#but hopefully the argument i proposed here paints a bit of a better picture on where i was coming from when i had originally written it

[detransdamnation]

Maybe i am in a bit of a blind spot now but stumbling upon your blog and a few of your last answers made me question - if gender roles were nonexistent in society so the sex a person has wouldnt dictate how they are treated - how could someone develop an unease about something truly neutral? I know there are sex differences in humans and thats what we talk about when we speak of transsexual people - the desire to change sex based on a terrifyingly strong discomfort with the one one has. But i am at a loss when it comes to understanding where would that discomfort even start/be influenced by (again as long as the sex you are would make everything neutral) because i always assumed that its that dichotomy of how society views females and males is what later translates into the literal base of where it comes from which is one’s sex. Then - Would the dysphoria grow out of purely desiring something that one doesnt have along the lines the grass is greener on the other side? Getting to experience sex the way it feels like as the other sex (especially in case of not heterosexual people)? Or only An aesthetic pursue? If the only thing that differentiated us in society would be the biological abilities of our bodies and the appearance of it…why do you think would someone still come up with an idea of desiring the other?

After reading especially the last answer it made me think that after all there must be some truly transsexual people who are just born being transsexual. Thats why i decided to send it because i think you established somewhere that you believe there are no trans people who are trans ”just because”, just because they have a brain of the opposite sex trapped in the wrong body etc.

I hope this makes some sense, its not an attack on anything you said more of a big wonder and desire to understand better and i really hope it comes off this way.

You make total sense. Your message doesn't come off as an attack at all.

Anon, I'll be real with you. I reread my answer on whether or not I believe gender abolition would also abolish dysphoria. I did rush in writing that response, greatly so, so the way I phrased my thoughts was particularly subpar; however, as I was trying to tie everything together in this response to you, I realized that the viewpoint I argued didn't really make sense when I held it up to my other beliefs. So, this is a humble admittance that I was, frankly, talking out of my ass. I'm going to use this as an opportunity to reassess my beliefs on this topic and will be re-answering that question once I have done so.

In the meantime, one of the best ways to assess your beliefs is to argue something you disagree with or are unsure of, so I'm going to double down and continue the argument as if I'm completely confident that it's the truth, if only to hopefully better explain where I was coming from when I wrote my previous response. So, proposed argument: Gender abolition will not necessarily abolish sex dysphoria.

First of all, what causes dysphoria and how does gender fit into that framework? I talked about this at length here [AL] and here [AL]. I specifically want to zero in on something I said in the former link:

I [...] do not personally believe that there is a “main reason” on as to why dysphoria may develop in a young person in all cases. I suppose my own “main reason” would be that I fell into the trans community because I never thought seriously about transitioning prior to that time—but the thing is, even if I hadn’t, I would still be dealing with everything else that influenced my getting to this point. [...] If I were to take the trans community out of that equation, it would just be the influence of the trans community missing.

Let’s replace the influence of the trans community with the construct of gender and let’s fast forward to this hypothetical dream society where gender is not an existent thing. We can apply what I said above. We’ve taken away gender and its influences—but we still have everything else. There are numerous factors that could cause a person to develop sex dysphoria; in a genderless society, we have only taken away one. In order to shut down any possibility of dysphoria developing, we would need to get rid of every single possible factor and influence and that is just not a possible feat. Homophobia is a significant factor in many cases of dysphoria and will remain so in a genderless society unless efforts have been previously made to abolish it. No amount of social change will ever eradicate abuse, which can be a trigger in dysphoria in that (especially long-term) abuse victims are prone to redirecting emotional pain to certain aspects of themselves, especially in an effort to regain control, even though they may not “make sense.” It is also impossible for us to eradicate, for instance, natural aspects of our biology that are just plain inconvenient or uncomfortable, which may become objects of fixation (especially in puberty) and cause a person to develop sex dysphoria thereafter. These are just a few examples off of the top of the head—but they and more may all continue on as potential factors because these things, in and of themselves, do not have anything to do with what we have abolished. They do not cease to be potential precursors to mental illness, such as dysphoria, just because we have taken one precursor away.

But why dysphoria? Why would someone develop sex dysphoria in a genderless society if sexes were seen as entirely neutral? Well, let’s turn our attention to another mental illness that is perhaps most reflective of dysphoria (so reflective, in fact, that some people believe them to be one and the same): body dysmorphic disorder. Body dysmorphia is “a mental disorder characterized by the obsessive idea that some aspect of one's own body part or appearance is severely flawed and therefore warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix it.” One’s “flaws” cause significant distress, even to the point of seeking out cosmetic procedures in an aim to “fix” them. Anything can be a trigger in body dysmorphia, although some of the most common include facial features, hair, skin complexion, and coincidentally, sex characteristics such as breasts, facial hair, or genitals—which are all inherently neutral features. No physical feature is objectively “wrong” or “bad,” “good” or “right,” “pretty” or “ugly.” They just are.

So, then, we could ask the same question: Why would people with this disorder fixate on these features and develop an unease with them if they are truly neutral? We could argue the societal pressure of beauty ideals, and certainly, that is a factor in a lot of cases—but if body dysmorphia were truly an issue of how certain features are seen and treated, exclusively, then by all means and purposes, people who are considered to be conventionally attractive should not also be seen developing the disorder. Marilyn Monroe could be an example of this: considered one of the most beautiful women in the world in her time and years after and yet (was believed to have) struggled with body dysmorphia until the day that she died.

