What a fine looking man Turner was at 24. The self-portrait is either in the Tate or the National Gallery, I can’t remember which. I was struck by his eyes. They don’t, quite, follow you round the room: he seemed at first to be looking over my shoulder, to see if there was anyone more interesting to talk to.
I moved in closer to have a better look, and was suddenly captivated. Instead of looking out of the canvas, the eyes are angled slightly inwards, as if he is there, looking into my eyes, only a few inches away. I looked into this beautiful man’s eyes, and it was startlingly intimate. I felt warmed and distracted for the rest of the afternoon.
Oh, go on! Come up close to the screen, and see what he does to you.
I suddenly got Cubism when I leant in to kiss Carol, my eyes open, and I saw her face at different angles, at once. I would rather show Dora Maar, but that picture is still in copyright in the US.