We meet outside a café where our guide gathers us and leads us into a tangle of winding paths. Whether by design or happy accident, the guide’s chatter keeps me distracted enough that I lose track of where exactly we’re going. By the time we stop, we’re in front of a compact corrugated iron shed. Before we’re allowed in, we’re asked three abstract questions that make you pause and reflect, while a scribe dutifully jots down our answers. Then, with a ceremonial ring of a bell, the door opens and we step in.
The first thing that hits me is the smell. If memories had a scent, it would be this: dust and earth, with an undertone I can’t quite place. It’s familiar, yet elusive, like somewhere I’ve never been but somehow remember. The interior resembles a Victorian hoarder’s treasure trove. Small cabinets and drawers overflow with knick-knacks and curios. Tins and containers are crammed with jewellery pieces, photographs, buttons, bread tags, bottle caps. Endless items that once had a life are now waiting to tell their stories.
A radio murmurs softly in the background, broadcasting conversations about objects and the tales they carry. Scattered among the collection are handwritten labels titled “Remember”, “Hope”, and “Dream”, where past visitors have scrawled their own endings to those words. I contribute mine. We’re given free roam of the space, to open drawers and peek into jars, and discover whatever catches our eye. As I rummage through, histories start writing themselves in my mind. I picture the woman who wore that oversized brooch, imagining how she would’ve felt pinning it on for a night out. I see families, friends, and couples frozen in old photographs, and I can’t help but invent stories for them.
And then The Collector arrives, as if conjured out of thin air. Dressed entirely in black, with a towering raven head created by Cinda Manins. They are inquisitive and commanding, but there’s a warmth to their presence, a playful offering to their tone. We’re offered tea, biscuits, and even birdseed, a charming nudge into an opportunity of play for play’s sake, something adults are far too good at forgetting.
What follows is a delightful flurry of mysterious phone calls, impromptu puppet shows, and spontaneous dancing. It’s quirky, it’s dreamlike, and just like that, it’s over in half an hour. It's a fleeting encounter, but in that brief time, The Collector reminds us why we should always make room for a silly dance and a little play.
The Collector was performed in Fitzroy between 29 July - 2 August 2025.
Image credit: Sarah Walker
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