Things don’t have to be “not neutral” in order for someone to not like them. Things can be neutral and still cause one discomfort. Things can be seen and treated as indifferent by the collective and yet still be hated by the individual. Why do non-dysphoric people have insecurities at all? A lot of the time, they don’t have specific reasons. I don’t feel they need to have reasons. Just like I don’t feel dysphoric people need to have an ultimate reason on as to why we would develop sex dysphoria when we could have fixated on any other physical trait.

I think where people tend to get tripped up in these discussions is, they try to apply what they know to be reasonable to mental illnesses and how they present in order to rationalize, to themselves, what we are feeling and experiencing—but in doing so, I feel we easily lose sight of the fact that, even without mental illness, the brain does not need a logical reason to fixate on something, to hate something, to want to get rid of something. Marilyn Monroe having been an icon of beauty did not change the fact that she didn’t like her face—and my not believing in gender does not change the fact that I don’t like my sex and desire to be the opposite. Marilyn continued to feel the way she did because she had body dysmorphic disorder. I continue to feel the way I do because I have dysphoria. Both disorders alter how we perceive reality and cause us to believe things about ourselves that are not objectively true. We desire what we do not have because that is a symptom of the inherently nonsensical disorders that we have. That is all there is to it. That is our “why.”

And I am content just leaving it at that. It is my own personal stance that we cannot chase the logistics behind something that is not logical to begin with. At the end of the day, there is no ultimate reason for mental illness. Mental illness does not need to make sense. Mental illness only needs humanity. It will continue to exist no matter how humanity progresses.

So, under this argument, there are a few different points to be had, main ones being that gender abolition will not necessarily abolish sex dysphoria because gender and sex are not one and the same; to take away gender is to take away only one possible factor in one’s dysphoria; and although outside factors can (and do) influence dysphoria and would continue to do so in a genderless society on account of the previous two points, there’s ultimately no “reason” on as to why dysphoric people would continue to cling on to their sex in this society where the two sexes are seen and treated as the exact same—simply because dysphoria, being a mental illness, does not exist on a plane that is rational.

Considering these viewpoints and assuming that they all coexist in this genderless society, then, it may be easy to conclude, like you did, that some people are just born transgender. I do understand how you may have come to that conclusion after reading my response and even I, looking back, feel like that is what I insinuated, even though I did not mean to and was not coming from that position. To clarify, as I have stated before, I do not believe in the idea of “true trans,” and seeing as this is a belief that I actually hold very true to and have for a long time, I’d like to explain why. This is no longer me proposing an argument that I am merely “considering.” This is me demonstrating what I believe.

There are a few different things to consider in the statement, “People are born transgender,” starting with the implications of what it means to be transgender and specifically the dysphoric aspect of it. To suggest that someone could be born transgender is also to insinuate that someone could be born dysphoric, that someone could be born already set to hate their bodies as they grow older.

Of course, we could be less technical here. You may not be born with mental illness in the literal sense—but you can develop mental illness extremely early on in life. So, under the argument that dysphoria is a mental illness, dysphoria can develop from a very young age, and therefore the child, express (what may be interpreted as) a transgender identity. Okay, fair enough. What I have never received closure on is, if a young child exhibits hatred of any other part of their body for any other reason, it is universally considered abnormal, a red flag, something to treat—but as soon as gender or sex comes into the picture, this self-hatred becomes something to validate.

Let’s say that a young child tells you that they do not like their body. Without any other context, what would your first reaction be? Chances are, you would assume that someone or something in this child’s life has taught or influenced them to think this way, even if only inadvertently, and hopefully, you would rush to tell this child that there is nothing wrong with their body, that they are perfect just the way they are. But let’s say, after probing a little further, this young child tells you that they don’t “feel like” their sex, or that they want to be the opposite (in little kid terms). Would you then change your tune and decide that they were “born that way,” that they hate their body because they were just meant to be the opposite sex instead? If your answer is yes, or your no follows hesitancy, I have to wonder what, specifically, would change your mind. What is it about dysphoria that is so different from any other form of self-hatred? Moreover, what implications do you think there are in a child telling someone they presumably trust that they are uncomfortable in their body—and that trusted adult telling them that they are uncomfortable in their body because they were, indeed, born “wrong?”

This leads to an essential question that we, ironically, so often overlook. We have a dysphoric child in front of us. What would make them transgender? The most likely definition of a trans person that everyone could agree on would be someone who is dysphoric, likely someone who has been dysphoric since early childhood—but even that is not a perfect or even accurate definition because not all people with dysphoria go on to transition, not even people with long-term or “treatment-resistant” dysphoria. If dysphoria does not make a transgender person, what does?

Let’s say we have one-thousand dysphoric people in front of us and one person in the group—say, the young child in this analogy, now an adult—is transgender. The only thing that distinguishes this person from the rest of the group is the very act of transition. If this person had never transitioned, there would be no difference between them and the rest of the group. We would have a solid group of cisgender dysphoric people. The transgender person is distinguished only through action, self-identity and personal experience in attempts to accommodate that self-identity. “Brain sex” has been proven to be a myth, so we know there are no biological differences to point to them having “needed” to transition—and even under the possibility that there do exist biological markers in dysphoria that we have not discovered yet, that does not prove that people can be born transgender. At most, these markers could stand as predispositions, similar to how people can be carriers for certain diseases or have “bad genes” that make them more likely to suffer from certain ailments—but none of these things equate to destiny, and in fact, in the case of dysphoria, would only prove that a supportive environment could prevent it—and transgender identity—from coming into the picture at all.

