Sydney's Anzac Memorial is a sight to see, an art deco mausoleum at the end of an avenue of trees and a reflecting pool. As you walk up the stair, you notice clusters of life-size figures on the corners of the edifice, and then you're in a vast domes chamber with a ceiling covered with golden stars. But you're really on a kind of round balcony, and below you is this startling -
nay, astonishing - lifesize figure below, suspended on a column by grieving women and children as if crucified on a sword. The focal point of the whole building, terrible and terribly beautiful, it's death and religion and sex all at once. Wasteful glory, glorious waste of war.
Sydney's Anzac Memorial is a sight to see, an art deco mausoleum at the end of an avenue of trees and a reflecting pool. As you walk up the stair, you notice clusters of life-size figures on the corners of the edifice, and then you're in a vast domes chamber with a ceiling covered with golden stars. But you're really on a kind of round balcony, and below you is this startling - 
nay, astonishing - lifesize figure below, suspended on a column by grieving women and children as if crucified on a sword. The focal point of the whole building, terrible and terribly beautiful, it's death and religion and sex all at once. Wasteful glory, glorious waste of war.
