Nov 115 min read

Tracey Emin: A Review

Wrap Me in Art and Close the Door as You Leave

By Melis Dumlu

@melisxdumlu

Tracey Emin ‘More Love Than I can Remember’ 2024. Acrylic on canvas, 182cm x 214.2cm. © Tracey Emin. Photo © White Cube (Eva Herzog)

Though I’ve never been in Tracey Emin’s bedroom, I can almost hear her voice, as if she were lying there among her art, calling out, “Wrap me in art and close the door as you leave.” It’s a request for understanding, yet also a demand for distance. Emin’s work doesn’t just invite you into her world; it commands your presence, confronting both preconceptions and the discomfort of unfiltered reality. Emin’s work feels like a conversation—though it’s less a dialogue and more of a confession, an admission of fragility and the battle with existence itself. Often branded as autobiographical, her art transcends mere self-exposure, tapping into the very essence of being human.

Her iconic piece, ‘My Bed’ (1998), with its rumpled sheets and scattered debris of a life unhinged, goes beyond a mere snapshot of a bad day. It poses an ontological question: What is the essence of being when one is stripped bare? Centuries-old philosopher René Descartes famously said, “I think, therefore I am,” but Emin’s art challenges that with “I feel, therefore I endure.”

The bed, typically a place of comfort and safety, transforms into a stage for existential struggle, a battleground for the self to wrestle with its deepest fears, failures, and vulnerabilities. For Emin, this isn’t just an installation; it’s a confrontation with existence itself, a reflection of what it means to be human, imperfect, messy, yet undeniably alive.

Philosopher Martin Heidegger spoke of “being-in-the-world”, a concept that refers to our constant state of existence within a web of relationships, contexts, and environments. Emin, with works like ‘My Bed’ or her fragile monoprints, reframes that web. We are no longer in the world, but under the world, weighed down by its emotional debris. Emin’s bed becomes a stage for being-in-suffering, a reflection of how deeply intertwined our environments are with our mental and emotional landscapes. Emin’s work demands engagement. It’s not enough to simply look at her art; you must confront it and wrestle with the emotions it stirs within you.

Tracey Emin I followed you to the end White Cube Bermondsey 19 September 10 November 2024

In her series ‘Something’s Wrong’ (1997), Emin presents fragile figures accompanied by the phrase, “There’s something wrong.” These pieces evoke a profound sense of unease, tapping into the deep-seated anxieties many of us carry about our bodies, identities, and place in the world. The power of these works lies in their ambiguity; they don’t tell us what’s wrong, only that something is. It’s up to us to fill in the blanks and confront the uncertainties.

Emin’s use of language, both as text and subtext, is central to her practice. Words in her work aren’t just descriptive; they are evocative and loaded with meaning and emotion.

Tracey Emin I Followed you to the end 2024

Her neon installations, like ‘You Touch My Soul’ (2020) and ‘I Want My Time With You’ (2018), are both declarations and confessions, embodying the tension between public display and private feeling. Emin isn’t just a visual artist; she’s a storyteller. Her words are integral to the work itself, adding layers of meaning that go beyond the visual. Her sentences often hover between poetry and prose, fragments of thought that linger in your mind long after you’ve read them. There’s a rhythm to her writing that feels almost musical; it draws you in, even as the content pushes you away.

I can’t help but reflect on a larger philosophical question: What does it mean to represent one’s inner chaos so vividly and yet, retain power over it? Emin’s art, after all, isn’t about highlighting pain, discomfort, or prettifying trauma. It’s about making the spectator squirm, confronting truths that are uncomfortable to sit with, truths that are all too human. It is a raw exploration of what it means to exist in a body constantly at odds with itself.

At the heart of Emin’s work is the notion of form, how we shape our experiences, and how those experiences, in turn, shape us. Form, in Emin’s art, is both a boundary and a release. As Emin reclaims her own agency, her work should make us think about how we express ourselves and how we use language, imagery, and form to convey our deepest truths. It’s a reminder that art is not just about aesthetics; it’s about creating meaning, about making sense of the chaos of life. Exposing her vulnerabilities isn’t just about depicting them; it is also about what it enables. It opens a dialogue, a conversation about the things we often keep hidden, the things we are too afraid or ashamed to talk about. And creates a space for others to do the same. Her art becomes a form of catharsis, a way of processing and overcoming the traumas of life.

Emin’s art, ultimately, embodies a philosophy of becoming. It’s not fixed or static; it evolves and transforms. Just as we do. Her work isn’t about capturing a perfect moment but about laying bare the process of living, the messy, chaotic, beautiful process of trying, failing, and trying again. She offers us not answers but questions, reflections of our own struggles, our own vulnerabilities.

Take her recent paintings from her solo exhibition ‘I followed you to the end’ at White Cube Bermondsey, for example (which was open from September to November). There’s something haunting about those fragile figures, often incomplete, hovering in space. They echo a sense of being lost, searching for something, perhaps a sense of self or connection that remains just out of reach. This feeling of dislocation, of being suspended between worlds, gives her work its emotional weight. In a world that often feels fragmented and disconnected, that is perhaps her greatest gift.

In recent years, Emin’s work has taken on a new urgency, shaped in part by her battle with cancer. There’s a sense of time running out, of a race against the clock, a battle between life and death. The works are visceral, almost primal, as if she’s pouring every last ounce of herself into the canvas. It’s no longer just about exorcising demons; it’s about leaving something behind, a testament to her survival, her defiance.

As she once said, “I want the painting to tell me something I don’t know.” For Emin, art becomes a means of preserving oneself, a way to come to terms with the past and accept the inevitable challenges of the future.

Tracey Emin: A Review

Wrap Me in Art and Close the Door as You Leave

Recent Posts

Comments

Privacy Policy

FAQ

Subscribe to get exclusive updates