The suggestion that some people are just “made” to go through with any action, including transition, is an insinuation of fate—and I do not believe in fate. I believe in free will to some extent, although that would open us up to the more philosophical question of whether free will is truly free, seeing as we are reflections of our environment and cannot completely separate ourselves from it. In either case, we have seen and established that we can both influence one to develop dysphoria, as well as prevent one from developing dysphoria, all depending on how we, as a society, treat them—and if the people around us can help to prevent dysphoria from becoming an issue entirely, thereby circumventing the desire to transition at all, it is impossible for transgender identity to be truly innate to any one person.

In summary and in closing, mental illness, including dysphoria, is encouraged by—and sometimes even brought on by—our surrounding environment in almost all cases. Environments naturally change overtime, and in the process, certain factors in mental illness may become less common or even disappear entirely; however, just because one goes away does not mean all others disappear. One of many of our possible futures as a society is one without gender, and unsurprisingly, this would get rid of gender as a trigger in dysphoria—but so long as no other factors have been dismantled in the process, they will continue on as potential influences in its development, even in this genderless society. It then may be easy to conclude that some people are just “born” transgender, especially seeing as how the development of sex dysphoria in a genderless society would be even more random (comparatively to that of a gendered one)—but that conclusion, that “Some people are just born that way,” would not be reached with any other mental illness, and beyond that, does not give us, the society, enough credit or responsibility. The fact that there are trans people who barely even remember not being trans, such as myself, stand not as proof that we are “true transsexuals” but as proof that we live in a society that is hostile to multiple vulnerable populations and it is up to us to change that. Gender abolition will not solve all of these problems and it may not even get rid of sex dysphoria entirely—but it is essential and a great place to start, which is why I continue to stand for it, even despite it not being a perfect fix.

I hope this gave you a little more to think on.

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [8/?]

The Wife || Ch 8 ~ 4.7 k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: People in this chapter are going at it. Our guys... are becoming pros at hand-holding. :D Also haaave you seen these beauties X and X by @marcella2727 and X by @spartanguard ❤ 

“She doesn’t paint like anyone I’ve seen.”

Killian snorts – a mix of pride and fond exasperation as clear in the sound as the sky above them.

“Alice doesn’t do anything like anyone else.”

Granny told them it will be the last truly sunny day of the year. Alice promptly carried her easel and half the blankets in the house on the green grass outside. Emma is supposedly working on the garden, Killian is supposedly going over the accounts from a ship that made port a couple of days ago. In truth, they are lying in the shade, a respectable amount of space between them that Emma has been slowly – and, hopefully, covertly – eradicating as the minutes tick by.

“She has never been one for realistic detail either.”

Emma’s eyes slant to the side and find Killian looking for something among the branches above them. He has one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out before him, his prosthetic hand cautioning his head from the bark of the tree he is leaning against, while his right one twirls a fallen leaf round and round. His white shirt and windswept hair give him an additionally carefree and dreamlike quality.

It is quite possibly the most relaxed she has ever seen her husband. She likes it.

“It looks like it’s just…,” she inclines her head to the side and looks more carefully at the artwork in the making – Alice seemingly completely oblivious to Emma’s attempts to put her strong and fluid strokes into words. “Made of light.”

She smiles a little and nods to herself. There is hardly a recognizable shape on the canvas but the clusters of light seem to almost shimmer in the autumn sun.

“Hmmm.”

Killian is watching her with a temptingly unreadable expression on his face. There is something lively and almost gratified in his gaze but his features are much too soft for her to call it mischief. And Emma has always been curious to a fault but she has found herself growing even more so in the company of her husband.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that… Nothing is only light or only shadow – each needs the other to exist. So it’s just the person looking at it that decides what to perceive, I suppose.”

She looks back at the picture. Of course, now she can hardly believe she didn’t see it. For the clusters of light to come to life there is a shadowy background to it all. But, long as she stares at it, it doesn’t come to the forefront and Emma exhales with a little of both relief and pleased surprise.

“Maybe it’s all about the day you look at it.”

“The day?”

She feels the blush in the roots of her hair. Emma has never been one for philosophical discussions and ideas – she doesn’t have the background and education for it, nor has she ever received invitation or encouragement to participate in such conversations – but the warm light and the scent of Killian’s coat rolled up under her head and the way he is quietly, curiously, waiting for her to elaborate her point seem to loosen her tongue.

However, none of that makes it much easier for her to put her thoughts into words right away.

“It’s just that… yes, here I am seeing light but… I’m sure, on another day, I should’ve seen little but the darkness trying to consume it.”

Killian nods along as if her words make perfect sense and wastes no time in turning them into a proper argument.

“So you don’t think the interpretation has so much to do with the character of the observer but rather with their state of mind.”

It takes her a beat or two but his questioning look doesn’t grow impatient. She nods and, when Killian seems to lose himself in his thoughts, she doesn’t know if she feels bad for appearing to disagree and argue with him or rather proud that the statement he proposed does sound sensible and as good an argument as his own.

“I suppose there is a fair bit of truth to that. And it certainly makes it all look much more hopeful,” he concludes, his gaze now as intently focused on Alice’s work as Emma’s is on him.

She decides she doesn’t half mind attempting to put her notions into words in front of him.

“Oh, would you stop it? How is a woman to let her brush flow with so much pointed attention weighing it down.”

