The edge in modern painting is charged with neurosis; it meets a world that no longer confirms it but which is hostile or at best indifferent.
Maybe it should be weird, simulating sex with your husband in front of people? But it's really not. When it's a love scene with someone you actually love, there's no feeling like, 'Can I touch him here? Can I touch him there?' You know what your boundaries are - or what they aren't, I suppose.