Her honesty is brutal. Her openness is painful. Her truth is tragic, and that’s why a full house clapped and cheered almost every time Tracey Emin spoke about her abuse at the hands of local Margate men when she was a child of 13 (named on her Tent piece – Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995); doctors who had not realised she still had a twin festering inside her after an abortion, and art critics who wrote about her womanhood more than her art. Tracey Emin spoke about everything that those who don’t like her don’t like her for. And we loved it, writes Michael Holland.
She says that her 1998 ‘My Bed’ was mocked by the establishment when she first showed it to the world at the South London Gallery, but now it is recognised as her seminal work. She tells of the Boffice, or working from her bed when not in the studio. Of ‘The Tent’, one of the artworks that was lost in a storage warehouse fire, she reveals that she would not recreate it now: ‘I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.’ Plus, she talks of not having any shame about her past: ’The shame is for others to feel.’
At first I was feeling sorry for her, just as I did after leaving her last exhibition, Second Life, but the Conversation was a vehicle for expanding on her second life, a life after a rare cancer that saw much of her insides taken away, an opportunity to put her first life in the past and talk about right now, the future and her forever.
I also recall Second Life having lots of text and considering that a nuisance because I wanted to look at her work, not read it, so moved on past the crowds clamouring to see what was written and onto a sculpture or a painting of a couple having sex. But when she went into more detail about the text in the Conversation I knew I had missed so much. Emin’s words are as much her art as anything else. And even here in Conversation, she corrected any wrong that the Guilty Feminist might say. Emin deals with truth, with no grey areas.
We heard that she has set up a foundation that will help young artists and local people in Margate. A philanthropic venture that puts some good back into her seriously deprived hometown. She said, without any hint of boast, that she recently sold a painting in New York for £2.5m and put the money straight into the foundation. With no cigarettes or alcohol in her life now, she is fully focussed on her art and doing good.
There was time for questions. Just questions. She advised a potential artist to go to life drawing classes, and quickly moved on from those who just wanted to say nice things about her, prompting others to get to the question if they beat about the bush. Don’t mess with Emin.
By the end, there is no feeling sorry for Tracey Emin. She has regrets. One, being smoking, but she is a survivor and she is as happy as she can be right now. As she left the stage, she refused to sign autographs. Those offering their bits of paper should have realised it was impossible while she carried a tote bag that matched her outfit. The tote carried the bag that collected her urine.
Before she disappeared into the wings, she smiled and waved. She left as a winner.
The Conversation was part of Harry Styles’ Meltdown at Southbank Centre.
