REUBEN SCHOOTS ON LEARNING ALONE AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Most independent watchmakers begin their careers in Switzerland, surrounded by suppliers, master craftsmen, and centuries of accumulated knowledge. Reuben Schoots started in a Canberra garage with George Daniels' book and no one to ask for help. The challenges extended beyond isolation. Australia has no watchmaking infrastructure—no nearby suppliers, no tradition of manufacture, no community of independent makers working through similar problems. Schoots sources second-hand machinery internationally, machines his own components, and has spent years solving problems that Swiss watchmakers never encounter, like preventing thermal expansion in a 1970s garage where summer temperatures make precision work impossible without extreme climate control.

His motto, "for those who care," reflects a unique relationship with collectors built on radical transparency. Working without traditional atelier training, Schoots has developed his methods through pure determination and iterative refinement. For collectors who value this honest, craft-driven approach over institutional pedigree, Schoots offers something increasingly rare: watchmaking as pure problem-solving, unfiltered by inherited dogma.

From Series 1 to Series 2, the evolution is visible—not just aesthetically, but in complexity and ambition. He estimated doubling the workload per watch. The reality was closer to three times. But this accumulation of skills drives him forward: the horrible feeling when something doesn't work, followed by the knowledge that solving it once makes the next attempt significantly easier. It's problem-solving as craft, learned from Daniels' book but executed in complete independence. After years building his workshop and capabilities, Schoots has reached a point where he can finally spend most of his time at the bench rather than on infrastructure. For a watchmaker working at the end of the world, that represents a different kind of freedom.

Your motto is 'for those who care'. How can you tell if someone truly cares about watchmaking?

SCHOOTS: That’s a great question. The motto is less about me testing a collector and more about finding people who value the depth, the story, and the sheer effort behind the watch, rather than just its technical specifications. There are many incredible collectors who are deeply passionate and want to know the 'why' and 'how' behind a piece, but there are equally many who are satisfied simply by its aesthetic qualities, which is enough for me too, much like somebody appreciating a painting.

But when I started, this was a massive question mark for me. I entered the watch world with no formal training, no inherited watchmaking mentality, and no heritage to lean on. I was confident in my own grit and ability to figure it out, but I worried whether anyone would actually want to buy my watches without that traditional foundation.

I’ve always made a point of being radically transparent with anyone interested in my work. I let them know the design and manufacturing are entirely mine, and that the process involves a tremendous amount of struggle and problem-solving. For example, if I need to execute straight graining on a part, no one has shown me the "industry standard" way to do it. I simply try it once, twice, maybe fifty times until I achieve the desired result, and that becomes my method. The watch may look different to the work of others, and I believe this makes my work unique. I have been overwhelmed with the response I have received; collectors genuinely appreciate this honest approach. Being named a semi-finalist for the recent Louis Vuitton Watch Prize for Independent Creatives 2024-2026 was incredibly validating. It proved to me that the broader horological world does “care” and deeply values my non-traditional path. So, 'for those who care' is ultimately an invitation to those who are looking for something with meaning that runs deep.

Does working independently, without having to answer to anyone, give you a certain creative freedom?

SCHOOTS: It certainly doesn't come for free, but it’s essential to how I work. I’m someone who gets bored very easily, so protecting my creative control is paramount. I would happily collaborate with someone, provided there was a sufficient amount of “me” in the work and it was something I genuinely wanted to make. But the moment I feel forced to execute a design for the wrong reasons, or compromise my vision to satisfy external pressures, I would quickly lose interest.

I draw immense inspiration from the great masters of the past and I am motivated by combining these classical design cues with an original idea. With the Series Two dial, for example, I knew exactly how I wanted it to look in my mind: a flame whitened silver geometric guilloché dial, combined with a flowing and beautiful organic texture. I had no idea if anyone had ever created a texture quite like it before, and frankly, that was irrelevant. It was a technical and aesthetic curiosity I had to pursue. Working here in Canberra, quite detached from the industry, my creative freedom is pure, even if the learning curve is steeper. I just keep faith that collectors will continue to resonate with the final result.

You show a lot of your process on social media. Do you worry about boxing yourself in when you post unfinished work?