Always willing to gratify his daughter’s wishes, Killian just chuckles and languidly rises to his feet. Emma is still debating who she should keep company – and mostly where it will be more appreciated – when his palm appears in her line of sight, palm up.

“How do you feel about giving Buttercup a little exercise, love?”

*****

“Everyone is positively buzzing with anticipation.”

Admiral Liam Jones looks up from the letter he is composing to admire the satisfaction that sits perfectly on his wife’s exquisite features. Anyone who doesn’t know Mrs Liam Jones well enough would think her barely interested in the particulars of her own ball but to Admiral Jones her simmering excitement has been clear for days now.

“Your new sister-in-law is quite the ambiguous figure. And thus, a source of great attraction.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

In all honesty, Liam Jones is still rather perplexed and not entirely convinced of the wisdom of his bother’s choice of wife. Then again, it might be the burden of responsibility that makes him weigh every impression and bit of information so carefully, seeing as he was the man who brought the story of Miss Emma to Killian’s ears.

Of course, when he did so, his intension was nothing more than to share his confusion and general frustration with the way families go about marrying off their female members these days. He certainly didn’t mean to arouse Killian’s sympathy for the girl, let alone his affection. And now he still doesn’t know how much of that – if any – his brother holds for his new wife and, it just might be, that Admiral Jones is as eager to see Mrs Killian Jones at the ball as any other guest.

But he is, of course, much better at concealing such infantile curiosity.

“And what does our captain have to say about her?”

“Killian and I write about matters of business and leave matters of the heart for the rare evening of rum and cigars.”

“Then you believe his marriage to be of the latter’s persuasion now? Because I could have sworn it started out as the former.”

“And I could have sworn my wife was above common gossip.”

“It is hardly gossip when I’m asking my husband about his dear brother. And it is hardly common when said brother has abstained from any engagements of the heart for so long.”

“But you know perfectly well how obtuse we gentlemen are on those topics. I should be completely helpless and wait for you to have an interview with the new Mrs Jones and bring me some insight into my brother’s household. Seeing as you have forbidden me to pay him a visit.”

“Oh, try not to be so melodramatic, Liam. I’ve forbidden nothing, I merely suggested that we should allow them that period of time that most couple reserve for courtship before the actual nuptials.”

“And, as always, I deferred to your wisdom. But I am glad I will get to see some more of my niece. Perhaps you can write to Alice and ask her to stay for a day or two after the dance. It should further promote your scheme of courtship for married ladies and gentlemen.”

Elsa’s eyeroll makes him smile and reach for her hand, pulling her closer so he can slip his arm around her waist.

“You mustn’t expect too much from Killian, my dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out that he has spoken to her half a dozen times in the last month.”

“Oh, I have no expectations of your brother. Just the hope that the timidity of that wife of him might have started to wear off by now.”

Liam shakes his head and lets his eyes run over the words he wrote one more time even as his hand slips lower to caress his wife’s thigh. He marvels at her ability to see into people’s souls without exposing any of her own. He himself rarely reveals much but, in consequence, rarely finds much out as well.

But, as is his habit, it is his brother he worries about. For Killian has always been good at reading people but always at the cost of leaving himself open to be read and cheated in turn.

*****

“I see you have broken the sole rule my daughter imposed on you.”

Emma comes to a stop two steps above him. The curls on either side of her face slowly settle and stop their swaying motion as well. He steels himself and doesn’t allow his gaze to slip lower and ascertain whether her breasts – both confined and accentuated by her corset – have seized their own bouncing movements.

Until this moment Killian hadn’t seen his wife in a gown quite like this one. It is certainly more fashionable and well-fitted than the one Alice picked for their wedding and much more adorned and flattering than anything she wears during the day, whether she goes into town or sits curled up in a chair in the library all day.

He likes the deep green colour, the way it makes her eyes impossibly brighter and lets her painted lips stand out even more, but frankly, he finds the tightness around her already slim waist and the generous push to her bosom rather unnecessary, and the light rouge on her cheeks feels like cheating, especially since he can tell how cold and pale she is underneath it all.

And even so, he would be the most shameless liar, if he claimed that she doesn’t look enchanting – like a forest nymph dressed up for a night of human fun, ready to play havoc on all men’s hearts. He will blame that image for the way his mouth has gone a bit dry and for the fact that he finds himself incapable of reassuring her even when he can see that she has taken his jest to heart.

*****

Rule? What rule was that? Of course, it stands to reason that she has blundered this already.

Emma hasn’t attended a ball in near two years and, as much as she enjoyed bringing Alice pleasure by letting her do her hair and colour her cheeks, she is afraid they should have consulted with someone better informed and more well-versed in the art of ball preparation.

“It’s just that you were not supposed to outshine the hostess, I believe.”

It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to decipher his comment and find the compliment inside, by which point Killian looks just as uncertain as she feels.

“I merely meant that—”

“Oh, I understand. I— Yes, well… thank you.”

He nods and holds his right hand out to her in a gesture that is becoming more and more familiar and Emma takes the last two steps and allows herself the comfort of his rough skin under her soft fingertips. Whether she does that too quickly or whether Killian is a second too late in stepping back is unclear to her but the result is that they are brought much closer to each other than either seems to have intended – so much so that, given the time – since she is sure she has the patience – Emma could count each shot of ginger and thread of white in his beard.

It is just as she decides that she has studied the barely visible indents on his lips long enough and prepares to lift her gaze above them and meet his own to judge if he is entertaining thoughts similar to her own that Ruby rushes into the room.

