I’ve been walking the streets thinking about writing about Dame Tracey Emin, and it’s giving me anxiety. Taking on Britain’s greatest female artist is no small task. So I’ve decided to follow in Tracey’s footsteps and be brave.

While pacing the pavements, two iconic works came to mind. First: Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995. A tent embroidered with the names of everyone she had ever slept with, family members and lovers. If I were to do that, what size tent would I need? A one-person pop-up A large family dome? Or a full-blown circus tent? I suppose it depends on the size of the needlepoint.

There are 102 names. If you reduce intimacy to arithmetic, that’s roughly three people a year over 32 years. One name belonged to a co-worker with bloodshot, bulging eyes, exhausted from commuting from Broadstairs and, apparently, buying bikinis for his wife.

The tent gained cult status. Charles Saatchi bought it for £40,000. It was later destroyed in the 2004 Momart warehouse fire in East London. Emin was reportedly offered £1 million to recreate it, but she declined. It was too personal. Some things are not meant to be remade.

**Everyone I Have Ever Slept With - Tracey Emin -1995**

Then there is My Bed.

I first saw it in 1998 at Tate Britain and again yesterday at Tate Modern. After an emotional breakdown, Emin spent four days in bed, semi-conscious, living on alcohol. When she finally saw the chaos, stained sheets, empty bottles, cigarette butts, she decided to exhibit it. The bed was her rescue vessel.

My Bed was shortlisted for the Turner Prize in 1999 and later sold for £2.5 million in 2014. But the price feels secondary. What mattered was Emin presenting vulnerability as art. Presenting collapse without apology.

These two deeply personal works propelled her into the spotlight and helped define 1990s contemporary art. They challenged ideas about feminism and what “counts” as art. They certainly grabbed my attention.

But it’s her painting that captivates me most.

I Never Asked You To Fall in Love - Tracey Emin - 2018

Her figures are loose, urgent, distorted. The lines tremble. The colour bleeds. She pours her heart onto the canvas, and I feel mine break in response.

“I Never Asked You To Fall in Love” is the exhibition’s most powerful piece. “The Abortion Waiting Room 1990” sent shivers down my spine. I sat in one once. I had forgotten that. I was sixteen. Art excavates what we bury.

My favourite painting is “I Needed You To Love Me.” The title alone is devastating.

The Abortion Waiting Room 1990 - Tracey Emin - 2018

I Needed You To Love Me - Tracey Emin - 2023

Emin moves between painting, embroidery, neon, and video with instinctive confidence. Watching footage of her in the sea, smiling, felt important. It was a relief to see joy.

"A Second Life"at The Tate Modern In the words of Raye, “This one’s a bit deep, yeah.” Between Raye at the O2 and Tracey I’ve cried more times this week than I can count, but "I’m a very fucking strong woman" and I loved every minute of it.

I’m going to bed now. I can’t decide whether to count sheep or calculate the dimensions of the circus tent I’d need. Maybe I’ll count bikinis instead. It’s easier.

February, you’ve been a wild, passionate ride and I bloody loved it.

Make sure you are following me on instagram Forward this blog to your arty friends and they can follow along too.

Have a great day.

Julesx

*Cover photo:I Never Asked You To Fall in Love - Tracey Emin - 2018

The Art of Tracey

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