SCHOOTS: I've never really addressed that thought. First and foremost, I'm really quite bad at using social media. I try to stay off it because I have so much work to do. Like many of us, if I open Instagram, to do one quick thing, respond to someone for example, all of a sudden, 10 minutes, 15 minutes later I look up, wondering what just happened to the time? So I try to avoid it and use it prescriptively. 

One of my goals this year is to share a lot more online. Only a small fraction of what happens in the workshop is published. I want to share more, as something beautiful happens when I do publish my work in progress. Interesting conversations are started and a moment in time is preserved. There may be quite a lot of smoke and mirrors in the industry and in the luxury sector in general; anything that doesn't directly add perceived value to the brand tends to be tucked away. I don't have marketing material to put out until I have a finished watch. I don't have multiple prototype models up my sleeve that are designed, rendered, and ready to publish. So if I want to share something, for now, this is what I've got: a piece of tangible progress.

As for boxing myself in, my process remains somewhat organic. I make it clear to clients that the final watch might differ slightly from early prototypes because my tastes evolve, and things look different in the hand than they do in 3D CAD. With Series Two, I changed the movement architecture and the dial texture mid-process simply because I saw room for improvement. It happened that upon assembling the first Series Two movement, that when I looked at it as a whole, I didn’t get the “feel” I was aiming for quite right. I made the decision to take it entirely apart, refinish nine or ten components with different finishes. Upon reassembly I got the feeling I was aiming for. Having the freedom to pivot like that, without answering to a board or a business partner, is a privilege.

So to answer your question directly - no, I do not worry about boxing myself in.

Five years on, do you finally have the freedom to execute what's in your head without worrying about tooling?

SCHOOTS: That's a really thoughtful question, actually. One of the things that occurs as time progresses is that there is a shift happening from when I was spending the majority of my time building out the workshop, making and modifying tools and machines, to now spending more time at the bench, or being creative. I still spend a large amount of time working on the workshop itself, which is a fundamental and enjoyable part of being an independent watchmaker, though nowadays there is more balance. This morning, for example, before talking with you, I spent four hours on the roof putting in another layer of insulation after recently installing additional climate control. I'm hoping to stabilise the room temperature and the environment in the workshop even further, which is vital to ensure the machines don't expand and contract with temperature.

So you're trying to keep the workshop at exactly 20 degrees?

SCHOOTS: Yeah, on winter mornings and summer afternoons it can be difficult to hold a stable temperature here, the environment will shift by more than a couple of degrees. Some of the machines are very large thermal masses and they take a long time to stabilise their temperature again. So if we get some extreme weather for a few days, it can take a long time for things to stabilise again and during these times it is often a better decision not to machine or conduct quality control, which can create unnecessary interruptions to the process.

In the last few years, I've come to grasp the deeper concepts of precision machining and the particular demands with regards to the environment. Canberra has one of the most variable climates of any city in the world. We see as low as -10°C in winter and over 40°C in the summer.

I invest everything back into my watchmaking pursuit. Of course, I would always like to be able to justify a shiny new tool or machine to bring in more capacity or capability, but for the past little while, all of my efforts have been going towards stabilising the environment: awnings, sealant, insulation, sensors everywhere, excellent climate control, and so on.

In Canberra's summer, you literally can't work if the climate control isn't good enough?

SCHOOTS: That’s exactly right. When you consider the required tolerances for these parts, you are dealing with tolerances that are completely imperceptible without highly sensitive measuring instruments. If you are chasing a tolerance of just a few micrometres (thousandths of a millimetre), and the ambient temperature changes by four or five degrees, you are now fighting a losing battle.

With so many extra hurdles beyond what traditional independent watchmakers face, what's kept you going all this time?

SCHOOTS: Fundamentally, I have a profound passion for making things and the infinite depth of this craft. You could work sixty hours a week for your entire life and still have something new to learn. This endless horizon excites me and drives me forward.

It is true that I face hurdles beyond traditional independents. Though these hurdles are different in nature, they are not necessarily harder nor simpler to deal with - simply different. It is difficult, however, I am so fortunate to be in the position that I am.