“Miss Alice says she will be just a minute.”

“Miss Alice has no notion of how long a minute lasts,” Killian replies immediately, even though his voice is a touch more choked than usual.

Then again, that might well be Emma’s imagination at play, her own reflexes seem sluggish and delayed and have left her staring at his profile once again.

“O you of little faith.”

This time she manages to react timely and look up the stairs to see Alice in her pretty blue gown, pretending to be mortally wounded by her father’s pointed remark.

“One swallow does not a summer make, darling,” he shoots back.

Alice waves her hand in a clear dismissal of her usual tardiness and rushes down the stairs – a hurricane of lace and tulle and pearl-white ribbons. She skitters to a stop beside Killian and loops her arm around his free left one, looking up at him expectantly.

“Shall we?”

“By all means.”

*****

Emma can hardly stop the little gasp that passes her lips as Killian hands her down from their carriage. Admiral Liam Jones’s estate bears no small resemblance to a modestly sized castle made of white marble. It fits perfectly with what she has seen of the regal Mrs Liam Jones but, for the life of her, Emma cannot image ever feeling at home in a place like this and she tries not to shudder a little at the sheer vastness of it.

“I imagine you would be rather unwilling to go back now that you’ve seen the superior Jones household.”

Killian’s tone is light enough but behind it she can tell that he truly believes she might covet a house as grand and awe-inspiring as the one before them. So Emma seizes the moment when Alice skips impatiently toward the entrance and steps closer to her husband, raising a little on her toes so her mouth ends up just under his ear, her nose barely brushing his warm skin.

“I should like to go back right away if I wasn’t afraid of ruining the superior Mrs Jones’s ball.”

Killian’s arm tightens around hers as he leads them after his daughter and Emma would’ve wondered how her comment might have been received, if it wasn’t for the sidelong glance he gives her – it is part genuine surprise and part mock consternation and Emma bites the inside of her cheek and does her best to remain perfectly composed and not enter Admiral Jones’s home like a giggling girl on her debutante ball.

Instead she throws herself into expressing her gratitude to Elsa as soon as she makes her way to them.

“I’m certain Captain Jones has been all too candid about my affinity for balls at which I’m not expected to dance but only entertain,” Elsa says with an elegantly careless gesture and a benevolent smile as she takes Emma’s arm and leads her away. “It is terribly liberating to host your own ball instead of attending others’s.”

Emma thinks all the expenditure, planning and preparation beforehand might compensate for the supposed freedom of the evening itself but she keeps that to herself and instead takes her time to admire the magical atmosphere and splendor of the ballroom that has been revealed to her. If it wasn’t for all the people milling about and surreptitiously stealing glances at her, Emma thinks she might have almost enjoyed this.

“Now, a few people have already expressed their desire to be introduced to the new Mrs Jones,” Elsa’s voice is almost placating but it doesn’t do much for Emma’s nerves.

“Oh, I—“

“Not to worry. I shall feed them to you in small doses so you can digest them as easily as possible. But if there is anyone that you wish to meet—“

“Thank you, I doubt— That is I’d rather just…”

She manages to stop herself but her treacherous eyes slip away in search of Killian and Alice without permission. The latter is nowhere to be seen, already lost in the depths of the brilliant ballroom, but her husband is just a few paces away, conversing with his brother.

Looking at them, side by side, Emma can hardly believe she ever thought Admiral Jones equal – let alone superior – to Killian in any way. Then again, she cannot point out the exact features and mannerisms that make the younger brother appear so much more handsome and appealing to her, just that when he laughs a little at some remark of the admiral’s she feels the flutter of it all the way in her chest.

“Well, then.”

She turns back to Elsa in time to see her putting away whatever expression left the twinkle in her piercing eyes and Emma does her best not to feel like she has been caught doing something wrong. Certainly, it isn’t wrong of her to look at her husband and to delight a little in the fact that he is wearing a red vest that stands out among all the white and black of the gentleman all around and which, according to Alice – if put on, means he is actually willing to dance tonight.

*****

For all the lightness of her satin slippers, Emma’s feet are already starting to ache. Her face feels uncomfortably flushed while the rest of her is familiarly cold and the vibrations and odours of the bodies all around her feel inescapably suffocating. She has forgotten how tiresome and stuffy balls can feel. She also keeps forgetting all names as soon as she has heard them and just prays that Elsa Jones is truly as omnipotent as she appears and won’t make the mistake of introducing her to someone twice, for Emma surely won’t be able to correct her.

“May I have this dance, Mrs Jones?”

The question – the voice – sends the first pleasant thrill of the evening through her. She looks up into the blue eyes of her husband and exhales in relief – glad for an interaction that doesn’t call on her to contract her face into shapes that don’t come naturally.

“We would be the most impertinent couple on the dancefloor, if I were to accept.”

“Would we now?”

“Indeed. I just refused a Mr Humbert on the pretext that I did not feel like dancing this one and you are being rather peculiar, asking your own wife.”

She thinks it is the first time she has referred to herself in that way and that is the source of a second satisfying little thrill.

“And is that the truth?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“That you do not feel like dancing?”

The question is completely matter-of-fact and, for some reason, the way he is looking across the room as they talk irritates some small vanity Emma didn’t know she possessed.

“I would dance with you.”

Her reply has the desired effect and, much to her satisfaction, Killian’s attention is now solely her own as he narrows his eyes a little and tries to suppress his smile in the face of her own challenging one.

