Emin, Tracey (1963 - )

Tracey Emin came to fame and success, like many of her "yBa" contemporaries, in the early-mid 1990's. She did her BA at Maidstone college, and her MA at the Royal College of Art in 1989. In 1990 Emin became pregnant, had an abortion and stopped making art. The fact that this sequence of events is such common knowledge comes from the body of work that followed. In 1993 Emin opened a 'shop' with Sarah Lucas. They produced t-shirts, pictures and other 'merchandise' to be sold. Through the shop Tracey met Jay Jopling, who offered her a show at his White Cube gallery. The show was entitled "My Major Retrospective" and consisted of photographs of her old work, diary entries and a collection of items that held some personal meaning for her. It was the start of thread that would lead to a huge body of work that spanned the 1990s. After the White Cube show Tracey Emin's career exploded. She has had shows all over Europe and exhibited in New York. She had a big solo show at the South London Gallery entitled "I Need Art Like I Need God". She has written one book ("Exploration of the Soul", an autobiography of her life in Margate up to the age of 13) and is working on another. Her installation "Everyone I have Ever Slept With" was in 'Sensation' at the Royal Academy, and brought her tabloid notoriety. Tracey Emin became a scapegoat for the general public's ill-informed rejection of contemporary art, and specifically, of installation art. Emin was famously nominated for the Turner Prize in 1999. Her installation included mono-prints, a collection of her video works and the now infamous "My Bed" installation, which consisted of dirty sheets, bloody knickers and used condoms. It was by far the most affecting and interesting show in the otherwise coldly academic display, but Emin didn't win the prize. Like Tomoko Takahashi in 2000 and Martin Creed in 2001, Emin thought that she had been selected to gain publicity for the prize. Although she didn't win, Tracey was clearly the most interesting presence in the exhibition. "You Forgot To Kiss My Soul" was Tracey Emin's first London solo exhibition in four years. It was at White Cube 2 in the East End, a heavenly white space with soft light emanating from the opaque ceiling. In this context, Emin's work looked beautiful. The space glowed with a kind of meditative quality, allowing Emin's work to breathe. The centrepiece was a giant wooden helter skelter. There were a few new blankets, some prints and a couple of video installations with peepholes, and a neon "You Forgot To Kiss My Soul" sign, glowing at the end of the room, like a contemporary art crucifix in this quiet, divine space. Of course, the White Cube is a very annoying place normally. It's a commercial gallery, like a framing centre for people with too much money. It's difficult to examine art thoroughly in either of the White Cube galleries. The first one has a little office opposite the minuscule exhibition space, from which you can hear the White Cube staff typing and making phone calls. And number two has a sense of being very self-consciously cutting edge, very Hoxton, dahhhling. And that kind of fucking rubbish makes it difficult to look at the work, for me at least. The opening was packt like sardines. Camera crews jostled for space with autograph hunters jostled with Wolfgang Tillmans jostled with Tracey herself, glowing and happy in her Vivienne Westwood dress. White Cube openings are publicity stunts. And this is how many people judge Tracey Emin (the artist) - by the criteria of Tracey Emin (the celebrity). These are the people who should have watched the spectacle of the event disinterestedly and gone back to the space on a Tuesday or something, when it was quiet and inviting. Behind the maze of opinion and mediation, Emin's work can be absolutely stunning. The depth of feeling behind the paper of the prints. The pure human drama of the video work. I remember walking stunned through the rest of Turner Prize show after sitting for half an hour or so watching Emin's films. It all seemed so cerebral and distant and pointless after the emotional gut-punch of Emin's stuff. For all the criticism of Tracey Emin, her work has qualities that are rarely found in contemporary art - a genuine-ness, a lack of affectation. If the surrounding media web can be stripped away, there is a richness in this work that, put simply, makes all the hype and noise seem meaningless.