I often trace my patience back to my origins in the craft, discovering watchmaking while recovering from a severe illness in 2015. That period of forced stillness provided the philosophical grounding required to endure the compounding hurdles of this job. What truly motivates me now is the cycle of struggle and resolution. There is a horrible feeling when a process fails or a finish isn't working out. But I know that the elation of finally solving that problem is waiting for me on the other side. And once I’m there, the next attempt is more efficient, with less struggle, and thus becomes more enjoyable. That gradual accumulation of skill is the ultimate reward.

Does the joy kick in gradually, or is there a huge dopamine hit at the start that evolves into something more sustained?

SCHOOTS: In the beginning, it was free energy. I'd read George Daniels' book, Watchmaking, and was enthralled by his work. The motivation and inspiration that was imparted from him to me just blew my mind. In the opening chapter, he mentions something along the lines of: watchmaking is difficult and requires being prepared for 16-hour days, immense focus, and that it's going to be a lot of work. A demanding thought no doubt; however, he follows this up by stating he thinks any willing young man (or woman) is capable.

I really appreciated that line because it wasn't Daniels saying, 'I'm better than all of you, you probably can't do this.' It was more of a call to action. Like, there's something waiting for you. You can have a go if you're interested. Obviously, it takes a bit of a special kind of madness to want to try and make watches like I do in this day and age, but something about this struck me. I thought to myself: challenge accepted - let's do it. I rode this initial wave for a good couple of years whilst making the tourbillon pocket watch that is outlined in the book; I didn't even think once that this isn’t my path forward.

Of course, as time goes on, with the realities of running a business, designing and making your own watches, it becomes harder, particularly as an individual there is a lot of weight on your shoulders to not only learn watchmaking, design, make and ultimately sell watches, but to also support my household, my family, and pay the bills. These must be looked at as just a part of the journey. I feel more and more, as time goes on, truly grateful and privileged that I'm able to do this. It is very special to follow one's dreams.

Nowadays I get my inspiration from my collectors, supporters of my work, and my family and friends. Even getting an email from you recently, inviting me to have this conversation, is greatly appreciated and most encouraging.

At what point does Daniels metaphorically let you go? When do your own aesthetics start to come in?

SCHOOTS: Daniels provided the foundational understanding of watchmaking, but ultimately, the greatest lesson I took from his book was problem-solving and being resourceful. So many elements of machining, handwork, and finishing are deeply interconnected. Once you grasp those concepts on a foundational level, you can begin to move intuitively and start truly playing with the craft.

I will always consider Daniels as a primary mentor, even though he never knew who I was. I have for some time now, however, felt the independence to break away from the text and solve problems on my own terms. I'm not afraid to make mistakes, as they are always the most valuable lessons. Material science and tooling have evolved significantly since the book was published in 1981, which necessitates independent experimentation. Series Two really represents that clear break for me. It moves beyond pure foundational learning and begins to establish a distinct Reuben Schoots aesthetic and architectural language. I am not tied to the book; the goal was always to learn how to fish, not just be given the fish.

Between Series 1 and Series 2, what was your thinking? Did you have a checklist?

SCHOOTS: The overarching theme was continual, uncompromising improvement. I didn't just want to build a better watch; I wanted to force myself to become a better watchmaker. If I had simply repeated the exact same architecture from Series One, my growth would have plateaued.

I set ambitious goals: I wanted to tackle new, complex finishing techniques, vastly improve the overall aesthetics, and make significantly more of the movement - the mainplate and centre wheel being the major movement goals, as well as now having an entirely in-house designed and made case, dial, and hands. My ultimate long-term goal is total autonomy, making 100 per cent of the watch here in my workshop. I estimated that Series Two would double the workload per watch compared to Series One. In reality, it was closer to three times the amount of work. But I view that 3x increase as a necessary part of moving towards the ultimate goal.

I am so pleased with what I was able to achieve with Series Two. I love the watch. The only things left to be made in-house now are the third wheel to the escapement, the keyless winding works, and the jewels and coil springs. I have dedicated lots of time to developing these components in prototype movements and I am excited to bring them into “production” in the very near future.

The growth and learning throughout this process have been phenomenal. I’m incredibly excited to finally share photos and video of a production Series Two piece. It’s been a pleasure recently sharing the watch with various friends, family, clients, and other watchmakers and industry professionals.