“Then I suppose we should make our peace with being impertinent.”

*****

“It never ceases to amaze me how you arrange everything just so.”

“Everyone seems pleased, do they not?” Elsa looks around at her guests and lets her satisfaction show in throwing her shoulders back a little more than usual. “Even if your brother is being quite bothersome, paying all that attention to his wife.”

“I think you should count it as a victory to have him dancing at all. And, not to make myself into Mrs Jones’s champion, but you have been running that girl to exhaustion.”

“It is not my fault that her grandmother kept her so out of society that half the town doesn’t know her. Not shying away from all the attention is by far the best move now.”

Elsa takes few wifely duties as seriously as that of being well-acquainted with all who may have occasion to do business with one’s husband and, in the case of the brothers Jones, that includes most of anyone important. But she can almost forgive Emma for the neglect of her social obligations, if just for the way she smiles at Killian every time they come together during their dance.

“Frankly, my dear, knowing what a tree your brother can be, I really didn’t expect him to charm her so quickly.”

“So you find her charmed?”

“Oh, Liam,” she pats her husband’s arm and goes to check on how supper is coming along.

*****

After seeing Alice twirling joyfully in the middle of the ballroom, answering all of Elsa’s demands for her attention and forced pleasantness, conversing with Admiral Jones long enough to gain the impression that his brother may be the only person more prominent in his heart than his wife, and spending a dance in Killian’s arms, Emma is more than ready for the evening to be over. If it was, she could label it as a tiring but somewhat successful affair.

Unfortunately, the exquisite supper Elsa is sure to have planned for them is only the half-way mark.

So Mr Booth sees her into the supper-room and promptly takes a seat beside her. His conversation is not particularly unpleasant or disrespectful in an obvious way but Emma’s nerves are too tightly strung out already and with every course she finds herself growing more and more uncomfortable with his familiar attitude and cavalier way of speaking to her.

“I’m sure, just like our hostess, you are so very accomplished as to put us all to shame and in awe of you.”

“And I can assure you I am not. I neither draw, nor sew particularly well and I’m completely ignorant of all instruments and foreign languages.”

“Oh, but surely you’ve seen and done a great deal.”

Emma watches her knuckles stand out sharply where she is clutching her knife and doesn’t reply.

“And surely you ride?”

She swallows and forces her eyes back to his, lifting her chin a little higher.

“I do. My husband recently bought me my first horse.”

“Your first? Of course, a lady looks her best on a dancefloor and on a horse,” his smile is like a freezing little trickle down her spine. “I’m partial to the beasts myself. I believe you know my horse dealer, Mr Cassidy?”

Her stomach turns over and the fork clatters against her plate. She is sure no amount of rouge can bring the colour back to her face.

The presence of this man and all that he is now associated with is enough to keep her every muscle tensed but it is the memory of Neal telling her that the only place she would look better than on his horse is in his bed that steals any response she could have made and Emma bears the last course in silence before she excuses herself and rushes to the cloak-room to gather herself.

That proves to be her biggest mistake of the night. The maid she finds presses in a corner by an overeager valet is just on the right side of too young and uncertain to throw her further into memories that make the cold sweat now collect at the small of her back.

And Emma thinks she could’ve made it through the rest of the night, if there was anything to look forward to but all she can foresee is Elsa arranging her perfect dances by making Killian accompany some other smiling redhead on the dancefloor and bringing more people for Emma to be agreeable to. But it’s the thought of an invitation to dance coming from Booth’s leering face that makes up her mind.

Her main worry becomes verbalizing a proper excuse when she finds Killian in conversation with two older gentlemen but whatever expression is painted on her face seems to negate the need for words as he quickly excuses himself and leads her to the side.

“Is something the matter, love?”

She opens her dry mouth but no sound comes out.

“Emma?”

He approaches her the way she has seen people approach dogs that cower away from the slightest movement. If she could scoff, she would, but she is afraid it will turn into a sob before they make it out of the door.

She tenses a little when Killian’s hand settles on her arm and he removes it before she can tell herself to relax.

“Do you wish me to find Alice or Elsa?”

She shakes her head quickly and tries to apologize with her eyes as she makes herself ask.

“Can we leave?”

She is not truly worried that he will be angry or upset but she certainly expects some reluctance or confusion, not the ready acceptance on Killian’s face.

“Of course. Could you wait for me to make our excuses to Elsa?”

She nods and offers to fetch Alice.

“That won’t be necessary. She will be staying with her aunt and uncle for a couple of days.”

Minutes later, as Killian helps her into her coat and then into the carriage, Emma feels grateful Alice is not around as she seems to have spent all her smiles and what little warmth she brought with her from home.

Killian settles across from her in the carriage and she tries not to see this as a reproach of any sort. Instead she clasps her hands together, wets her lips and tries to bring some levity into her shaky voice.

“Well, aren’t I entertaining? You never know when I will make you rush off in the middle of a ball with half-formed excuses.”

In truth, she gave no excuse at all and the outward silliness of her behavior comes to her gradually with every bit of road they cover. Yet, she knows she should’ve been quite incapable of dancing with the way her hands and legs are still shaking a little and cannot make herself regret whatever actions brought her into the comfort and safety of the carriage and Killian’s sole company.

“I assure you, you will never hear me complain about leaving a dance early.”

Killian’s tone is light as well but his gaze is heavy and intent on her and his hand twitches restlessly on his knee. He seems tense and imposing and a better woman might have wished to spare him the turmoil but Emma just breathes deeply and treasures feeling guarded rather than threatened.

