There’s a memorial sculpture at a large intersection in Kew, Melbourne 
which is captivating for a few reasons. One is the unlikely assemblage 
of rocks with a bronze bust at the summit and the other is the date 
that’s meant to tell you the person’s life span which is left open-ended 
making Raoul Wallenberg - a Swedish humanitarian who rescued thousands of Jews in Hungary during World War II - 109 years old.
Its casual assemblage and unfinished timeline is of course all part of 
its brilliance, Karl Duldig was an incredible sculptor.
 
In a similar way, ‘The Observer’ is an assemblage of rocks and bronze 
strata, with the head of a regal black crow. Its stone wingspan reaches wide, her presence strong and imposing.
 
Long walks have brought more birds into my life recently. I’ll stop to 
watch them and then realise that I’m being watched as well - we’re both 
just staring, thinking we’re the Observer. The assemblage appears 
precarious, rocks balanced on one another as a marker of time. When life becomes busy again, will I cease to stop and enjoy these moments or is 
this a lovely part of the forced slow-down?
 
The incomplete date on Raoul Wallenberg's memorial to me implies that he's around, watching events unfold. If he was still fit and alive, who 
would he be helping now?