Vettriano sleaze

I'm hesitant to put this down to autism, because that kind of feels like I'll be making excuses for my own behaviour. Like announcing that I'm not fully responsible, because I have "a condition". So I thought about writing it up in one of my other blogs, rather than the autism one.  But in the end, I figured that there were enough elements of this experience that had elements of autism about them.  Not entirely in my actions, but probably in my responses - the feelings of disquiet and self-reproach I've been experiencing all day, today.

And I'm hoping that writing about the events will help me come to some conclusions.  It can definitely be argued that that's an autistic approach.  In fact, at various times throughout the afternoon, I've found myself mentally dictating some parts of the posting.

So... this weekend, I invited two CouchSurfers (I'm going to call them S and L - their initials - until they give me permission to use their actual names) to stay with me.  They were in town and were looking for a last-minute place to stay and they sounded pretty cool.  In fact they were pretty cool and I liked them straight away.  And they had no hang-ups about nudity at all, so I was able to completely relax without fear of offending either of them.

We had some vague plans of going to Cramond Island.  A week ago, I tried to create a photographic project that involved putting up a tent on a nude beach.  As in... I was naked and I set the camera up on a timer to take a picture every thirty seconds.  The resulting project would have been a time-lapse kind of thing and if it hadn't been windy, I think it would have gone pretty well.  But it was windy and the tent very quickly was doing a creditable impression of the world's greatest kite.  I persevered for a good while, but eventually had to give up.  Anyone interested in seeing the results of that disaster can view the video here.

So the plan was to return to the project and try again on Cramond Island.  Except the weather yesterday was terrible.  Very heavy rain.  Thunder, lightning, the whole lot.  I was still tempted for a while to go there, anyway - just without the tent.  I've wanted to get some nudes in the rain for a long time, now.  But in the end, I gave up on it.

Ultimately I went one way and the girls went another way.  I ended up in town with another guest - a third girl - and we took some video together, as well.  I used an app on the iPhone to create an 8mm camera feel, and took a lot of video of the rain.

It was late at night, before the two girls returned to the flat and we reunited.  And they were leaving just a couple of hours later, so I was a bit disappointed that I didn't have more of a chance to hang out with them, but we at least had time for a couple of beers before they left.  The lack of sleep was catching up with S and she started dozing.  That was cool, though, because I was really starting to find some common ground with L.  We spoke about artists we like and about taboos and the common perception of sexual obscenity.  I don't like the way that erections and masturbation are automatically considered to be obscene and not artistic.  That's a popular impression that I like to challenge, because I find it to be damaging.

She told me about an artist called Igon Schiele and she showed me some of his pictures.  I had pointed out that since I started keeping a video diary, I'd noticed that I had some slightly strange quirks in my body language - a distinct tendency to be very angular with my limbs.  I'd become slightly self-conscious of this as a result, but found it to be more amusing than worrying.  With the angular gestures and the conversation about masturbation and art, I had made her think about Igon Schiele and she pulled up some of his pictures to show me.

I wasn't an immediate fan of his work, but it was definitely dramatic - and one picture really did stand out.  It's got a really cool look going on and I can't help being drawn to it.  I'm going to read about him some more, and I suspect his artistic style will grow on me, after a while.

She also showed me an article about Elke Khrystufek - a more contemporary artist - who uses masturbation in her own work.  I find it very encouraging to know that there are already people who are doing things like this.  I like knowing that there are people - male or female - who will actively and aggressively challenge that taboo.

I showed her some of Jack Vettriano's pictures and told her that what I liked about them was the element of emotional disconnection and alienation that featured throughout them.  This, combined with the sexuality involved, makes them feel slightly sleazy at times.  I should stress that this is my interpretation of these pictures and probably - I don't know - not representative of anyone else's interpretation.

The conversation moved back and forth and touched a few times on my own pictures.  I showed her some of my work and we discussed whether they were artistic or erotic or pornographic and came to no real conclusions.  Not that I'm really interested in getting a definitive answer about that sort of thing; it's more interesting when there are people who will disagree.