“Emma—”

She wouldn’t have minded finding out what he was about to say but as it is, leaving the noise and pressure of the evening behind and finding some measure of peace and comfort by moving clumsily across and sitting beside him is more important to her in that particular moment.

Killian shuffles a little to the side to make space for her and, for a little while, Emma thinks she can settle back into herself by staring out of the window and getting lost in the stars and dark clouds as her hand clutches his own. But the light drizzle that is washing the world outside only makes her more acutely aware of how cold and stark and unforgiving the world can be so she turns around to hide her face in his shoulder instead and, this time, when Killian’s arm goes around her, she only leans closer.

She leans into the warmth and scent of him, into the space between his neck and shoulder that feels scorching hot against her cheek, into the safety of his even breathing and his right hand entwined with hers, into the steady beat of his heart against hers and the tenderness of his mouth against the crown of her head.

It takes most of their journey home but Emma feels her own heart settle back securely in her chest as the rocking motion of the roads lull her to sleep and, just before she slips away, she notes with shockingly little surprise that she is warm all over.

She also notes that she is quite possibly in love.

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Dissertation tutorial - Proposal feedback

I have found throughout this degree that recording tutorials and critiques are the best way for me to absorb information, especially on complex topics such as a dissertation. Quickly written notes are ok but it is often the case that when I come back to them and they have become obscure and meaningless. Here is the audio recording of  my Lecturer, Dr Matt Bowman and I discussing areas of my proposal and some points on my dissertation research. A result of which I have returned to Allan Sekula’s essay, “On the Invention of Photographic Meaning” and Arthur Danto’s book, “The Transfiguration of the Commonplace” in an attempt to understand the meaning of the photograph and how it is derived. I will use this to discuss the theories behind the value and meaning of photographs in the dissertation. As mentioned in the discussing with Dr Bowman, I find that breaking down theories is like multi-tasking and I often feel like I am balancing many theories at once to try and decipher them all. Hopefully the answers to my questions on value, meaning and allegory will be within these texts! 

MB: Theres a couple of things that I was thinking about in relation to the dissertation. Partly to do with chapter 1 and chapter 3. At the moment Chapter is looking like possibly the thinnest chapter. It may not be that after research has deepened or not; but the possibility at the moment is that chapter 1 is posing the question and that’s all it is doing. Perhaps it will go down the line of, heres an example of one photograph and heres an example of another photograph and so on, what’s the difference? And in some ways if that’s all that chapter 1 is doing then in a way you could do that in the introduction very quickly. You could use your proposal example of Waitrose and Irvine Penn and say that this is your initial starting point. Here I have two photographs of food. They are valued in different ways and that could be a good way of kicking off your dissertation. If it becomes difficult in making it a full blown chapter in itself then it becomes a question of, what will I do with the chapter as it stands? So if it does become quite thin and if there’s not that much you can do to give it that kind of depth then chapter 2 will be your chapter 1.  You could say, introduction; here’s two types of photography. What kind of differences do they have and why? Lets start thinking about the role of food photography… Chapter 1. See how you go with that at the time being and how your research develops.

CI: When I was writing the proposal I was thinking along the same lines. Reading it back I could see how the introduction blurred into chapter 1. I totally agree with your comments. I don’t want it to be, what’s the difference and battling back and forth between images. I wont be able to construct a proper argument to kick off chapter 2 and so on.

MB: Chapter 2 is a good firm basis. Chapter 3 might be where things get a bit tricky again. The proof will be in the pudding as they say! Which is the ideal metaphor for talking about your dissertation. You have Roland Barthes appearing in Chapter 3. You also have Tillmans, Shore, Parr and Letinsky. The difficulty might be that it is far too much to get into a chapter. Barthes is hard work in any case. When you use Barthes in any writing you need to show that you understand Barthes. Looking at quotations from him and explaining to the reader what this means and why it is relevant.

CI: If I picked three photographers from that list could I unpick them using Barthes?

MB: That could be a possibility. They could become interconnected in a way using a photographers and Barthes could follow it on from those photographers. For example, to help us understand Martin Parr photograph lets look at Roland Barthes essay. That could be a way to make things more interwoven. A great kind of question would be for any dissertation when writing about at history is, “if you could use theory where do you put it?” If you see philosophers talk about art, very often what they do is spend half the time talking about philosophy and then shove in some artworks and then spend the other half talking about philosophy. That can become quite mechanical in a way. Art historians sometimes talk about artworks whilst trying to attach some philosophy to it and that too can be quite mechanical. The ideal and hardest thing to do, and it mostly fails unless you are really really good at it, is talk about art and theory at the same time as if the art is the theory and the theory is the art.

CI: I do feel like I’m multi-tasking when I’m trying to explain and understand Barthes essays. Barthes will bring up one thing and I feel like I have to balance three or four theories in my head to understand it. The only way I can understand it it to take each part individually.

MB: He’s deeply theoretical and deeply historical and really attentive to the artwork simultaneously. So if he’s talking about Walter Benjamins theory of allegory in relation to romanticism of Casper David Friedrich it doesn’t feel like he’s added Benjamin to Friedrich, it feels like Friedrich was already a Benjaminian a hundred odd years before Benjamin was even born. It shows how Friedrich is already a Benjaminian painter, study him and thinks in the same way even though Benjamin doesn’t exist yet. That is the trick of writing. TJ Clark is also a great writer who knows a lot of theory, is well versed in Marxism and yet when you read his essays and books at his best it doesn’t feel like he’s applying Marxism to French painting or a Picasso. It feels like it is already there in the painting. It is very hard to do it in writing convincing which is why Joseph Leo Koener and T.J. Clark are some of the finest writers on art. Another way of going about it for example, if your chapter 2 is chapter 1 then you have a missing chapter. What else can you do with the missing research?

