In the dead of night: Id... Ego... Super-ego, sitting on Jung’s stone.

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Welcome to the cave of imperfect forms. I’ll let the forms speak for themselves:

‘We like to think of ourselves as your poor man’s (or woman’s or person’s) Marie-Therese Walter or Dora Maar. In fact, if you blur your eyes to the point of not being able to see at all, you may even be able to catch the scent of a very syntheticy Eau de Wally Neuzil.

You may decide for yourself which, if any, of these muses lurk in our creator’s conscious, unconscious or collective unconscious... however, we do know for sure that the purpose of our existence is to reveal the dark, irreverent and unusual slivers that glint like broken glass in all of us imperfect forms here on Earth.’

Errrrr, why thank you, imperfect forms.

Kate