And then we started posing for jokey pictures with each other.  This was fun.  I posed with S, while L took a picture and then posed with L.  When she looked at the picture, she said "Aww" and I misinterpreted the noise, thinking she was disappointed that it hadn't come out well.  This turned into a challenging kind of debate about whether the absence of a penis (her knee was raised and it obscured me) in the picture had somehow spoiled it.  I had thought she sounded disappointed and she thought my response to this meant that I was disappointed.  And so we moved on to take "a selfie with some cock in it".  It was all a bit of a lark, so was still a lot of fun at this point.

The next development was my setting up my own camera on a timer, so that it would take a bunch of pictures of the two of us on the couch together - both of us lying back, and facing each other from opposite ends with our legs entwined.  And this is the point where I started getting a lot more tactile - or "touchy-feely", if I want to be less forgiving with my terminology.

I had already noted that I'd started relaxing into being pretty tactile with her.  A couple of times, while we'd been looking at things on the Mac, I'd rested my hand on her knee, which isn't something I usually do.  In fact, back when I was working at the clinic in Glasgow, I used to joke that I was "least tactile massage therapist I knew".

(This was before any of us knew I had autism, though.  And after the diagnosis, when I started to learn more about the condition, I realised that I had never completely understood the rules of physical contact, so had cut myself off from it.  Rather than cause inadvertently offence by touching people inappropriately, I simply didn't touch at all.  Being a massage therapist was the perfect career option, because there were very clear rules and I completely understood them.)

So... I was definitely starting to touch L.  A lot.  And I realised that I was resting my hand on her knee in a way that probably wasn't merely casual.  In fact, it seemed like the kind of relaxed physical contact that I would have with a girlfriend.  And not just that, but I was leaning into her more, and I was probably being a bit invasive.  Maybe even proprietorial.  When I realised what I was doing, I apologised and moved back a bit.  But then, when we started taking pictures together, the physical contact had to become an element once more.

After that, my enthusiasm for the pictures overwhelmed my reservations and I almost immediately had my hands on her all over again.  We got a couple of great pictures at this point - where we're both drinking from bottles of Cobra and laughing at each other, but there's more than a few awkward looking ones, as well.  

The camera was on a timer, taking up to thirty pictures a time, and I didn't want all the pictures to be virtually identical, so I took her wrist and linked our fingers together.  Again, there's awkwardness and confusion at first, because I wasn't communicating myself very well at this point.  I was getting too caught up in imagining the next picture and the next look and the next pose, so was getting carried away.  And when we looked at those pictures, the first thing I noticed was how deeply I'd failed.  I'd tried to create something that looked intimate, but had instead created a sequence of images where I looked possessive and proprietorial.  I was holding her wrist in my hand and linking our fingers together.  I was trying to force a look that hadn't come about naturally.

Fair enough - we were posing for a camera, and so were largely pretending.  It's all pretty forgivable at this point.

We were rapidly running out of time, now.  The girls were going to be leaving in about fifteen minutes so they could be on time for their bus.  And I told them both that they were welcome to come back to my place and stay with me at any time.  I also told L that next time - with more time to relax into it - I'd love to take some nudes of her.  Specifically of her arm underneath her breasts.  I had been fascinated by the tattoos on her arm, so really wanted to feature them.

I hadn't intended that we might take such pictures straight away, but she went for it.  She stripped off her t-shirt and bra and lay back on the couch and I snapped off a few pictures.  I was loving it, by then, and I was really hoping these pictures would be good ones.  I really wanted to do them justice.  This was when we got my absolute favourite picture of the entire project - with her glaring at the camera and covering herself up with one arm.  The expression on her face is hard to read, and I find it easy to imagine that there's contempt and loathing in there.  But with a slight change of perspective, I can also imagine something soft and vulnerable.  I can even imagine it to be a seductive expression, but I'm probably grasping a bit for that interpretation.

