If you stroll through the streets of Birmingham’s humdrum, you might run into a rather rare gem, silently nestled away just off Moseley Road in Balsall Heath. Yes, today, I’m talking about The Old Print Works: the kind of place you don’t stumble upon so much as you slowly come to realise was always there. Like a neighbour you didn’t know you’d love the company of until you met them during a walk and ended up chatting for an hour.
From the outside, I found that it had that quiet, old-industrial feel – bricks, history, and a sense that something interesting must be going on inside.
And there is! A whole lot of it, in fact.
Once upon a time, this charming spot was a Victorian print factory, and it now stands as one of the most fulfilling, meaningful social spaces I’ve encountered. And not just in Birmingham, but in the entire UK, all because of how intimately committed it is to community support, civic engagement, and a sense of shared purpose that feels too precious to brush off.
An Industrial Past with a Human Heart
The Old Print Works was built over a decade ago, in a heritage building left behind in 2009. You can still feel traces of that industrial, old energy in the bones of the place: high ceilings, big windows, a kind of purposeful spaciousness that seems to invite you to get involved.
But The Old Print Works isn’t stuck in its past: in a city constantly rewriting its future, this space has been reclaimed not just as a creative hub, but as a vital third place for the community, and it’s one of those rare places that lets people be themselves. Whether you’re a first-time ceramicist, a photographer, an artist, or just someone who wandered in because the door was open and the music was playing.
A Patchwork of Purpose
One of the first things you notice when you step inside is that there’s no single “thing” The Old Print Works is trying to be. It’s not just an arts venue. Not just a co-working space. Not just a performance studio. Instead, it’s all those things – stitched together like a quilt made of many hands.
There’s the print studio, of course, a nod to the building’s roots, alive again with ink, rollers, and the smell of creativity. There’s the Gap, for young people to participate in cultural, creative action under tall windows. Children under ten years are welcome to learn craft design and technology under an experienced teacher, free to lead their projects and bring their ideas to life.
Then there’s a variety of spaces where visitors can co-work, rent an office space, or even book spots for photography and filming. Of course, there’s also always some kind of activity going on, like pottery sessions, sewing classes, learning how to bike, and so much more – and the conversations I’ve had during those feel like they’ve been happening for years, even if I’d only just sat down.
It’s not curated to be cool – it just is!
Where Everyone Gets a Turn
What makes the Old Print Works truly special is how open it feels. You don’t need to be a professional artist or even particularly “creative” to be here. You just need to be curious. There’s a certain humility to the way the space welcomes you — no need to perform, no need to impress. Just show up.
On any given day, you might find a community choir rehearsing in one corner, a local screen printer showing a teenager how to layer colour onto cloth in another, and a yoga class winding down with the sound of traffic just barely audible through the old windows. It’s democratic in the most refreshing way — everyone gets a go, everyone gets a voice.
It’s not about fame, funding, or followers. It’s about what happens when people have space to try, to fail, to make something from nothing, and to be met with a nod of recognition when they do.
A Cure for Loneliness You Can Actually Walk Into
Places like OPW are the kind of civic infrastructure that fight against social isolation that’s so common these days; it’s in the gentle nods of recognition across the pottery wheel, the instructor who remembers your name, the handwritten flyers pinned to the corkboard advertising everything from youth engagement projects to free yoga sessions in the back room.
The volunteer spaces where retirees and teenagers work side by side to repaint walls or set up chairs. I’ve seen people wander in alone and leave with plans to return the next day, invited by someone they hadn’t known an hour earlier. There’s no algorithm here to tell you what you need, just people, place, and time.
An Inclusive Local Ecosystem
What strikes me most is how inclusive this space manages to be, without ever marketing itself as such: there are no entry requirements. You don’t need to be an artist, a maker, or even particularly social, you just need to show up.
The Upper Gallery has run exhibitions focused on economic inequality, disparities in healthcare, and identity, but always with warmth; the kind of warmth that invites questions, not judgment.
I’ve been to polished coworking spaces in London and art collectives in Manchester – and while some of them are stunning, there’s often a sense that you’re a visitor, not a participant. At The Old Print Works, I felt like I belonged. Not because I did anything special here, but because belonging is just… assumed.
And no one would look twice. Here, everyone fits, creatives, campaigners, digital nomads, local families, activists, or just curious wanderers passing through.
Final Thoughts
The Old Print Works isn’t trying to save the world. But it is gently, steadily building the kind of third place that might save a person’s week, sense of self, and connection to the people around them.
In a time when cities are increasingly curated, digitised, and out of reach for many, the OPW reminds me what real places look like. And that, in my book, makes it one of the most meaningful third places in the country!
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