

What does a typical day in your studio look like? Do you have routines or rituals that help ground your practice?
My studio days begin before I get out of bed: I often place the painting I'm working on right beside my bed so it’s the first thing I see in the morning. Looking at it with fresh eyes in a semi-conscious state can be really helpful when I’m trying to conceive a work, as I haven't got preconceived ideas of it in those first waking moments.
The day then begins in a quiet, contemplative way, sitting with a coffee, looking up the misty valley to the mountains. If it's warm enough, I'll sit outside and listen to the bellbirds welcoming in the day. 

Then I begin in the studio, and all sense of time is lost to me.

Finally, what are you currently curious about — in painting, in colour, or in life — that might shape your future work?
I am currently driven by the challenge of working at an expanded scale. There is an inherent kinesthetic engagement when executing a large work that involves the entire body, which is a source of intense excitement and energy. More conceptually, I am curious about the feeling of conceptual anticipation—that significant sense of urgency and expectation that surfaces just before beginning a new body of work. It feels like an important idea is rising from the subconscious, and I am keen to explore how this inner momentum can translate into the physical manifestation and impact of my future paintings.