And then I took it further.  I asked S to take the camera and take some pictures of L and I posing together.  I cuddled up with her on the couch, and S snapped off a few images.  Then I got L to move her arms out the way and I put my own arm across her breasts instead.  Then I went to kiss the side of her neck and that's when I really crossed the line.

She said "No kissing!" and moved away.  I apologised and said "OK, no kissing."  S got another couple of pictures and then L got up, got dressed again and the two girls finished getting ready to leave.  I looked over the pictures we'd taken and started seeing subtleties in L's facial expressions and body language that I hadn't really noticed - or had ignored - leading up to that point.  There's a sneaking fear that I might have pushed her a long way past her comfort levels even before I went to kiss her neck.  That might have just been the final straw.

But the really interesting element is just how cool those pictures look.  There's a very strong emotional element coming off them that reminds me of the interpretation I have of those Jack Vettriano pictures.  Emotional disconnection and alienation, combining to create an element of sleaze.  These are - essentially - pictures of a naked middle-aged man and a half-naked girl nearly twenty years younger.  I definitely look predatory and sleazy, and she definitely looks angry and contemptuous.  There's an edgy sort of punk vibe going on, too - and that personality comes entirely from her.  There's no denying that these are great pictures.  They've got the same kind of personality that I perceive every time I look at a Jack Vettriano picture.

I have a couple of undoubted favourites.  The one where I'm about to kiss her neck and then the one where she's pulling away from me and I'm looking both confused and guilty.  And earlier in the shoot there's one with an entirely different personality, where it looks like we're both laughing at the same joke - or probably just at the absurdity of the situation.

As cool as the pictures are, though, they've definitely left me with a feeling of disquiet.  The combination of that punk vibe and that middle-aged sleaze definitely don't put me in a particularly positive light and that's left me quietly questioning my actions throughout the day.  The difference between seeing sleaze in these photographs - as opposed to a Vettriano picture - is the fact that it's me who's responsible for the creepiness.

Ultimately we all parted on good terms, so I'm hopeful that she's still cool with everything and happy for me to use the pictures.  And I definitely hope she comes back, at some point and we work on some more.  Because, despite all my concerns, I'm still very hopeful that it was just a misstep.  If we work together again, with more time and more communication, we might find that we relax into the project more successfully and create some really cool pictures.  The potential is definitely there.  I just have to show some restraint and not let the momentum and my own enthusiasm ruin everything.



Update:

The day after I wrote this posting, I got a really nice email from L.  She told me she was completely happy for me to use the pictures we had taken and she said I didn't make her uncomfortable at all.  I had been hoping that my own paranoia and self-doubts had been colouring my perceptions the following day, and her email confirmed that for me.

What seems likely, in hindsight, is that we had both created some great pictures with a very strong and very dysfunctional chemistry.  Strong enough that when I looked at them again later, I was convinced and worried by the personalities we had created.

I've posted some of the pictures on my RedBubble profile, if anyone wants to take a look.  Or maybe even buy some of them.

Afterword:

There's a scene in The tunnel, where Clemence Poesy's character (Elise Wassermann) says something very insensitive just as Stephen Dillane's character (Karl Roebuck) is about to answer his mobile phone.  He pauses, then gives her a look of complete disbelief and disapproval.  It's a hilarious moment... I genuinely laughed out loud at it.  And I'm not always a laugh out loud kind of person, so I treasure these moments.  But what's even better is the moment where she looks at him and recognises her own faux pas.  Perhaps she doesn't know what it is she's done, but she does recognise that she's done something.

The tunnel is a remake of Bron/Broen - a Danish/Swedish drama about the police departments of two countries having to work together to solve a conspiracy.  In each version, the female cop is autistic.  She's a great cop, but is strongly lacking in any real social skills.

The thing that I loved about that scene is primarily Karl's reaction to Elise's statement, but - secondarily - it's that moment where she recognises that she's made a mistake, too late to do anything about it.  It's probably the worst thing about being autistic and still having comparatively good social skills.  We don't always know when we're about to screw up, but we definitely know it just seconds afterward when we spot the responses of those about us.  And then we replay those last few moments in our heads and something just curls up and dies.