Tracey Emin Review – Very Honest Artist Naked Body and Soul | Tracey Emin

FOr a woman I’ve only known from a distance for about 10 minutes, and I’ve seen Tracey Emin’s ass a lot. I’ve seen it in ink, paint, bronze and film. Sometimes it’s pink and shapely, sometimes it’s defiant or slanted in the lover’s grasp. It appears in most of Emin’s new work at Jupiter Artland’s I Lay Here for You, which includes sculptures, monoliths, paintings and works on paper, and details the artist’s recovery and rediscovery after bladder cancer love.

Not to confuse the artist with the subject, but there’s no doubt it’s Emin here—even in the scribbles of her face, the artist is there, inviting us (literally) into the most intimate crevices of her life. Her bed and the life-affirming activities that take place in it are the subject of 11 monotypes created in 2022, as well as the revelatory title I know you love me – I know because I love you too and because I’m so fucking sexy . I was born sexy and I will die sexy reads like a diary entry.

Go with the flow...
Go with the flow… Emin’s “I’ve Been Bleeding”. Photo: White Cube/David Westwood

Meanwhile, a well-dressed and energetic Emin sits atop a large bronze sculpture she created for Jupiter Artland’s sprawling park and discusses her mother’s influence on her decision to try new, large-scale works. “When she died, I felt so lost, like – well – fuck him,” she said with a laugh. “Life’s too short to do it, do it, because if I screw it up, I screw it up. It doesn’t matter.” Emin – a charismatic, utterly honest artist – and appearing in ink, canvas and bronze There is no difference in the naked image in . This vulnerability is very powerful and only intensified after she underwent cancer surgery.

I Lay Here For You is almost a sequel to ‘Death Tour’ Currently on display in Margate Emin presents the first work she has created since her illness. The first exhibition was teetering on the precipice of life, and this new exhibition in Scotland is a step into the future, one bathed in pleasure rather than pain. In almost every single painting, the two figures are intertwined, almost indistinguishable, and smudges appear beneath their bodies, indicating repeated movement. Apparently, the series is based on the memories of people who helped Emin during her recovery.

Each single edition begins with the same lithographic backdrop for Emin’s bed, while individual bedroom scenes are added by the artist using Indian ink. Choose the exact same background to add an ecstatic couple, a nightstand, a rug, a lamp, or some medical equipment, documenting the ongoing ebb and flow of human connection. Anyone who has invited fellow human beings to bed will recognize the extreme loneliness of staring into the night as they sleep, the frenetic energy of early sex, the security of curling up in a hug, and the perfect serenity of being alone but loved.

Emin is wet in front of her work
Very honest… Emin is soaking wet in front of her work. Photo: Murdoch McLeod/The Guardian

When paired with the apocalyptic title in You Just Always Wanted Me Not To Touch Me – Even In Your Dreams, the monolith is a celebration of the human impulse for intimacy in its ability to destroy and restore Unparalleled, even in a short period of time. In the second gallery – the ballroom – the couple reappears on a small canvas entitled “I’ve Been Bleeding”. The scooping pair, flushed red, were thrown on a white bed, cuddling each other – not out of passion, but to curb the pain.

The bed reappeared twice in the space, but it was empty, without lovers or those recovering from illness. Bathed in the pink glow of dusk, neatly covered with smooth white sheets, the bed is silent, a hint of moving on, not into something threatening, but into a new season of family activities. Here are some large, vibrant canvases with thick lines of the female form, full of fleshly brilliance, but it’s the small depiction of the bed that draws me across the ballroom, gazing at the hallowed walls of our bedroom where we are most private self. A small drawing of the vagina pulls the gaze further, straight up.

Not far from the gallery is a six-meter-tall bronze nude woman with her face buried in the ground, her hands thrown back, and her hands toward ecstasy. She hides in the woodlands, avoiding eye contact, and despite sharing her name in the exhibition – I’m Lying Here for You – I can’t help but feel like she forgot to wait for “you” while she was lying down. Because this is a remarkable, otherworldly figure who escapes the confines of his bed and finds joy in glades to please himself, unafraid of the vulnerability of being caught. Reminds me of an artist we know.