I was filmed having sex on Hampstead Heath

On the 9th of September 2025, at Studio Voltaire in London, I watched a TV monitor displaying footage of my boyfriend and I having sex in Hampstead Heath. It’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d write.

This wasn’t by chance, fortunately. In fact, it was an entirely conscious decision made without the aid of alcohol or substances. We had agreed to be the subjects of a film by artist Hilary Lloyd, to be included in her latest exhibition, ‘Very High Frequency’. For the show, Lloyd set out to explore the “scope and spirit” of TV dramatist, playwright and author, Dennis Potter (1935 -1994). Potter was best known for his innovative television plays which blurred fantasy and reality, using techniques such as actors lip-syncing to popular cultural songs, flashback sequences, direct-to-camera address and adult actors playing children. His work, including Pennies from Heaven (1978), The Singing Detective (1986), and Blue Remembered Hills (1979), traversed themes of memory, desire, illness, religion, and the darker side of English life. And while his work has been cemented into television history, I can’t say that I was well acquainted with him.

What’s more, despite Lloyd’s various accolades – Turner Prize nominee, award recipient from both the Paul Hamlyn Foundation and The Bryan Robertson Trust, and Loewe creative partner – I wasn’t aware of her work either. But our fate was sealed when I spotted a casting call on Instagram posted on behalf of Lloyd by Ashish Gupta (British-Indian photographer and fashion designer and close friend of Lloyd’s) seeking a gay couple “for *insert 3x flame emojis* artist film,” I immediately responded asking for more details. After a large email chain to work out what precisely was expected of us, we were all set to meet Gupta – whose knowledge of the area proved more than useful when finding spots to film – and Lloyd at Hampstead Heath the next morning. 

I am still not entirely sure why I enquired. It may have been the request for gay men specifically that tickled my fascination. Being asked to play a key role in the conception of another’s artwork, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a touch of ego at play. I was flattered, excited and wracked with nerves to act as the vessel to carry Hilary’s vision. Anyway, I said yes, so here we are. 

From my brief internet search the night before I couldn’t quite grasp why Lloyd had selected two gay men to contribute to a project centring on the work of Dennis Potter. The closest reference I could find was the infamous sex scene in The Singing Detective featuring Alison Steadman in the New Forest. Naturally, I enquired. Hilary described Potter’s work as often displaying themes of desire between two characters, yet the intensity of such desire was heightened by one more than the other. For this particular film, Lloyd wanted to “level the playing fields”, and explore an equal measure of desire from both subjects. While this didn’t entirely answer my question at the time, it was enough for me to dive straight in. 

On the day, my boyfriend and I met Hilary and Ashish by the tree-covered cruising area of Hampstead Heath (the choice of location, I assume, to echo Potter’s frequent use of The Forest of Dean in his work). We signed the necessary NDA’s and the four of us trudged into the woods. Hampstead Heath is a space of significance for the gay community, standing as a global pillar of sexual liberation for generations. Sheltered by grand oak and beech trees, lurk those seeking short-term ecstasy. Cruising, for those unfamiliar with the term, is the act of public, often anonymous, sex, mostly between men. The Heath’s cruising history dates back to the 19th century, a time when gay sex was criminalised, even in private. George Michael was famed for his frequent use of Hampstead Heath as a playground for his sexual antics, and was even arrested on the Heath while cruising in 2008. (This conviction contributed to his hit song Outside– take a listen, you’ll understand.)

I have cruised. Another statement I never thought I would immortalise in an article, but for the purposes of recounting my experience as the subject of a film shot in one of the most infamously known spaces for it, I think it is only fair to come clean about my own familiarity. The act of cruising is often favoured for its fleeting timeframe, partial-anonymity in which minimal communication takes place, and, of course, the risk of being caught. All of which was removed when we agreed to partake in the film – well, apart from the risk of being caught; this happened multiple times including someone’s generous offer to “lend a hand”– which we politely refused.

In ‘Very High Frequency’, Lloyd did not set about to directly respond to Potter, but instead to “[trace] a series of encounters that [unfolded] from the many people, narratives, images, and locations that Lloyd engaged with over the course of making the exhibition.” In turn, the exhibition engages with the “themes, confrontations and atmospheres that defined Potter’s oeuvre” including sex, power and morality. 

On the day, we were instructed to approach, kiss and hold one another as we would in the private confines of our relationship – confines now very much removed by the presence of both artist and camera. We moved between three locations, each time shedding our clothes slowly (although footwear always stayed), embracing one another, and continuing until we felt the need to stop. Prior to shooting, Lloyd exclaimed that the “power lay with us,” granting us full control over both how we performed and what would then be later displayed in the gallery. As such, while Gupta kept close watch on any passers by to ensure our safety and comfort, minimal direction was given by Lloyd throughout the process. In turn, Lloyd stayed true to her sole aim to capture “a feeling of love and desire” aiming for “sex, sunlight and breeze,” and was happy for us to not act out penetration but rather document the suggestion of intercourse and oral sex. It put me at ease, somewhat, to know that a passerby wouldn’t see – apologies in advance for the vulgarity of this description – my ass being entered by my boyfriend. After the final scene, which was celebrated by clapping from Lloyd and Gupta (and an older chap moseying by who stood to watch for a moment – for intrigue or arousal, I wasn’t sure), we wrapped up. Thanks and hugs followed, and we all departed the scene of the crime. 

A week or so later, Lloyd sent us the first draft which had been accompanied by the popular melody of The Teddy Bears’ Picnic. Worried about how explicit the material was, we asked for a reedit. True to her prior statement about power, she removed the scenes for the final cut.

And so, on the opening night we trekked to Clapham amidst tube strikes and witnessed our naked bodies clinging to one another on a TV monitor. It was at this moment that Lloyd’s decision to pair the film with The Teddy Bears’ Picnic became clear: Potter had previously used this in The Singing Detective (1986). 

I continue to ask myself “How did it feel to see myself displayed in such a fashion?” and quite honestly, it felt empowering. I credit much of this to the experience of being Lloyd’s subject. Comfort and safety were the priority, power and authenticity were the aim, sex and desire was the outcome. Would I have still done it if it was shot elsewhere, outside my zone of familiarity? Probably. 

I was later told by Harriet at Plaster that Sadie Coles had praised the exhibition after attending the opening the night before. It feels strange to know that one of art’s leading figures watched my head bobbing up and down over my partner’s crotch. As an added bonus, Adrian Searle from The Guardian described “Two young men fucking in the bracken” in his review, much to the delight of my partner with whom I share a nine-year age difference. 

Finally, I was still unsure why Lloyd chose two gay men for her film and my erratic brain couldn’t let this rest. I once again asked Lloyd. She simply responded: “For every bear that ever there was. Does this help?” Just enough to calm my mind.