CI: I see what you mean now. chapter 1 could easily be the introduction. Talking about the comparisons of photographs. Chapter 1 could begin at the beginning and I could start by referring to Roman alfresco and going back through history and look at the progression of food through history. You don’t think that an alfresco could be a still life. You automatically envisage a bowl of fruit on a table by a dutch master. An alfresco for example was a document rather than the feature itself. Somewhat inconsequential. That could be the link into food in photography. Similar to what you mentioned before, that food in photography is not about the food. It is always about something else.

MB: Yes. In a way what this dissertation is doing is partly trying to understand the difference between the Waitrose photograph and the Irvine Penn photograph. But probably more forcefully, what it is trying to understand why the Irvine Penn photograph is of any interest whatsoever. I think the Penn is more important (than the sword. Ha ha!) and the Waitrose isn’t.

CI: There are the obvious visual comparisons. The spoon and lettuce etc. Bar the advertising text what is the difference? Like you said, “The meaning isn’t the image, it’s the writing next to it.” I will need to research more and understand why Penn’s image is more superior. Is it because Penn is who he is?

MB: The puzzle that you have set yourself is effectively one that is extra visual and by that I mean it is outside of a visual object. I recommend reading Arthur Danto’s, “The Transfiguration of the Commonplace.” In his first chapter he imagines an exhibition and in this exhibition they are all identical red paintings. There is no visual difference in them whatsoever. One painting is an abstract canvas, a modernist work. Another painting is called, “Egyptians growing in the Red Sea”, that depicts the Egyptians trying to escape from the Israelites. Another painting is called the artists mood and it is about how the artist feels on that day. Was it passion or nirvana? Another painting is actually unfinished and the artist had painted the canvas red as many Renaissance painters did first before painting a picture of Jesus or a landscape. Another painting isn’t even a painting. it is a piece that has broken off from somewhere. They are all visually identical and Danto’s question is, “How can we tell the difference between all of these different paintings? How can there even be a difference? They all look exactly the same. The are all visually identical but all have different meanings.” Danto’s answer to the question is, “Looking at these things is not helpful. Reading about them is. Knowing about their context. How they are valued. That is what tells you about them and the value. He also thinks about this in terms of Andy Warhol and the Brillo Boxes that he exhibited in 1964. Made out of plywood and screen-printed. They are visually similar to the brillo boxes that you can find in a shop back then. Warhols one are works of art but the ones in the shops are not. If Warhol decided to use cardboard and the shop version was made from plywood, Warhols would still be works of art. It is art theory and its position in the art world, the way things are valued by galleries and museums. That what defines something as that thing. Irvine Penn is respected in the art world, respected photographer, a key figure and his place within a context. Irvine Penn is only considered as a great photographer because he’s been valued by the art world. So the art world has given him value and significance.

CI: It is odd how one is viewed as more talented than the other…

MB: …Not more talented but judged more favourably. You could look at the Waitrose photograph and say that it is a better photograph than the Irvine Penn photograph. It can well be a better photograph but it doesn’t tell you how it categorises as a photo.

CI: There is no meaning in the Waitrose photograph.

MB: It’s purely for advertising purposes.

CI: Penn’s photograph is more than just visual advertising stimulation. When we were discussing, The Steerage, the basic visuals show that someone is taking a picture of how the classes are. Am I correct in thinking that it was about the lines and circles and attract form. The lettuce looks like an abstract form. MB: Look at Allan Sekula’s essay, “On the invention of Photographic Meaning”. Sekula wrote this essay in the mid 70’s and it appears in a book by Victor Burgin. Sekula looking at two photographers, Alfred Stieglitz and Lewis Hine. Sekula is looking at Stieglitz, who’s an art photographer lending towards modernism and abstraction. Hine is a bit of a documentary photographer. His photographs a led towards social justice and poverty. When Stieglitz takes the picture of The Steerage, it can be looked upon as documentary photography but it is not. Sekula's question essentially is, “What happens if Stieglitz is a documentary photographer with the photographs he has taken and what happens when we imagine Hine as an art photographer? How do photographs have meanings in the first place?” The answer being that photographs do not have meanings. Meaning is not something in photography. Meaning is something given to photographs. Photographs are meaningless until they are given meaning by museums, galleries, the photographer even.

CI: Can the photographer be the one to define that meaning or does it have to be defined by the museum or art world?

MB: Sekula’s answer to that would be, for the most part the photographer will fail to give a meaning to the photograph because photographs are inherently meaningless and ambiguous. The only way the photographer can give meaning to a photograph is to introduce text, information that fixes the photographs meaning. Which is why when you go to an Allan Sekula exhibition there are lots of photographs and lots of text. Sekula does not want his photographs to be misunderstood and wants to fix the meaning in a trance. The interplay of text and photography is utterly essential for him and he takes that from Roland Barthes. Look at Sekula’s essay again, On the invention of Photographic Meaning. That could give you a way of understanding how we get a distinction between the differences. Danto and Sekula have already given you an answer. A framework in effect for resolving this issue.

“We can only appreciate food as art when we’re not hungry!”