The cold pebble & the Christmas tree

FREMANTLE has a secret way of drawing in those people who just don’t seem to fit anywhere else. 

In 1997, not long after my arrival in the glaring light of the West, I met Horatio T Birdbath. 

He was sitting outside Café Gino’s on the South Terrace, looking as though a goblin had cut him out of a rainbow and stuck him right into the world of mortals. 

His jacket was a magnificent outcry against the drabness of common sense, shimmering in the midday heat like the wings of a dragonfly king.

The silence between us at that table settled like a heavy, velvet curtain. 

Then he paused, looked at me with a deep, ancient fire in his eyes, and mumbled: “Can I give you something?”

Before I could answer, he opened my hand and placed a pebble inside. 

A completely ordinary, grey stone. 

But as my fingers closed around it, a shiver ran through me: it was ice-cold. 

Right in the middle of the glowing, merciless heat of the Australian summer, this stone was like a piece of frozen Northern Lights. Pure wonder. Pure magic.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Horatio,” he mumbled, revealing his charming, gap-toothed grin. “Horatio T Birdbath.”

We became good friends. 

Our conversations on the Cappuccino Strip possessed a peculiar depth that would sometimes tilt into pure, delightful nonsense, only to turn out wiser than anything serious scholars had ever deemed important. 

Horatio drew endlessly—faces, intricate patterns, and entire sunken worlds. 

In 1998, he asked me for a favour: to scan his drawings. 

Back then, on the threshold of the new millennium, digitally archiving analogue art was a bit of a sensation.

I scanned every trembling line, rescuing his thoughts into the infinity of ones and zeros. 

I have never regretted it. It felt as though I was guarding the chronicle of a king.

Once, he told me—full of pride and with that unmistakable glint in his eyes—a story from one of the annual street parades in Fremantle. 

Horatio had tailored himself a magnificent costume: he went as a Christmas tree. 

Green, proud, and motionless, he marched along. 

When the colourful procession ground to a halt on South Terrace, Horatio froze in his role. 

He didn’t move a muscle. He became wood and needles.

In this moment of absolute stillness, a passing dog approached. 

The animal gave the supposed trunk a quick sniff, casually lifted its hind leg, and left its wet calling card on Horatio’s costume.

To Horatio, this was no insult. 

It was the greatest, most honest compliment an actor could ever receive. 

A human being lets themselves be blinded by props and makeup, but a dog only reacts to the naked truth of nature.

If creation takes you for a real tree, then you’ve perfected the game. 

True art doesn’t look for applause, it looks for the truth.

Today, many years later and worlds away from South Terrace, I play Horatio T Birdbath on stage in a play called “Shake it!”. 

In our version, Horatio becomes Hamlet, but he refuses to play along with the old game of blood. 

He decides to end the endless, murderous drama of history, lays down his weapons, and tells the past: “No, father. The show is over.”

Horatio T Birdbath lives on. 

Not as a tragic marginal figure, but as a pacifist hero who breaks the cycle of pain. 

He lives on in my own gap-toothed grin on stage, in the memory of the ice-cold stone in the middle of the Australian heat, and in every digitised line he ever drew. 

He is no longer on the South Terrace. 

But he is forever on my mind.

Jan Maria Meissner
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern
Germany

Next gen

Re: “Art Shake-up on Arthur’s Head” (Herald, 6 June 2026)

I WAS disappointed by the tone of some of the concerns expressed in the recent article regarding the future of the J Shed studios.

The artists who have occupied these studios have undoubtedly contributed to Fremantle’s cultural life over many years. 

However, after three decades in one of the most spectacular and publicly owned locations in our city, it is reasonable that the broader community should have the opportunity to reimagine how this asset is used.

Publicly supported creative spaces should not become the preserve of any one group, regardless of their history or achievements. 

The City of Fremantle’s decision to open the site to a new Expression of Interest process is not an attack on the arts. 

Rather, it is an opportunity to introduce new voices, fresh ideas and greater equity in access to a highly sought-after community resource.

The article describes the J Shed as a thriving creative hub. 

Yet during major cultural events such as the Fremantle Biennale, many studio doors remained closed. 

A truly thriving precinct should be visible, welcoming and actively engaged with the wider community and visitors.

This discussion also presents an opportunity to think more broadly about the future of Arthur Head and Manjaree. 

For tens of thousands of years, this was a significant gathering place where people met, traded, celebrated and shared culture. 

As Fremantle continues to evolve, we should be exploring how these stories can be more prominently represented within our cultural infrastructure.

The growing need for a larger home for the Walyalup Aboriginal Cultural Centre is one example. 

Imagine a vibrant cultural precinct that includes exhibitions, workshops, film screenings, language programs and opportunities for local and international visitors to engage with the world’s oldest continuing culture. 

Such a vision would honour both the deep history of this place and the creative future of our city.

The City of Fremantle is not destroying an arts precinct. 

It is creating an opportunity for renewal. 

After 30 years, it is entirely reasonable to open the doors to new generations of artists and new cultural possibilities.

Peta Walter
Beaconsfield